At Saint Mercy’s Academy, masks weren’t worn at parties. They were worn every day—in smiles, in posture, in silence.
But that night, something shifted.
Something burned.
The whispers hadn’t stopped since Isabel dropped the file. Rose’s flawless facade was cracking—and her loyal circle, once unshakable, had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
Samantha stood in front of her mirror, replaying the confrontation in her head. The file. The accusation. The way Rose didn’t even flinch.
But it wasn’t strength. It was calculation.
And Samantha was done being calculated.
Downstairs, Pearl paced the music room.
She hadn’t spoken to Rose since the file leaked. And Karoline had barely looked her in the eye.
So when she saw Karoline at the piano, she hesitated. Then approached.
Karoline didn’t stop playing.
“You believe it, don’t you?” Pearl asked softly.
Karoline’s fingers paused. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if I believe everything,” Karoline said. “But I know Rose hides things. Things that change people.”
Pearl sat beside her. “And us? Are we just... accessories to her lie?”
Karoline’s answer came slow. “We were. Until Isabel walked in.”
That evening, Rose summoned the group—her remaining “loyal” ones—to the east wing balcony. Only Samantha and Andrew showed up.
“Where’s everyone else?” Rose asked, arms crossed.
Samantha tilted her head. “Maybe they’re tired of pretending.”
Andrew looked uncomfortable. “Rose... I don’t know what’s true anymore. But if there’s something you need to tell us—”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Rose snapped. “It’s all lies. Fabricated. Isabel is manipulating you.”
“No,” Samantha said quietly. “She just took your mask off. You’re the one who built it.”
Later that night, Isabel found an envelope outside her door.
No name. No handwriting. Just a wax seal.
Inside: a photo.
A girl. Same academy. Same uniform. But not anyone she recognized.
On the back:
“She knew too much. Don’t make her mistake.”
Isabel’s breath caught.
She stared at the candle flickering beside her and whispered, “They’re starting to panic.”
Across campus, Rose sat alone in the garden, the one place cameras didn’t reach.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the student group chat.
There, in bold:
THE QUEEN BLEEDS.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡljMFm84OEs
WE SEE HER NOW.
The message wasn’t signed.
But she knew it wasn’t Isabel.
Someone else had joined the game.
And they were playing for keeps.
The masks weren’t just burning.
They were melting.
And what hid beneath… was worse.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7UrSOn2LjQ
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