Page 9

Breaking Point

T he morning air is thick with ocean mist as I make my way across Shark Bay's courtyard. Last night's conversation with Erik still echoes in my mind—his invitation of friendship, the way he saw through my defenses. I hate how he makes me feel seen, how he refuses to play by the usual rules. Everyone has an angle here, a price they're willing to pay. So what's his?

A gust of wind whips my hair around my face, carrying the salt-tang of the sea. I don't want to pull my uniform skirt lower, even though it flaps around my legs. Everyone's looking, but I allow them to. I let them see me. I let them want me. Because unless I decide otherwise, that's all they'll ever get. Having that thought gives me chills. When did I become so detached from my own sexuality?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Unknown number. But I know exactly who it is.

My fingers tremble slightly as I open the message. The screen shows a picture of Alex walking across his college campus with his shoulders hunched and his head down. He looks thinner than I remember. There are dark circles under his eyes that weren't there before. The date and timestamp show that it was taken yesterday. Below the image is a simple message: "Making new friends already? Be careful who you trust."

Another image loads—this one of Alex in a car with someone else, a young woman with auburn hair. The window is cracked, her mouth open in a laugh, hand up like she's preparing to push Alex away. Another new friend. Maybe a new girlfriend.

Bile rises in my throat. They're watching me. Of course they are. Did they see me with Erik on the cliff? Do they know about our conversation in the library? My parents' reach extends far beyond this island, their network of eyes and ears reporting my every move. If I say one wrong thing to the wrong person, Alex will pay for my mistake. One more reason for me to keep quiet and not let anyone in.

I delete the message, but the image is already burned into my brain. Those few words make my skin crawl because they sound like a direct threat. Every friend is a weak spot. There is a weakness in every connection. The worst thing about my parents' way of dealing with people is that it works so well. They've always been very good at manipulating people's minds. They don't need to spell out what they'll do—the possibilities are endless, and my imagination fills in the blanks with vivid detail. People's jobs, reputations, and lives have been ruined by them, and they didn't even lose a moment of sleep. All of it with the care of a shark and the accuracy of a surgeon. What if this is how I live for the rest of my life? Not able to connect with or touch anyone because I'm afraid my parents will use them against me? It hurts to be alone, and I don't know if it'll ever get better.

Another message comes through: "Remember why you're there."

As if I could forget. As if every moment on this godforsaken island isn't a reminder of what I've lost, what I'm trying to protect. I slam my phone into my bag, hands shaking with rage rather than fear now. Fine. If they want to play games, I can play too. I've learned from the best, after all. I could write the goddamn book on manipulation, and it would be a riveting, fucked-up read. The amount of pain my parents can cause is endless—to me, to Alex, or to anyone else I let close. I won't do that again. Once was enough.

"Luna!" Professor Austin's voice cuts through my spiral. He waves from the classroom doorway, his usual earnest smile in place. "A word before class?"

I force my face into a neutral expression as I approach. He's wearing another tweed jacket, wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew. Everything about him screams harmless academic, but I know better. In this place, everyone's hiding something.

"Good morning, Professor." My voice comes out tight but not shaky, which feels like a small victory.

"About the other day's… incident," he starts, shifting uncomfortably. "I want you to know I've identified the source of the hack. Appropriate disciplinary action will be taken."

I laugh, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch. "Don't bother. We both know nothing will happen to Belle. Her daddy's name is on too many buildings."

His expression tightens. "Miss Queen, I understand you're going through a difficult adjustment period, but?—"

"Save it." I push past him into the classroom. "I don't need your pity or your protection."

The classroom is only half full, and students are already huddled together in their normal groups. The gothic windows let in a lot of morning light, which casts long shadows across their flawless faces, designer clothes, and carefully chosen masks. Nicolas is noticeably not here, but Belle is sitting where she usually does. She's surrounded by her regular followers, and they're all giving me dirty looks. Jessica leans in to whisper something to Belle, and Belle clamps her hands together under her desk. Perfect. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

I slide into my seat, letting a predatory smile spread across my face. The rage from my parents' message still burns hot in my veins, looking for an outlet. And Belle? She's just made herself the perfect target.

"Aww, Belle," I call out, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Where's Nicolas? I would've thought he'd be here, considering how… close we got at the party."

The whispers start immediately. Belle's face flushes red, but she tries to maintain her composure. Her perfectly manicured nails dig into her designer notebook, leaving little crescent marks on the leather cover. I'm not sure which card she'll play—anger or indifference. In the end, I decide it doesn't really matter. I have her on the defensive, and it's only a matter of time before I shatter her perfect facade.

"Some of us actually care about our relationships, Luna," she snaps back, but there's a tremor in her voice that betrays her. "Not everyone's desperate enough to fuck anything that moves."

"Really?" I lean forward, voice pitched to carry across the room. "Because Nicolas seemed pretty desperate when he was begging me to let him cum. What was it he said? Oh, right—that you never let him do the things I did."

The classroom is filled with gasps and stifled laughs. Some phones are brought out, and they'll probably record this for everyone to see. Okay. Let them document how I kicked Belle off her throne. I want them to see what happens when they cross Luna Queen.

"You're such a pathetic slut," Belle hisses, her perfect mask cracking further. "Do you really think anyone here respects you?"

"At least I'm honest about what I am." I shrug, examining my nails with exaggerated care. "How's it feel knowing your boyfriend would rather fuck a slut than deal with your frigid ass? Though I have to say, he didn't seem too picky about holes when he was balls deep in?—"

"Enough!" Professor Austin's voice cracks through the room. "Both of you?—"

"No, let her talk," I cut him off, standing to face Belle directly. My heart pounds against my ribs, but not with fear—with the pure, savage joy of watching her perfect world crumble. "Come on, princess. Tell everyone how it felt walking in on your perfect boyfriend with his cock buried inside me. Did it hurt? Or were you too busy planning your next social media post about #relationshipgoals?"

Belle stands so quickly her chair crashes to the floor. The sound echoes through the suddenly silent room. "You're fucking insane," she spits, color high in her cheeks. "No wonder your parents shipped you here—they probably couldn't stand looking at what a disappointment you turned out to be."

"What's your excuse?" I challenge and gesture around. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been shipped to the same hellhole as me."

Something flickers in her eyes, a flash of real pain before the mask falls back into place. She takes a deep breath, then lifts her chin. "I'd rather be anywhere than around a parasite like you."

"Right back at you, bitch," I fire back, but the victory rings hollow. For the first time, I see the cracks in her perfect facade. I don't let my smile slip. Instead, I let it grow wider, sharper, more dangerous. "At least I'm not the one whose boyfriend can't even look at her anymore." I take a step closer, lowering my voice to a stage whisper. "How many times has he answered your calls since that night, Belle? How many times has he left you on read? Does it keep you up at night, wondering if he's thinking about me while he touches himself?"

Her friends stop her as she charges at me. Jessica and Amber grab her arms and speak frantically in her ear. I can barely hear Professor Austin because my own ears are sore from the rush of blood. He's yelling something about sending us to the dean's office. I was right. Nicolas must be avoiding Belle because he feels too bad to face what he did. She's almost in tears now as she fights against her friends' grip, and I want to gloat. But a bigger part of me is so damn lonely that even seeing her suffering is painful. She's entitled, spoiled, and cruel, but that doesn't mean she deserves this. Unfortunately, the gloating part of me wins.

"You know what the best part was?" I continue, twisting the knife deeper. My voice carries clearly over the chaos. "When he called me Belle. Right at the end. Guess he couldn't tell the difference—though I definitely felt better. Tighter, he said. More responsive."

"Miss Queen!" Professor Austin grabs my arm. "That's enough! Dean's office, now!"

I shake him off, gathering my things with deliberate slowness. Every eye in the room is on me, phones still recording. Let them. I want to show everyone what happens when playing games with me.

"What's wrong, Belle? Can't handle the truth?" I sling my bag over my shoulder, pausing by her desk. "Don't worry—I'm sure Daddy will buy you a new boyfriend. Isn't that how your family solves all its problems?"

"At least I have a family," she snarls back, finally breaking free of her friends' grip. "At least my parents can stand to look at me without wanting to puke!"

For a moment, the world goes red. My fist craves to punch that phony face. I want to make her bleed like I'm bleeding inside. But violence isn't my weapon of choice. Words hurt more and last longer. And this time, I want her to hurt.

"You're right," I say softly, letting my voice carry in the dead silence. "Your parents can look at you just fine. They're probably so proud of their perfect little princess. Tell me, do they know about the abortion last summer? Or did Daddy’s lawyers bury that too?"

The color drains from Belle's face. Behind us, someone gasps. It's a shot in the dark, a guess based on rumors I've heard whispered in bathroom stalls, but from her reaction, I know I've struck gold.

Belle takes a step back, nearly tripping over her fallen chair. "Fuck you," she manages. "Fuck all of you!" She spins and bolts from the classroom, her friends a half-step behind. Professor Austin darts after them, leaving the rest of us frozen in the aftermath.

And I realize something. In my quest to destroy Belle, I've only succeeded in destroying myself.

I straighten up, smoothing my skirt with steady hands. As I walk to the door, I catch Erik watching me from the back row. His expression is unreadable, but I see something like concern in those storm-gray eyes. He knows what it's like to be trapped by family expectations, to have your mistakes used against you. But he can't help me. No one can.

Least of all myself.

In the hallway, my carefully constructed control finally cracks. My hands shake as I lean against the cold stone wall, struggling to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. The image of Alex haunts me, along with all the ways my parents could hurt him. They won't stop until they've broken me completely, until I'm back under their control.

"Luna." Erik's voice is soft behind me. I didn't even hear him follow me out. "Let me help."

I laugh, the sound raw and broken. "You can't help me. No one can."

"Try me." He reaches for my hand, but I jerk away.

"Don't." My voice cracks. "Please. Just… don't."

Understanding floods his features. He's probably figured out more than I wanted him to. But he doesn't push, doesn't try to fix me or save me. He just stands there, offering silent support as I try to pull myself together. Slowly, my breathing steadies, the panic fading back into a manageable knot.

"You don't know what you're dealing with," I whisper, more to myself than him. "None of you do."

"Then tell me." His voice is gentle, but there's steel underneath. "Let me in, Luna. Whatever's going on, you don't have to face it alone."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The weight of my parents' threats, the constant surveillance, the fear for Alex's safety—it's crushing me. But letting someone in means giving them power over me, and I can't afford that weakness. Not now. Not ever.

"I need some space," I say, pushing past him and toward the nearest bathroom. "Please. Just… leave me alone."

"Luna—"

"Don't follow me." I meet his eyes, letting him see the truth. "They're watching. They'll hurt you too."

Before he can respond, I turn and walk away. My heels click against the marble floor, each step echoing like a countdown. Behind me, I can hear Belle's sobs echoing off the stone walls. The sound should satisfy me, should feel like victory. Instead, it just reminds me of all the times I've cried alone, all the pain I've swallowed to survive.

The game has changed now. My parents think they can control me with threats and surveillance? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see exactly what I'm capable of when pushed too far.

Let them see what happens when you back a predator into a corner.

Because here's the thing about sharks—we don't just swim away when threatened. We attack. And unlike my parents, who hunt in packs with their wealth and connections, I've learned to strike alone. More precise. More lethal. I've been swimming with sharks my whole life, learning their moves, studying their weaknesses. Now, it's time to show them what I've learned.

They wanted to break me? Fine. But I'm taking everyone down with me.

As I walk to the dean's office, my phone buzzes again. Another message from the unknown number: "You're playing a dangerous game."

I'll let them come. I'll allow them to try to control me, hurt me, and fit me inside their neat little box. They have no idea how strong I am. They don't know what I'm willing to do to keep the people I love safe.

They want a monster? I'll give them one.

I'm ready to show them who the real predator is.