A Quiet Life Denied

Serena's POV

Serena Caldwell carried herself like someone who had never been allowed to stumble. Shoulders straight, chin angled just so, hair falling in a chestnut curtain that never dared misbehave. Perfection wasn't an effort—it was a requirement. The Caldwell name demanded polish, and polish she had perfected.

Her family had raised her that way. A Caldwell didn't fidget. A Caldwell didn't bow their head. A Caldwell didn't falter in front of an audience, no matter how small. She'd been taught that posture was armor and poise was a weapon, and she'd sharpened them both until they felt like instinct.

Which was why, standing in the middle of this ridiculous exam, she felt more amused than nervous.

The written portion had been insultingly easy. She could have finished it in half the time if she hadn't grown bored and doodled in the margins. The judo match before that? Even worse. The blonde chick—Celeste, she thought her name was—had gone down faster than Serena could even warm up. Less than a minute. Where was the challenge? Where was the fun?

Now this. Capture the flag, apparently meant to test strategy and teamwork. She had to admit it was more interesting than scribbling on test papers or flattening classmates, but not by much. The girls around her buzzed with nervous energy, stealing glances at her like chicks waiting for the hen to lead. Serena couldn't help herself.

"Mini… myni… moe," she sang, pointing theatrically from one girl to the next. Their eyes widened as her finger hopped between them, her smirk growing with every syllable until it landed on Jessica—the one who had been wheezing since they entered the gym.

Jessica's eyes went huge. "Uh-uh. Nope. I can't run, I have asthma—!"

Serena smiled sweetly. "Rules are rules. You lost. Flag duty's yours." She brushed at her spotless sleeve, bored already.

The other girls shifted uncomfortably, but no one challenged her. That was the nice thing about most people—they followed the loudest voice in the room, even if it was leading them straight off a cliff.

Except for him.

He leaned back with his hands in his pockets, hood shadowing his face, watching her with that detached look that made her want to throw something at him. When he sighed, muttering, "What did I do to get stuck with her…" she almost did.

Then she noticed it out of the corner of her eye first. One of the girls in their group — the quiet one with hair too long for her own good — hesitated, then slipped away from the circle. Not toward an opponent, not toward the sidelines, but toward him.

Of course. The tall guy in the hood, leaning against the wall like this was detention instead of an exam.

Serena adjusted the flag in her hands, lips curling faintly. Really? Out of all people? She slips away just to talk to that weirdo?

She couldn't hear the whole exchange — the gym was too loud, sneakers squealing, voices bouncing off steel beams. But she caught snatches of it.

"…what are you going to do?" the girl's voice, low, uncertain.

Franz's reply was louder, careless. "I don't give a fuck…"

Serena's brows twitched upward. That sounded about right.

The girl said something else then — sharper, more insistent. Serena leaned a little, trying to make out the words, but all she caught was the way Franz suddenly froze. His hood tilted slightly, and for once he looked… caught off guard.

Her smirk deepened. Dumbfounded. Now that's new.

A moment later the girl slipped back into the group, her face tight, like she'd just given away a secret.

Serena flicked her gaze back to him , who still hadn't moved, But had a look like he was angry at someone and he had unplugged his brain for a second.

She gave a soft, almost dismissive laugh under her breath. "Weirdo."

And then, of course, he had to open his mouth again.

"Fine. I'll do it. Flag bearer."

That made her blink. Him? She narrowed her eyes as he went on.

"Flag bearer's the most important role. The king. And if I'm king…" His gaze slid lazily over the group. "…that makes the rest of you my loyal servants."

The words punched through her calm. Servants? Did he just—?

The Caldwell pride in her reared its head, hot and indignant. No one made her a servant. No one. But before she could cut him down, he tilted his head, almost thoughtful.

"Oh? You want it? Hm. Guess I could let you borrow the crown. Just don't drop it."

That smug little twist in his voice snapped the last of her patience.

"Fine! I'll do it. I'll be the flag bearer!" she declared, stabbing a finger at herself like she was claiming a throne.

"Perfect," he said, already turning away. "Glad we settled that. Long live the queen."

Her nails dug into her palms. He'd baited her, and she knew it. But she couldn't back down. Not in front of the others. Not ever.

The whistle blew.

The match started, and my annoyance only simmered. He stayed close, a silent, grey shadow I couldn't shake.

"My lady, this humble servant requests you please don't get caught."

The sarcasm was so thick I could have choked on it.

"I overlooked your disrespect once," I shot back, my voice sharp. "But I won't allow you to cross that line again."

"Oh, don't be such a hardass, princess."

I was in the middle of crafting a verbal annihilation so scathing he'd be lucky to speak again.

There was no warning. One moment he was a target for my fury; the next, the world was a blur. His right arm, hard as iron, clamped around my waist, yanking me off my feet. His left hand gripped the back of my neck, not painfully, but with an absolute authority that sent a jolt through my entire body. He spun me into the unyielding wall of his chest.

A member of the opposition sliced through the air where my body had just been. An opponent, appearing from nowhere.

The shock of the near-miss barely registered. My entire focus was on the arms locked around me. I shoved against his chest, a furious retort on my lips, but it was like pushing against a stone wall. He didn't budge. He didn't even seem to notice.

I struggled again, twisting in his grip, but it was useless. His strength was absolute. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I couldn't get free. He held me effortlessly, my struggles as meaningless as a bird beating its wings against a cage.

For the first time in my life, I was completely, utterly, not in control.

I was nothing. Powerless. The feeling was so foreign, so deeply terrifying, that it stole the breath from my lungs. This weirdo, this quiet, infuriating nobody, had just neutralized me without a second thought.

I stopped struggling and looked up at him, my anger and shock warring within me.

The eyes that met mine were not the ones I saw before. The lazy mockery was gone. In its place was a void. An emptiness so profound and chilling it seemed to suck the warmth from the air. They were the eyes of a stranger, both beautiful and terrifying..

I should hate this. I should hate him. This feeling of helplessness… it's disgusting.

So why is my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free?

A/N

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