The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 126

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Bianca

By the time I stepped out of the stall, my face was smooth, my expression perfected. I toweled my hair with slow, deliberate motions, like I had all the time in the world. The mirror showed me calm, composed, beautiful—as always. No one would see the claw marks on the tile or the tremor I’d hidden in the folds of my towel.

I dabbed perfume at my throat, painted my lips back into their practiced curve, and slipped into a fresh dress—cream silk, imported, with a slit high on the thigh that whispered untouchable.

Outside, the waiting area buzzed with voices, the crowd dissecting every match, every score. I entered like it was a runway, heels sharp against the floor, heads turning—finally—toward me again.

A boy from another pack smiled too long, and I rewarded him with a cool nod. The official from earlier caught my eye and quickly looked away, probably afraid I’d actually send my father after him.

Good.

But over it all, I heard her name ripple through the crowd again, followed by that awful wave of approval.

I didn’t look. I didn’t have to. It was about her. It was always about her.

She’s untouchable.

But pedestals?

They’re so easy to kick out from under someone.

And I’d be the one to do it.

Liora

The black robe was too warm, the hood too low, but it was the only thing keeping me from being recognized as I slipped out the colosseum’s back gates toward the dorms.

The roar of the crowd still bled through the stone walls, shouts, insults, a few voices chanting my name in a way that didn’t feel flattering. The rest were just… angry.

Bars near the gates spilled drunk men into the streets, some wrestling on the cobblestones, spitting insults over lost bets. I’d known this was a risk, but I hadn’t foreseen how much it would shake the city, our people.

Guilt pinched as I kept my head down, weaving through shadows along narrow paths to the academy. Every so often someone passed too close, and I angled my shoulder just enough to avoid a collision, pulse ticking high until their footsteps faded.

By the time I pushed open the mess hall doors, the place was dark and silent, long wooden tables empty. Most students were still at the games or out celebrating victories. Or drowning losses. Whatever.