The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 39

By all accounts, the day should’ve been suspiciously… fine.

The halls were still sticky with that faint perfume smell, the flowers in bloom outside only adding to the sickly sweet air, and Mia had successfully braided my hair while walking–a party trick I still wasn’t over.

“I don’t like this,” I said as we passed the commons. “It’s too… quiet.”

Mia blinked at me. “What? You mean the fact that Bianca hasn’t tried to push you down a flight of stairs today? We’re calling that suspicious now?”

“Yes.”

She looked around in thought. “You’re right. She was more…agressibe then usal yesterday. I mean, she’s always mean, but the Alpha looked…mad, mad.”

But the halls stayed calm. For one whole period.

Then came third block.

The corridor outside my literature class was… jammed. I slowed when I saw them, about six students in uniform, all facing outward, arms crossed, blocking the entire doorway like poorly paid security.

I paused.

Mia bumped into my shoulder. “Uh. Did we miss a protest or…?”

The tallest one, a boy I vaguely remembered losing spectacularly in hand–to–hand class, raised his brows.

“You’re not allowed in.”

My lips parted. “Sorry. Is this a hostage situation or just collective stupidity?”

“You heard me,” he said. “Try another hallway.”

“Yeah,” a girl behind him piped up, “Or try another school.”

This is more what I expected.

Mia stepped forward, but I put an arm out. I didn’t need her catching a stray punch, or worse, getting

detention.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll move.”

And they did. Not because I asked. But because I walked. Straight into them.

I hit a shoulder. Harder than necessary. And then another. They weren’t expecting me to push back so

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easily, but to be fair, they were quite a bit weaker.

I made it to my desk only to find the next lovely surprise.

My nameplate had been torn off. My chair was missing. My desk… had been pushed halfway into the corner. It was also covered in some kind of pink glitter glue spelling out “Wolfless Mutt.”

How original.

“Hm,” I muttered, inspecting the vandalism. “Not even cursive?”

Mia showed up seconds later, out of breath. “They locked the classroom doors behind you. What is going

on?”

“I’d love to say ‘prank war‘ but I think it’s just a low–IQ riot. Bianca for sure getting her revenge for… whatever she thought I did.”

The rest of the day went about as well as you’d expect.

My locker? Ripped off its hinges.

My books? Gone. One kid was actively selling my pencil case at lunch.

Mia did her best to help, shooting death glares at anyone who looked at me sideways, but it was like being nipped at by bees all day. Every corner I turned, someone hissed a name, “Wolfless,” “Leech,” ”

Pretender.”

It was like the whole school had synchronized their group chat to Operation Ruin Liora’s Day.

Still, I didn’t snap. It wouldn’t help anything.

And, something didn’t feel right. Bianca was the obvious choice for this mess. But this was bigger. Sloppier. Bianca was usually more pointed. Maybe she finally snapped.

Which led me to the end of the day.

I didn’t even mean to go into the bathroom. I just needed a second. One second where I didn’t have to dodge insults or retrieve my stuff from the lost–and–found, which had become more of a stolen–and–held-

hostage.

But of course, the second the door closed, I knew I’d walked into something.

Two girls clocked me the moment I stepped in. One lingered at the sink, fake–touching up her lip gloss. The other hovered by the stalls, arms crossed, glittery eyes already full of judgment.

They didn’t say a word. Just looked at each other. Smiled.

I sighed, brushing past them and pushing open a stall door. It’s not like they’d actually-

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I didn’t even get the chance to square up.

The first punch came fast. Faster than I expected.

It cracked against my jaw, sending me stumbling into the stall.

“Ah! Hey-!”

Another hit.

Then another.

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I threw my arms up, half–falling onto the toilet, taking it–one sloppy swing after the next. Their punches weren’t great. Wild and poorly aimed, fueled more by nerves and too much mascara than any real

training.

But I let it happen.

A bruise here. A hair yank there. A knee that barely grazed.

Let them feel like they won something.