Chapter 7: Smoke Behind Smiles
The bell rang with a hollow clang, and students filtered into Professor Mallory's sociology class with their usual chatter. But today, the air inside the lecture hall was electric charged with something unspoken. Eliana entered last, head down, hoodie up, slipping into her usual seat near the back.
Jace was already there. He passed her a scribbled note across the desk:
"Brace yourself. Savannah's in a performance mood."
Eliana didn't need the warning.
Savannah entered like a storm in heels, flanked by her shadows Mila and Cherry both carrying matching pink water bottles like accessories. She scanned the room until her eyes landed on Eliana, and her lips curled into a smirk like she'd found her target.
"Some people don't even belong in this class," Savannah said loudly as she passed. "But I guess even public schools let charity cases in now."
Eliana didn't flinch. Jace's hand balled into a fist on his desk.
"Alright, settle down," Professor Mallory said nervously, adjusting his glasses. He glanced at Savannah, then quickly looked away. "Let's continue from last week's discussion on structural privilege."
Savannah raised her hand with a dramatic stretch. "Oh, Professor, shouldn't we talk about how some people think they can belong just because they hide behind sketchbooks and silence?"
Mallory froze. "Savannah, let's stay on topic—"
"My family donates to this school," she cut in sharply. "I'm sure we can expand the topic."
Jace's chair screeched back. "Savannah, you done embarrassing yourself yet?"
She turned to him with faux sweetness. "Careful, Jace. Remember who helped your dad get into the alumni council."
Eliana stood slowly, every eye in the class shifting toward her. She didn't speak, just packed her bag in silence and walked out.
Savannah's voice followed her. "Guess some people can't handle pressure. Maybe you should stick to your little drawings. That's what orphans do, right?"
The room went dead quiet.
Even the teacher looked away.
Jace stood too, knocking over his chair. "You think you're untouchable because of your brother and your last name? Everyone here's just too scared to say it but we all know what he's done."
Savannah's face drained of color for a flash, but then she smirked. "Still hasn't been charged. Reputation matters. Some of us have it. Some of us fake it."
Savannah's Residence
Later that evening, Savannah returned to her luxurious but cold mansion silence wrapped around the marble like perfume and poison. The chandelier sparkled with quiet menace as she dropped her designer handbag onto a polished table.
"You let someone talk down to you again?" a voice called from the lounge.
Her brother Leonard "Leo" Bright sat sprawled across a velvet couch, legs crossed, a cigar burning lazily in one hand. Around him lounged five of his disciples, men with tattoos, scars, and reputations carved from darkness. They were more than a gang they were loyal enforcers of Leo's reign beyond the mansion walls.
Savannah sighed dramatically, tossing her heels across the room, where they hit a vase and shattered it.
"That Eliana girl…" she began, "She thinks silence makes her brave."
Leo stood slowly and approached, gently cupping her cheek with a hand that had broken jaws and worse. His voice was low. "Want me to handle her?"
Savannah paused, her eyes gleaming with pride. "No. I don't need help with this one. I want to watch her fall and I want to be the one who pushes her."
Leo smiled, admiring her venom. "That's my girl."
Their mansion was staffed by older women stoic maids with tired eyes and quiet feet. There had once been young maids, but they were all gone now. Rumors whispered through the city: Leo violated young ladies until no young woman dared work there, no matter how high the pay.
Now, the remaining help were hardened women in their late fifties or older, immune to both Savannah's tantrums and Leo's cruelty. But even they flinched when Savannah threw a crystal ashtray against the wall, shattering it with a scream.
"Stupid cow!" she snapped at one of the maids. "You call this fresh juice?! Do it again!"
The maid bowed her head and retreated silently.
Their parents Mr. and Mrs. Bright rarely interfered. Once upon a time, they had tried. Family meetings. Private therapy. Church. But the more they scolded Leo, the worse he became. The scandals multiplied. Beaten boys. Rumors of violations of rules. Gambling dens raided by police, only to mysteriously drop charges.
Now they chose silence over shame.
They covered for Leo paid off victims, threatened witnesses, spun stories for the press. And to keep Savannah happy, they spoiled her to the coil. Cars. Private tutors. International shopping sprees. Whatever kept her smiling.
But behind the wealth and the glamour was a festering rot.
Savannah ruled her part of that rot like a vengeful empress. And when she told Leo to stay out of her feud with Eliana, it wasn't to protect her. It was because she wanted to be the one to draw defeat.
Zara's Residence
Zara balanced a laundry basket on one hip while her younger siblings shouted in the background.
"Dad's late again," her brother whined.
"He's working," she said, folding uniforms.
Their father came home with tired eyes and an apology already hanging from his lips. "Zee, thanks for cooking."
"Homework first," she said, directing the kids.
Zara never talked about her mother. She didn't have time for grief, only responsibilities and secretly, she loved Eliana for never treating her like she needed pity.
Nina's Residence
Nina sprawled on her bed in a well-kept home, walls filled with books and soft light. Her mom peeked in, holding a smoothie.
"Taking a break?"
"Just reading," Nina replied, smiling.
Her parents weren't rich, but they listened. They supported every phase of her personality whether it was her TikTok dances, makeup tutorials, or obsession with Elijah Grant's interviews.
She didn't feel entitled like Savannah or burdened like Zara.
She just wanted to matter.
Meanwhile at StoneArc
Maya's hands trembled slightly as she held a stylus over her digital planner. Elijah had walked past her three times that morning, each time brushing just close enough to stir something in her chest.
No. No, not this. Focus.
He entered the room again, this time holding a mug and a frown.
"Why is my calendar full of 'revised meetings' with people I already canceled?"
"I rescheduled them," Maya said, looking up with forced calm. "One of them is from that Solstice project stream."
Elijah blinked. "You're tracking project streams now?"
"You told me to anticipate your logic. I assumed that meant tracking data paths."
He stared at her. Long enough that she looked away.
There was silence only the hum of the overhead light and her own pulse.
"You're good at this," he said finally, voice low. "Better than most people I've had in this position."
"That's not hard," she replied, too fast.
He smirked, then walked away.
And still, her heartbeat betrayed her.
Maya didn't believe in distractions. She didn't believe in feelings. But something about him his restraint, his precision, the quiet sadness he wore like armor was pulling her in like gravity.
And that terrified her more than anything hidden in the StoneArc servers.