Chapter 1
My mother loved me most when I was someone else.
“Honestly, Zoe. What on earth is wrong with you?”
I laughed.
It was an ugly sound. The kind that escaped when crying would have been too embarrassing.
“Everything, apparently. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me my entire life?”
Mom reached for my wrist. I stepped back.
“Darlin’…”
There it was. That gentle voice. The one that could make cruelty sound suspiciously like affection.
“You’re a grown-up now, Zoe. Stop behaving like a child.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
Her expression changed.
“As long as you live under my roof, you’ll follow my rules.”
I picked up my bag. “Funny. You keep calling it a home.”
I left before she could answer.
Outside, rain fell over the driveway, soaking my uniform before I reached the waiting sedan. Mr. Hayes opened the door for me.
“Morning, Miss Zoe.”
“Morning.”
He was old enough to retire and stubborn enough to refuse. Somehow, he’d become the closest thing I had to a father.
The irony? His son was the last person I wanted to meet.
Mom had made sure our paths never crossed. Her rules were simple: no boys, no men. Not after Dad.
My parents had once loved each other. Then they’d screamed at each other. Then they’d divorced.
Apparently, I was supposed to learn something from that.
I learned that people could promise you forever and still leave before dinner.
Mr. Hayes glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“Then I’ll catch one.” It sounded as if I were in a baseball match, promising to catch the ball for my team's sake.
He sighed. I stepped into the rain.
Maybe it could wash away the morning.
It couldn’t.
By the time I reached the university building, my uniform clung to my skin, and my mood had officially become a public health hazard.
Whispers followed me down the corridor.
“That’s Zoe, right? The topper?”
“Isn’t she the businesswoman’s daughter?”
“I’ve never heard her speak.”
“Does she even look at boys?”
I kept walking.
People loved inventing stories about people they never bothered to know. I preferred silence. Silence rarely embarrassed itself in public.
Unfortunately, my desk had other plans.
A pair of polished black shoes rested on top of it.
I stopped.
Black trousers. Rolled-up sleeves. A notebook in one hand.
And an expression that suggested the world existed solely for his entertainment.
“Move.”
He turned a page.
“Excuse me. This is my seat.”
Nothing.
“Are you deaf, or is ignoring people your only personality trait?”
He finally looked up.
“Why so?”
I stared at him.
“Because I sit here. Every day. So, respectfully—”
I pointed toward the door.
“Fuck off.”
His mouth curved into a grin.
“Strong words, Princess.”
Princess?
Of what? The Kingdom of People Who Needed Therapy?
Before I could respond, our teacher entered. Everyone stood.
Everyone except the idiot on my desk.
He hopped down, plucked my bag from my shoulder, and tossed it onto the tabletop.
“Hey!”
He strolled toward the last bench.
I decided, then and there, that if reincarnation existed, I wanted to return as someone who never had to meet him.
Unfortunately, the universe had a sense of humour.
“Miss Zoe,” our teacher said, “your textbook, please.”
I stood.
“King Alexander was a—”
“MA’AM!” the idiot shouted from the back. “I’m freezing!”
The class burst into laughter.
Our teacher closed her eyes, as though praying for patience or an early retirement.
“Zayden, enough.”
“I understand she’s cold, ma’am. But shouldn’t she get a chance?”
More laughter.
My brain disconnected.
“Quick,” the teacher instructed.
“Quick…?”
The classroom erupted.
I stood there, defeated by an adjective.
Zayden laughed loudest.
I wanted to throw my textbook at him. Instead, I read about Alexander the Great, Aristotle, and an empire built before Alexander turned thirty.
“Probably not as big as mine will be,” Zayden interrupted.
It took me a minute to realize he was talking about the empire... not something else, at least.
“Would you like to step outside?” the teacher asked.
“I’d rather not date my history teacher.”
“ZAYDEN! OUT. NOW!”
He left without looking remotely ashamed.
I envied him. I couldn’t even breathe incorrectly without feeling guilty.
The rest of the morning blurred into lectures and damp sleeves. When the bell rang, our teacher ordered everyone to submit their classwork.
To my bad luck, I don't have a Zhang Lurang or Duang Jiaxu in my life. (These two names are taken from C-dramas)
And, because the universe hadn’t finished humiliating me, Zayden was appointed to collect the notebooks.
He dropped half the pile.
Students scrambled to retrieve their work.
When he reached my desk, he tapped the surface.
“Notebook.”
I ignored him.
He snatched it anyway.
“Are you out of your mind?” I snapped.
He walked away.
Of course he did.
Why answer a question when you could simply become the problem?
I didn’t see him again until I was summoned to the vice principal’s office during physical education.
“Come in, Mrs. Zoe.”
“Nei- ... Ahem. Aria Zoe,” I corrected automatically. “Zoe is fine.”
She gestured toward the chair opposite her desk.
“Your behaviour has been disappointing. You’re an excellent student. Why are you becoming careless? If this continues, your section could be changed. Please remember the value of your scholarship.”
My stomach tightened.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She pointed toward a basket.
“Take your notebook.” I looked down.
The cover was translucent with water. Ink had bled across the pages, swallowing my neat notes in blue-black stains.
My throat tightened.
I’d spent hours writing those notes.
“Someone found it damaged,” she said. “You may leave.”
I reached for it.
Then I turned to the last page.
Beneath the ruined ink, a sentence stood in handwriting that wasn’t mine.
I read it once.
Then again.
My fingers went cold.
Because I knew that handwriting.
And whoever had written those words knew something about me that nobody should have known.
