Karoline had always been the sweet one.
Pretty, polite, well-dressed. A smile for everyone. A secret for each.
That was the trick, wasn’t it? Play innocent, and no one ever suspects you’re the one pulling the strings.
But lately, the strings were starting to tangle.
She sat in the art room alone, her fingers stained with charcoal. In front of her: a half-finished sketch of Isabel’s face. The eyes were perfect—sharp, defiant, and sad.
“Why can’t I stop drawing you?” she whispered.
The room was empty except for the echo of her question.
Pearl noticed first.
“You’ve been... off,” she said as they walked through the garden path behind the dorms.
Karoline kept her gaze ahead. “Everyone’s off. It’s the weather.”
Pearl raised an eyebrow. “It’s not the weather. It’s Isabel.”
Karoline stopped. “She’s... confusing.”
“No,” Pearl replied quietly. “She’s a mirror. She’s making everyone see who they really are. And not all of us like what we see.”
Karoline didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because deep down, she knew it was true.
Later that evening, Samantha confronted her.
“You used to talk about loyalty,” Samantha said, arms crossed in their shared dorm. “But now you just follow Rose like a shadow and stare at Isabel like you’re in love with her.”
Karoline snapped, “I’m not in love with her!”
Samantha didn’t flinch. “Then why do you always choose her over yourself?”
That hit harder than expected.
Because Karoline had always chosen survival. And survival meant choosing Rose. But lately, Rose felt more like a storm than a shield.
Meanwhile, in the basement archives of the school, Isabel and Adam uncovered something they weren’t supposed to find.
The room was filled with old boxes and dust-coated files, forgotten by time. Isabel lit a small flashlight.
“This is where they keep the real secrets,” she said.
Adam opened a cabinet marked “INTERNAL DISCIPLINARY – CONFIDENTIAL.”
He flipped through papers. Most of it was typical: cheating, vandalism, drugs.
But then—
“Isabel,” he said. “Look at this.”
He handed her a folder. Inside were disciplinary records from five years ago. A name stood out.
Rose Whitmore – Suspended, sealed incident, psychiatric referral.
Isabel stared at the paper, then at Adam.
“She’s been hiding more than just insecurity,” she whispered.
Then she pulled out another folder. This time, the name hit harder.
Karoline Dune – Academic probation, behavioral manipulation tactics flagged.
Adam looked at her.
“What the hell is this school?”
Isabel’s expression hardened. “A place full of masks. And I’m about to rip every one of them off.”
Back in her dorm, Karoline stared at her reflection.
Then, slowly, she took off her earrings. Her rings. Her perfect makeup.
She let her hair down.
She studied her bare face—raw, stripped, unknown.
And then, for the first time in a long time, she whispered something to herself she hadn’t dared admit:
“I don’t want to be her anymore.”
The storm wasn’t coming.
It was already here.
And no one was ready for what Isabel would do next.
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