Chapter 13

Seraphina

It starts with the dress and heels; the next day it was a scarf. Soft, velvet, in a deep wine color, with intricate patterns of gold thread running through it. I don’t even bother to take it inside my room, just leave it lying there on the floor outside my door as I pass by. Not really my style.

The next day, there’s a jewelry box. Small, wooden, and polished to a smooth shine, with a small gold charm bracelet inside. I don’t need more trinkets. I’ve got too many as it is, most of them left untouched in drawers at home, gifts from people who think they know me. I don’t even look at the card anymore. Just drop it where i left the scarf.

I could feel it then—how the guys were looking at me in class, when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. I catch the quick glances, the looks that linger for a little too long. Damon, Marius, Tyrone. They're getting frustrated. I can tell. But I won’t give them the satisfaction. Their little game? It’s transparent. I know exactly what they’re doing. I can already guess what will show up next. Something extravagant.

I’m not wrong. The following day, a hand-painted portrait of me. A ridiculous idea, one I know comes from Tyrone’s overly intricate mind. It’s beautiful in a way, but it’s not me. It’s not who I am. It’s just his version of me, captured in his idealized, art-obsessed imagination. I can almost picture him standing there, hover over the artist, trying to capture his study of me like i was some kind of masterpiece.

It’s out of the room before I even have a chance to look at it too long. I don’t care if someone else takes it, either. I know someone will. The gifts will disappear by the time I come back. It doesn’t matter. They can take them for all I care.

They think I’ll bite. They think I’ll break, eventually. And, maybe many, many months ago, I would have. But I’m not falling for their game. I’m too smart for that. I know what they’re trying to do—trying to get me to soften, to let my guard down. To feel like I owe them something. But I don’t.

If they think I’ll change my mind by throwing these things at me, they’re wrong.

The looks that follow me in class get sharper. More impatient. Marius is always standing just a bit too close when he walks by. Damon’s casual smirks aren’t so casual anymore—they’re challenging, taunting. Tyrone’s eyes… those piercing damn eyes. They don’t hide their frustration anymore.

The worst part? It’s not even that I’m resisting. It’s that I can’t make them understand that I’m not like them. I’m not like the girls who fall for their charm, their games. I’m not interested in being someone’s conquest.

The day after the portrait, there’s a black leather jacket in front of my door. I can tell its high quality, the kind of jacket that costs a small fortune. I roll my eyes and leave it right there. It’ll be gone by the time I get back. And I don’t care.

It’s not like I didn’t notice the looks they exchanged when they saw me ignore the jacket, the portrait, the bracelet. The frustration in their eyes deepens, but there’s no change. They still watch me. Still try to corner me in halls. Still send me things like I’m supposed to be impressed.

I don’t know if they think it’ll break me. Maybe it will, eventually. But not now.

A week goes by. More gifts, more silence. Each day, I open my door and see a new item lying on the floor outside, each one more extravagant than the last. A pair of heels. A watch. A vintage photograph album. More jewelry. A book on rare paintings. I don’t even bother bringing them inside. I’ve already seen the look on their faces when I ignore them. I’ve already decided what they are—empty attempts.

And it’s not like I’m immune to the things they’re sending. I see it all—the intent behind each gift. They’re trying to get to me. Trying to draw me in. But it’s just manipulation, a tactic i have experience with. And it doesn’t work on me.