Her Fall

Ann woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual, and for once, she didn’t feel the crushing weight of dread pinning her to the mattress. Her body felt light, her mind—clearer than it had been in days. The morning sunlight filtered softly through the thin curtain, warming her face. It was rare to wake up like this. Peaceful. Almost… normal.

She dressed quickly, slipping into the first pair of baggy trousers and oversized shirt she could find—comfort over fashion, as always. After a fast shower and a bowl of cereal with milk, she grabbed an apple from the fridge and headed to the bus stop. She caught the bus without having to sprint, a small victory that lifted her spirits even more.

By the time she reached campus, her feet had barely touched the ground. But as she stepped through the gates, that unfamiliar sense of peace began to waver.

She stopped just before the main entrance and ducked behind one of the large stone pillars. From her hiding place, she watched students flood the campus like a tide, chatting and laughing, their voices merging into a hum she couldn’t decipher—but she felt the tension tighten around her chest all the same. It was happening again. Whispers. Looks. Fingers pointing, subtle but sharp.

She told herself to breathe. In and out. Count backwards from ten. But her feet refused to move.

You can do this, she whispered internally. One step. Just get through the gate.

Finally, with a shallow breath, she peeled herself from the pillar and stepped into the hallway.

And there it was—an invisible wave of attention that crashed into her all at once. Dozens of eyes flicked toward her. Voices lowered, but the glances sharpened. Laughter erupted from one group and died suddenly as she passed. Her name was on their lips. Stories. Rumors. Lies. Their version of the truth and it sickened her.

“Is that her?”

“That’s the girl from Craves, right?”

“I heard she—”

“She fainted at work last time, too, didn’t she?”

“Yes, that’s true. I heard about it, poor girl”

Ann kept her eyes forward, pretending she didn’t hear, pretending her stomach wasn’t coiling into knots. Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every part of her screamed to run—to hide—but her legs felt like they were wading through water, too slow, too heavy.

Her hands were trembling. Her throat closed in on itself. She struggled to inhale. Her chest was tight, lungs refusing to obey. The world around her started to distort—the hallway warped, voices echoing in a strange, hollow way. Black spots flickered in her vision. Her fingers grew numb. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her.

No. Not here. Please not here. Please, please, not here.

She tried to steady herself, pressing her back against a cold wall for support. Her lips moved in silent desperation.

“Not here, please. Don’t let me collapse here. Not in front of all these people. Not in front who’s waiting for my fall please. Where is Judith?” she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “ Judith? Oh Judith doesn’t have class till one… she’s not here… who else—”

She couldn’t breathe. Her vision pulsed. Her body began to sway.

And then, everything tilted.

She fell forward, bracing herself for the cold, hard floor—only… it never came.

Instead, she landed against something firm, warm. Strong arms caught her before gravity could finish what it started. She was being held. Cradled.

A soft voice murmured in her ear—words she couldn’t fully grasp, but their effect was immediate. Soothing. Anchoring. Her breathing slowed. The panic dulled. The black dots faded slightly.

The noise around her—mocking voices, sneers, whispering—melted into a low hum. She felt the person’s heartbeat beneath her cheek. It was calm. Steady. Grounding. Her body sagged into the embrace.

It was… comforting. Safe. And strangely familiar.

She inhaled deeply—there was a distinct scent. Masculine, expensive, like aged wood, spice, and something rich and clean. It didn’t smell like Judith. Judith smelled like rosewater and lavender.

Wait.

Judith wasn’t taller than her. Judith wasn’t muscular. Judith didn’t wear cologne that probably cost more than their rent.

Her eyes fluttered open.

No. It couldn’t be.

She pulled away slowly, her knees still shaky, and raised her head.

And there he was.

Rex Radford.

The very last person she expected—or wanted—to see holding her in a moment like this.

Words died on her lips. Her throat locked. Gratitude tangled with horror and disbelief. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even blink. Her hand instinctively reached for her backpack, which had fallen to the ground in her episode. Grabbing it, she bolted down the hallway without another word.

Behind her, gasps echoed.

Avirina watched the entire scene unfold with a jaw-tightening glare. Her minions clustered behind her, equally speechless.

She stormed forward.

“Rex, baby?” she cooed with venom-laced sweetness. “Why would you help her? She’s so ungrateful. Did you see that? Couldn’t even say thank you after you embarrassed yourself to save her! That bit—”

He walked away.

Didn’t even look at her.

Didn’t say a word.

The humiliation hit her like a slap.

She stood frozen for a second, fists clenched at her sides. Then she spun around and barked at her friends, “Let’s go. Now.”

The hallway buzzed in murmurs.

Had Rex really just helped Ann? Rex Radford—the son of a billionaire, the man who humiliated her at Craves, the golden boy who’d never so much as flinched at another’s suffering—had caught her like she meant something?

Rex, now walking with his usual circle of wealthy, entitled friends, was lost in thought. His expression unreadable.

He’d stayed up most of the night reviewing the file—her file.

He had paid for a thorough investigation. Not because he cared. At least that’s what he told himself. But what he read… what he saw… it changed something. Her childhood. The system. The homes. The betrayals. The recorded abuse. What about the hidden one? Those that didn’t get the privilege to be recorded? The scars she never showed. She had buried her past so deeply, most wouldn’t have suspected a thing.

He had. And now he couldn’t look at her the same way again.

He didn’t understand it—why it mattered. Why her shaking in that hallway, gasping for breath, felt like a punch to his own gut. But it did.

He exhaled slowly and pulled out his phone.

“I need her friend’s number,” he texted his investigator. “Judith.”

If he couldn’t be the one to comfort her, maybe he could get someone who could.

Because whether he liked it or not, Ann Adorabele wasn’t just some girl with a secret name anymore.

She was becoming something more.

And that terrified him.