And when it did come, it would be ready to meet something far stronger than it expected. The first days at Rosewood Hills passed exactly how Jada and Janelle had expected. But that didn't make it any easier to carry. From the moment they stepped into their first class, it became clear that every eye was waiting for them, not with welcome or curiosity, but with cold, quiet judgment. The classroom itself was neat and bright, sunlight spilling across clean desks and shining off polished floors.

But no amount of light could hide the way the students and even the teachers treated them like they didn't belong. Teachers called their names without looking up, their voices flat, their attention already moving on as if the twins were little more than a line on the attendance sheet. In the hallways, the crowd seemed to shift just enough to block their way, forcing them to step aside or move slower, all while pretending it was an accident. It wasn't. They knew it, and the students around them knew it, too.

But Jada and Janelle didn't give them the reaction they wanted. They kept their heads high, moved with purpose, and didn't let the tension force them into a corner. Even when the looks grew longer, and the whispers sharper, they pushed through every day, steady and silent. It didn't take long for Ryan Mallerie to show his face. He wasn't hard to spot.

He acted like he owned the place, walking with a careless swagger that came from knowing the rules never really applied to him. His blonde hair was perfectly styled like he'd stepped out of a magazine. And he wore his uniform like it was a costume, loosening his tie and leaving his shirt untucked to show just how little he cared. "Hey," Ryan called out one morning as the twins crossed the courtyard to their lockers. His voice was loud, confident, meant to grab attention.

His friends gathered around him, laughing already, like they didn't even need to hear the joke to know it would be good. "You two get lost on the way to the servants's entrance?" he asked, his words clear and sharp in the open air. His friends broke out laughing, too loud for the weak insult. But they weren't laughing at the joke itself.

They were laughing at the target. Janelle kept her eyes forward, her face calm, her steps even. She didn't give them the satisfaction of looking back. Jada's gaze flicked to Ryan for just a moment, sharp and steady, but she didn't stop walking either. She saw the smirk on his face, saw his friends nudge each other, feeding off the attention.

"And though her chest tightened with anger, she kept it beneath the surface." They both did, but Ryan wasn't finished. "Guess they don't understand English," he called out louder, making sure everyone nearby could hear. "Maybe we should try speaking their language." What is it?

Jungle talk? The laughter that followed was worse this time. It spread through the crowd, pulling more students in, even ones who hadn't paid attention before. Now they were watching, waiting, some amused, some curious, none of them caring enough to stop it. Jada's jaw tightened, her teeth pressed together, but she took a slow breath, steadying herself.

She could feel Janelle close by, her presence steady, like an anchor keeping her from drifting into the storm Ryan was trying to create. They kept moving. In the days that followed, things only got worse. Ryan's friends, Zach and Brent, stepped up their harassment. They made a game out of bumping into the twins in the hallways, knocking their books to the floor with fake apologies and smug looks that said they knew exactly what they were doing. didn't know they were letting the janitors take classes now," Zach muttered one afternoon as he brushed past.

"Just loud enough for the nearby students to hear." "Maybe they're just here for practice," Brent added with a smirk. "School's got to keep the floors clean somehow. The twins said nothing. They picked up their books, straightened their backs, and moved on.

But with every shove, every insult, the pressure built a little more, like a weight slowly pressing down on them, testing how long they could carry it before it crushed them. What made it harder was the silence from everyone else. No teachers stepped in. No students spoke up. Even the ones who didn't join in just turned away, pretending not to see.

The teachers kept their eyes on their papers or their screens, unwilling to get involved, unwilling to admit that this perfect school had anything ugly lurking beneath its surface. At home, their father saw the signs even though they tried to hide it. Derek Rivers had taught them how to fight, how to defend themselves with skill and control. But he had also taught them to see trouble coming, to recognize the quiet signals that warned of bigger storms ahead. Over dinner, he watched his daughters closely, reading the tightness in their jaws and the heaviness in their eyes.

He didn't ask them directly, didn't push them to speak before they were ready. But when they finally told him, he listened without interruption. You remember what I taught you, Derek said that night, his voice calm, but there was no softness in it. Control is power. They want to get under your skin.

Don't let them. Jada nodded. Her mouth set in a firm line. Janelle matched her sister's determination, though her eyes carried a flicker of frustration that was getting harder to hide. "They're pushing," Jada said.

"Steady, but serious." "Harder every day. They will, Derek replied without hesitation. They think you'll break. They want you to.

And if they don't stop, Janelle asked, her voice just as steady, her meaning clear. Dererick's eyes met theirs. And in that look, there was no hesitation. No doubt. Then they'll find out you're not the ones who break.

His words hung in the air like a quiet promise, one the twins carried with them into the next day and the days that followed. Letting it sit just beneath the surface of their calm expressions, they walked through the halls of Rosewood Hills with their heads high, knowing it wasn't a question of if things would escalate, but when. And that moment was coming fast. The days bled into each other, each one colder and more unforgiving than the last. as if the walls of Rosewood Hills had tightened around Jada and Janelle little by little, squeezing just enough to remind them that this place was never meant for them, and every passing hour felt like another test of how much they were willing to endure. They had kept their heads high through the staires and the whispers, through the cheap insults, and the forced laughter of students who had long since learned that cruelty was rewarded here, not punished, but beneath their calm surface.