NOVPUB"You don't sell your friend out because a girl ghosted you. You don't throw them under the bus just to score pity points from someone who barely remembers your name."
Moren twitched.
But Damien wasn't looking at him anymore.
His eyes locked on the girl who'd spoken first—still standing like she was the moral compass of the moment. He held her gaze, then the next one's, then the third.
"And as for you three…"
His lips curved—not in a smile. Something colder. Dry. Like dust.
"That rule doesn't apply to you."
A beat.
"Because your version of friendship," he said, "is showing up with your best lipstick when your friend's boyfriend is in the room."
A flicker. That was all it took. A breath held just a little too long. A shoulder stiffening before the brain could stop it.
"And we all know why."
He let the silence bloom. Let the implications hang there like perfume—sickly sweet, suffocating.
"To me?" He tilted his head slightly. "That's disgusting."
He didn't yell. He didn't raise a hand. He didn't even lean forward.
But the cut was clean.
And the whole room felt it.
The girls stared at him, slack-jawed or blinking too fast—trying to find the words to fire back. But none came. Because everyone knew.
Everyone had seen that exact kind of smile behind a compliment.
Everyone had watched one girl lean just a little too close to another's boyfriend and call it "friendly."
He didn't need to explain it.
He'd already carved it open.
The girl's expression twisted—an edge of frustration laced with the need to reclaim control. Her voice sharpened, volume rising just enough to sway the crowd back in her direction.
"This and that is different," she snapped. "We're just doing that for our own satisfaction, okay? We're not hurting anyone. We're not trying to tear people down."
She stepped forward slightly, gesturing toward Moren without looking at him.
"But you? You're standing here, belittling your own friend, publicly humiliating someone who once stood by you. To me—and to most people here—that's the disgusting part."
It landed with enough force to draw a few quiet murmurs from the crowd. She had struck where she thought it mattered. Hit where she assumed there was guilt.
And Damien?
He exhaled through his nose, lips twitching.
Then—he laughed.
Not loud. Not theatrical.
Just a tight, short burst of breath through a closed mouth—like he was trying not to laugh too hard in church. His shoulders shifted slightly, his head tilted as if trying to politely suppress the amusement overtaking him.
The room froze again.
Then he spoke.
Low. Steady.
"You like playing moral police over this class so much…"
His eyes cut back to her, sharp now, glinting with something just under the surface. 𝓷ℴ𝓿𝓅𝓊𝒷.𝓬𝓸𝓂
"…what exactly were you doing when this guy," he gestured lazily toward Moren, "was standing there five minutes ago, spitting mocking words in the open?"
A beat. Her mouth opened slightly—but nothing came out.
Damien didn't give her time.
"Where was that righteous compass then?" he asked, voice casual, almost inquisitive. "Where were your delicate ethics when he called me arrogant, accused me of hiding, tried to drag my name through the dirt while you three laughed along?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed—not with rage, but with that dry, razor-glint curiosity.
"Or do your morals only apply to some people?"
The silence thickened.
His voice dropped to a soft hum, biting without needing to raise an ounce of volume.
"If that's the case… we have a word for people like you."
Another pause.
Then his lips parted just slightly, and he said it with a soft, precise cruelty:
"Hypocrite."
Damien's expression didn't shift much, but there was a new gleam behind his eyes now—like someone who'd found the final piece of a joke he'd been building toward.
He let the silence thicken a little more.
Then:
"Ohhh," he said, voice dropping into a dramatic falsetto, hand pressed mockingly to his chest. "Oh my god, what are you doing? You're not allowed to say mean things! That's different!"
He paused, letting the tone drip, twisting it once more with exaggerated disbelief.
"But we were just doing it for our own satisfaction!"
He dropped the act like a curtain falling, his real voice cutting through.
"That's your problem. Right there."
He looked at them now—dead on. Calm. Level.
"You're allowed to do it. But the second the same rules apply to you, suddenly it's outrage. Suddenly it's injustice. Suddenly it's 'How dare he?'"
He stepped once more into the open, no longer bothering to pretend he was just defending himself.
"That's why it's better," he said, voice steady and final, "to keep your noses out of places they don't belong."
A flicker of movement passed through the group, one of the girls shifting her weight uncomfortably—but Damien wasn't done.
"Not everyone's going to tolerate you," he said, tone tightening. "Just because you put on a bit of makeup and learn how to perform sympathy for the right crowd."
He took one slow breath—measured, grounded.
"But here's the thing. Sooner or later, you're going to run out of people willing to buy that pity. Or worse…"
He let his eyes settle cold and sharp on the center girl—the one who had snapped first, the one who still held onto her anger like a crutch.
"…you'll come across someone who doesn't give a shit about the crowd you appeal to."
His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Now take a wild guess what category I fall into."
Silence.
This time, real silence.
The kind that lingers even after a line is delivered. The kind that lives in the eyes of the people who suddenly realize they might've picked the wrong fight.
Damien stood still in the center of the storm he'd pulled into silence, the weight of his words still echoing through the cracks he'd opened.
Then his eyes narrowed—just slightly.
No more smiles.
No more civility.
Just the sharp, quiet edge of a blade drawn too long across skin.
"So," he said, voice flat now. Cold. "Stop being a bitch seeking attention thinking you're something."
The girl's eyes widened—shock, maybe. Offense. But she didn't speak.
He stepped once, slow and deliberate, the final nail in a conversation that was never meant to be fair.
"Go sit in your little charade. Go play your social theater with the rest of the background extras. Just don't bother me again."
His words didn't rise in volume.
They didn't need to.
"Neither you, nor any so-called knight in shining armor can do anything to me."
His gaze flicked across the room. Daring anyone to try.
No one moved.
"And we both know that."
He let it settle.
Until—
A sharp voice cut clean through the air like a blade through frost.
"That's enough."
Isabelle Moreau stood now. Still near the front, still composed—but her voice cracked with force, her posture radiating authority that didn't need to shout.
All eyes turned.
Even Damien's.
And for once, his expression softened. Just slightly.
No mockery. No smirk.
Something close to… acknowledgment.
Respect.
She stepped forward, calm but precise, her gaze landing first on the girls who had instigated everything, still half-frozen near Moren.
"You three," she said. "Sit. Down."
The command wasn't barked. It wasn't dramatic.
But it carried weight.
The girls hesitated, faltered—then obeyed, sinking back into their seats like deflating balloons.
Then Isabelle turned to Moren.
"And you, Moren," she said, tone sharpening. "If you can't handle someone's words without escalating into theatrics, then maybe you're the one who hasn't changed at all."
Moren flinched, red-faced and silent.
"And Damien—"
Her voice didn't rise. But it cooled.
"—I don't care what history you have with them. That kind of language, that level of public humiliation? It ends now."
The room held its breath.
Damien met her gaze.
Then slowly—deliberately—he dipped his head.
A half-bow. Not sarcastic. Not performative.
Polite.
"Understood, Rep," he said smoothly. "Apologies for the disruption."
His voice lacked any of the usual bite. No smirk. No rebellion.
Just cool civility. Like a soldier acknowledging rank.
Isabelle studied him for a moment, as if gauging whether it was genuine—or just another trick.
He met her stare without flinching.
And she nodded once.
"Good. Then let's move on," she said firmly, turning back toward the front.
