Page 32 of Twisting Beauty

She said it loudly enough for the people nearest us to hear. She flicked one glance over her shoulder toward Lorcan.

This was a performance, not a conversation.

Then she turned back to me with that brittle little laugh of hers and laid a manicured hand on my arm as if we were old friends. “You’ve always been so refreshingly odd, Rua. It’s honestly charming. We’re feeling generous today, and there’s space at our table.”

Did she really think I was eejit enough to fall for that? She didn’t give a damn about me. This was all theater for Lorcan’s benefit.

“Thanks,” I said, keeping my voice calm and cool, “but I work better alone.”

Her smile held for one second too long, then hardened at the edges. “You should take this opportunity. We don’t extend invites twice.”

I sat there with every bad option laid out in front of me.

I could almost hear Deargán’s infuriating voice in my skull. Blend in. Don’t draw attention. Don’t make enemies.

One wrong move could collapse everything. My cover. Dervla’s freedom. The whole bloody point of me being here.

Then I looked at Aoife’s gleaming smile and those venomous eyes, and the restraint I had been forcing into place all morning slipped.

Screw this. I had spent the whole day swallowing humiliation. I was not going to choke down hers as well.

“Good,” I said. “Then I won’t have to talk to you again.”

Color flooded her cheeks and the gasp that escaped her lips was echoed by her little disciples.

“You’ll regret this,” she hissed, and the promise in it sounded real enough to raise the hairs along my arms. Then she turned on her heel and stalked back to their table with Ciara and Emer trailing after her, shooting venomous looks back at me over their shoulders.

They dropped into their seats and bent their heads together at once, their whispers moving fast and sharp.

Lorcan was still watching me. His stare stayed fixed on me with a dark, unwavering intent that made my pulse kick harder. Approval flickered there, but it came wrapped in something uglier and more dangerous. Something almost possessive.

“You’ll be handling highly corrosive agents today.” Dr. Powell called out, and the room quieted under the clipped authority in his voice. “I suggest you pay attention.”

The door crashed open with enough force to rattle the glass jars.

Nuala stumbled in with her arms full of books and loose papers, her hair escaping from her band, her worn satchel hanging half off one shoulder, contents threatening to spill across the floor.

“Sorry, sir,” she panted.

The professor glared at her over his glasses. “Take a seat. Now.”

She made for the nearest empty chair and dropped into it with a breathless apology, only for my stomach to turn when I saw exactly where it was. Right beside Aoife.

Aoife recoiled in theatrical disgust and turned just enough for the room to hear her properly. “God, this place really lets in anyone now.” Her voice came out bright and cutting. “Tell me, Charity Case, did your mammy scrub the right floors for your scholarship, or did she just polish the right knob?”

Her friends laughed. Someone snickered.

Nuala’s face burned crimson, her fingers clutching her books like a lifeline. Her shoulders drew in at once, but she kept her chin up, making the cruelty land even harder.

Rage blazed through me, white-hot and all-consuming. Every nerve screamed at the injustice, but I dug my fingers into the edge of the bench and forced myself to stay seated.

“Pipe down,” Powell snapped. “Pay attention. Some of these acids will melt your flesh before you can scream.”

I fixed my attention ahead and tried to focus on the professor’s instructions.

The attempt lasted seconds. Elias kept looking over with the slow interest of someone waiting for the next bit of fun. Aoife sat back, glowing with the satisfaction of a girl who thought she had already won. Nuala kept stealing uncertain little glances my way.

Throughout all of it, Lorcan’s attention stayed locked on me, pressing against my skin like a physical touch.