Lyla

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The grand hall gleamed with a golden light from the chandeliers, casting a warm glow over all of us.

Soft music from a corner mingled with the gentle hum of our conversations.

I could practically smell the aromatic dishes—roasted meats, seasoned vegetables, etc. 

Wine fountains bubbled, filling crystal glasses as we laughed, sneaking sips with playful glances at each other. 

Adjusting the hem of my gown, the soft fabric shimmering faintly in the light. It was a shade of pale lavender, with silver embroidery that glinted like starlight.

My mother had insisted it was perfect for the occasion, though I found it a little too extravagant for my taste.

Still, appearances mattered in these circles, and I knew better than to argue.

"Lady Lyla, you look radiant tonight," a smooth voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see Cedric, a boy from my class, bowing slightly as he offered his hand.

His blond hair was neatly combed, and his smile was practised to perfection.

"Thank you, Cedric," I replied with a polite smile, ignoring his extended hand. "You're too kind."

He hesitated for a moment, his smile faltering, before he hit at me again. "Will you honour me with a dance later?"

"Perhaps," I said noncommittally, knowing full well I had no intention of doing so.

He was persistent, but I'd learned how to navigate these interactions without offending.

Cedric bowed again and drifted away, no doubt to try his luck with another girl.

As I watched him go, my gaze wandered across the hall.

Groups of students stood together, their laughter and chatter filling the spaces between the music.

Some were gathered near the food, others danced gracefully in the centre of the room.

And then there was Noah.

He'd entered quietly, almost unnoticed, slipping into the hall like a shadow.

His ink-black hair caught the light as he moved, but his eyes remained downcast, avoiding the curious stares of our peers.

He was dressed impeccably in an outfit I could only guess his grandmother made him wear.

After all, he never was the type to dress up for anything.

No one approached him. Not a single person. He lingered near the edge of the room, away from the laughter and the music, a solitary figure in a sea of revelry.

My chest tightened as I watched him, a flicker of guilt stirring within me.

Noah D. Romero. A noble in name, but an orphan in reality.

Everyone had heard rumours of his clan disowning him—whispers of his "weak constitution" and the struggles of being unable to gather enough funds for an Integration.

They said he was cursed, unworthy of his family's name. And while I didn't believe in such superstitions, I couldn't deny the effect they had on him.

He'd been a quiet boy for as long as I could remember, keeping to himself and rarely speaking unless spoken to.

It wasn't that he lacked intelligence or charm; in fact, he had an understated elegance that some might even find intriguing.

But his isolation had made him a target.

His so-called friends didn't just tease him; they bullied him relentlessly, hiding their cruelty behind polite smiles and hollow laughter.

"Taking care of him." That's what they called it. As if their actions were some twisted form of tough love, a way to "toughen him up."

It was disgusting. But I… I… didn't intervene.

I'd convinced myself it wasn't my place, that getting involved would only make things worse for him.

After all, what could I do? I was just another classmate, another noble trapped in the rigid hierarchies of our world.

I bit my lip, my fingers curling around the stem of my glass. Watching him now, standing there alone, I felt a pang of sympathy.

His situation was tragic, yes.

Losing his parents, being ostracized by his own family, enduring the constant ridicule of our peers…

it was more than anyone should have to bear.

But that was the gist of it, wasn't it? Tragic, but not my problem.

I straightened my shoulders, resolving to maintain my distance. It wasn't just for my sake; it was for his.

If I got too close, if I gave him any reason to hope for something more, it would only end badly.

The last thing he needed was to be publicly humiliated for daring to think he could court someone like me. I… I couldn't do that to him.

And yet…

My gaze drifted back to him. He was standing near one of the wine fountains now, his hands clasped behind his back.

His expression was neutral, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a subtle tension that betrayed his discomfort.

He'd noticed the stares, the whispers. Of course he had. How could he not?

I sighed, swirling the wine in my glass. What was it about him that made it so hard to look away?

It wasn't attraction, I was sure of that. It was something else.

Pity, perhaps. Or maybe a sense of shared loneliness. Despite the crowd around me, I often felt like an outsider too, playing a part in a world that didn't quite feel like mine.

"Lady Lyla," another voice interrupted my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I turned to see Everett, a boy with a sharp jawline and an overly confident grin. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

I forced a smile, nodding politely. "Of course, Everett."

As he led me to the dance floor, I cast one last glance at Noah. He hadn't moved, his solitude untouched by the festive chaos around him.

My heart ached slightly, but I pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the rhythm of the music and the steps of the dance.

It wasn't my place to save him. And even if it were, I wasn't sure he wanted to be saved.

*** 

A/N: Change in POV will be denoted by:

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