Chapter 4: The Distance Between Us

Ariana had never felt so hollow.

She sat in class, staring at the blackboard, but the words meant nothing. All she could think about was the look on Leila's face—the shock, the hurt, the betrayal. The girl who once welcomed her into her world now looked at her like a stranger.

But what choice did she have?

Her family had made it clear: Leila was beneath her. If she broke the rules again, there would be consequences.

Leila, on the other hand, burned with anger.

For weeks, she had defended Ariana to the others. When people called her a spoiled rich girl, Leila had laughed and said, She's different. But now? Now, she felt like a fool.

If Ariana wanted to pretend she didn't exist, fine.

Two months passed, and the gap between them grew wider.

Leila stopped waiting outside the estate. She stopped looking for Ariana in the hallways. She stopped caring. Instead, she threw herself into school, making new friends, finding new distractions.

But fate wasn't done with them yet.

One afternoon, the school announced a mandatory fundraising gala. Every student had to attend—rich or poor. It was an annual event where the wealthiest families showed off their generosity while the scholarship students tried not to feel like they didn't belong.

Leila hated it.

Ariana dreaded it.

The night of the gala, Ariana arrived in a sleek, ice-blue gown that shimmered under the grand ballroom's lights. Her mother had dressed her like a doll, her hair curled to perfection, her jewelry sparkling like stars. She looked untouchable, unreachable.

Leila, on the other hand, wore a simple black dress—borrowed, a little too tight, but it didn't matter. She refused to feel small, even as she stood in a room filled with people who barely acknowledged her existence.

Then, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke, their eyes met across the ballroom.

Ariana's breath hitched.

Leila's lips curled into a smirk. But it wasn't the warm, playful smile Ariana remembered. It was sharp, unreadable.

Ariana wanted to say something, to explain, to fix everything. But before she could move, a voice cut through the air.

"Leila, dance with me."

A tall, confident boy had stepped beside Leila, holding out a hand. He was Damien Blackwell—rich, arrogant, and the heir to a powerful business empire. He was the kind of boy who had never looked twice at a girl like Leila before.

But tonight, he did.

Leila hesitated, then took his hand. If Ariana wanted to keep her distance, fine. Two could play this game.

Ariana watched, feeling something strange twist inside her.

And just like that, the distance between them wasn't just emotional anymore.

It was a battlefield.