HIDDEN REFLECTIONS

TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LEAH'S POINT OF VIEW

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In the dimly lit room, my gaze dances around the yearbook, desperate to avoid locking eyes with the haunting photograph of myself. Attempting to preserve an air of normalcy, I feign composure, concealing the inner inferno threatening to reduce me to mere ashes.

Theodore cradles the yearbook, its pages whispering secrets, and my heart quickens as I notice the deliberate absence of my name—a calculated omission, that must have been orchestrated by Theodore himself. A chilling realization settles in; he's aware of who I am.

Enzo's voice breaks through the tension, punctuating the room with an attempt at levity. ❝You guys look so pissed,❞ he remarks, leaning in, his finger tracing the faded expressions of his friends frozen in time. His eyes lands on Draco, shaking his head in jest, yet my mind, consumed by anxiety, hardly registers Draco's irritated demeanor.

The room swirls with a cacophony of laughter and conversation, but my senses falter; my ears ring relentlessly, drowning out the world around me. Struggling to discern my friends' banter, I almost miss their cues, the laughter that demands my participation. I force a smile, a mere reflection of their joviality, masking the turmoil raging within me like a tempest confined to a fragile vessel.

In this very moment, I attempt to muster reassurance, a fragile shield against the encroaching dread. It's all a coincidence, it has to be. I repeat it a few times, a futile mantra to ward off impending disaster. Engrossed in tormenting juniors, I silently hope they won't divert their attention and notice me in the book.

Pansy's slurred words suddenly cut through the room like a chilling draft, her finger landing unceremoniously on the page, bridging the chasm between her world and mine. Her languid sprawl over mine and Theodore's lap acts as an anchor as she refuses to leave her spot on the couch.

❝Oh, this was the girl I was telling you about,❞ she comments, her voice a nonchalant drawl, invoking an intimacy that shatters the sanctuary of anonymity. Her words weave a tapestry of discomfort as she delves into a grotesque evaluation, a surreal commentary on my existence, and the sinister reputation of my brother.

❝Her freak of a brother was lowkey hot, I can't lie,❞ she sighs dreamily. ❝Seems like he got all the good genes though. Too bad he was a murderer. ❞

My heart lurches in my chest, a commotion of beats—hope and dread entwined. It bursts with the weight of realization, then plummets mercilessly, its remnants scattered, bleeding out slowly upon the ground, each drop a painful echo of exposed vulnerabilities.

❝Show me,❞ Mattheo interjects, demanding the book, and Theodore complies, passing the damning evidence—a tome of memories and secrets unveiled—to a waiting audience, unraveling the fragile equilibrium of my world.

Hold my breath, every tick of the clock stretching like an eternity as Mattheo's gaze fixates on the image of me. The weight of his scrutiny feels crushing, and when he finally tears his eyes from the page to meet mine, an ominous certainty grips me— he knows that's me.

This is it, I think internally, bracing for the inevitable revelation as his lips part, seconds from delivering a verdict that seals my fate in their eyes.