The moment Lucille Clinton walked into the party, loud, mocking laughter erupted innthe room. Everyone turned to look at her. She might have felt proud if they were admiring her, but they weren't. Their stares were full of mockery, not praise.
She stood still in the crowded hall, surrounded by classmates. But even though they were all students, she knew she didn't belong there. The difference between them was clear. They were from rich, powerful families. The elite pack called the 'Executive Pack', while Lucille was from the lowest ranked pack, the omegas, known as the 'Commoners'.
If they had only whispered behind her back, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much. But they wanted her to hear them. They wanted to see her heart break.
"Did she time-travel to the medieval age to steal that dress?" a girl shouted, followed by loud laughter.
Lucille heard every word. Her hand tightened around her dress.
"She looks like a clown. That dress is a disaster!" another voice mocked.
"My maid wouldn't even wear that at home!" someone else added with a cruel laugh.
Lucille held her chest like it could stop her heart from breaking. But she didn't cry. She lifted her chin and walked forward, quietly searching for her seat. Just like everyone else, she had a seat too.
Lucille never wanted to go to the party. Deep down, she already knew how it would end. But her mother, like always, had gently pushed her.
"It's your final year party, you should go," her mother had said softly, walking into her room with a dress in her hand.
"Look at this," she had smiled, spreading the dress out with pride in her eyes.
"I wore this in my final year too. I always believed I'd have a beautiful daughter one day, so I kept it for you," she said with joy, but Lucille could see the sadness hiding behind her smile, the pain her mother never spoke of.
Not wanting to hurt her mother, Lucille accepted the dress. She wore it with pride, for her mother's sake, and left for the party.
Truthfully, if she had another dress, a better one, she would've worn it instead. Her classmates weren't wrong, the dress was old. The style was outdated. It didn't look anything like the new, fashionable ones others wore.
Still, she tried to ignore their cruel words as she walked forward, eyes searching for her seat.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her card. Seat 76. The party was for their class only. There were only 56 students in the class. Her number wasn't just last, it was way beyond the list. A clear sign she'd been pushed aside. Obviously, guests were given preference before her.
"Punk," a girl hissed, shoving her lightly, causing Lucille to stumble.
It was always like this, bullying, insults, every single day.
She looked around and finally found seat 76. But someone was already sitting in it.
She stopped in her tracks, frozen. Her hands tightened by her sides. She didn't need anyone to tell her this was planned. Just another way to humiliate her.
Mustering the courage, Lucille walked quietly to the seat and said softly, "Hello, this is my seat," as she showed her card.
But before she could say more, someone snatched the card from her hand. She turned quickly to see who it was, but before she could react, a hard push came from behind.
It happened so fast, that she lost her balance and fell heavily to the ground.
The room burst into cruel laughter. No one came to help. No one even cared.
Her chest tightened. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry, not in front of them.
Just as she tried to stand up, a cold liquid splashed on her skin. The strong smell of alcohol hit her nose. She shut her eyes, swallowing her pain, trying to hold it all in.
She pushed herself up again, but before she could fully rise, someone yanked off one of her shoes.
Lucille had learned how to endure. Her mother always told her, 'endure, no matter what'. So, she did. She pulled off the other shoe by herself and stood up barefoot.
She looked up, and there he was. Mark Anderson.
He stood in front of her, holding her seating card, a proud smirk on his face. His eyes were full of disgust.
Lucille's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"Can I have my card?" she asked. Her voice was calm, steady, even after all they had done.
"And if I don't give it to you?" Mark said arrogantly, his tone thick with pride.
"What will you do, punk?" a girl sneered, walking up beside him. Without warning, she poured the wine in her glass all over Lucille's head.
The liquid ran down her face, cold and sticky. Lucille shut her eyes again. Her heart felt heavy, but she kept her pain hidden. They would never see her break.
Slowly, Lucille opened her eyes. A small, bitter smile rested on her lips.
"I don't need the card anymore," she said quietly, then turned to leave.
But just as she took a step, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"You're not supposed to be here. Don't you know that?"
That voice, filled with pride and cold mockery, stabbed straight into her chest like a thousand tiny spears.
She turned slowly, already knowing who it was.
Edward Jones.
As always, he stood tall with an air of arrogance around him, like he owned the world.
"Do you see anyone like you here?" he mocked, walking closer.
Lucille stood still. She didn't flinch. Her eyes stayed on his face, studying every feature like it was the first time she'd truly looked at him.
"You're too dirty to be here. Too disgusting," Edward said sharply, his words meant to wound.
But they didn't. Not this time.
Lucille already knew the truth, she wasn't one of them. She was a commoner. They were elites.
This university wasn't meant for people like her. The school was filled with rich students who could afford the high fees without blinking. But Lucille had earned her place, not with money, but with hard work. Her grades brought her here.
"I'm a member of this class," she said, her voice firm, steady. "And I deserve to be here."
Edward's eyes narrowed. "Then I can choose to send you away."
He looked around, his shoulders raised in pride. And the crowd roared in agreement, ready to cast her out again.
Lucille stared at him for a moment, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Is that all you know how to do? Raise your shoulders high when your head is empty?"
Edward froze. The whole room went silent. Did she just insult Edward?
The chants stopped. The laughter died down. Slowly, the students got to their feet, inching closer, wanting a clearer view of what was happening.
For four long years, Lucille had taken every insult, every shove, every cruel word without saying a thing. She had always stayed quiet. But now, she had finally spoken, and no one expected it.
"Edward Jones!" she called, her voice ringing through the room. "What else do you even do, other than showing off money you didn't work for?"
Her voice was filled with fury, from the agony she had swallowed for so long.
The party was already ruined for her, if it had even started. But she wouldn't leave quietly. Not this time.
They had graduated. After today, they'd all go their separate ways. She wouldn't see most of them again. But before she left, she wanted to make something clear.
She would leave with the scars, but also with her pride.
She wanted them to remember that she didn't stay silent forever. That she stood up, even if it was just once.
Edward blinked, caught off guard by her sudden boldness. He didn't know what to say.
"Shut up!" someone shouted from the crowd.
Lucille didn't turn. She didn't care who said it. Her fight wasn't with them, it was with Edward.
Finally finding his voice, Edward laughed, loud and in mockery.
"I flaunt my family's wealth," he said. "What do you flaunt? That dress from the Stone Age?"
The hall erupted with laughter again.
"Or a shoe begging for mercy?" Edward added, and the girl raised the worn out shoe for everyone to see. The crowd burst into louder laughter.
"Or a family that stink of poverty," he said again, and the crowd cheered him on.
Lucille raised her brows, then scoffed loudly.
"You're right, Edward Jones," she said, walking closer to him until her face was just inches away from his.
"I do show off those things. But you forgot one thing." She paused, her voice firm.
"I show off my brain too. You said I don't belong here. But my brain brought me here. What I scored in one semester, you couldn't even score in four years, not you, not anyone here."
The crowd went quiet instantly. She hurled the insult at all of them, and it came so suddenly that they couldn't react.
"I'm not supposed to be here, right? But I'm better than all of you. I got in with merit. I was given a scholarship I didn't even apply for, because I earned it. Because I'm better!" she shouted, eyes burning with anger.
"And now I'm graduating with a first class. 5.0 GPA. The next person has 3.51. You, Edward? You have 3.02!" she screamed.
Edward's hands curled into fists. His face grew cold.
"You only think you're better because you have money and power. But I can get that too, someday. And you know what?" She turned slowly, looking around at the silent crowd, their faces frozen in shock.
"You will never have my mind, my intelligence, or my kind of brain," she said with a short, taunting laugh, then looked straight at Edward again.
"And you know what, Edward Jones? Today, in front of this whole crowd. The same people who bullied me, mocked me, and humiliated me under your orders and while you watched...."
She glanced at the crowd, a smug smile on her face. Then her eyes locked back onto Edward.
"I, Lucille Clinton, daughter of the late Phillip Clinton who died a pauper, and Veronica Clinton, who still lives, a pauper, reject you, Edward Jones, as my mate!"