Chapter 81: Silent Accusations
We walked the rest of the way to class in silence. Not tense silence—not the kind where I was bracing for her next line of fire—but the kind where she was clearly turning something over in her head. Which, honestly, was worse. Because Celestia thinking too hard usually meant trouble for me.
We slipped into the room just before the stragglers. I took the seat beside her, setting my bag down, pretending to go through my notes. That’s when I felt it. The weight of her stare.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes. "...What?"
Her head tilted, a single brow arched. "Don’t tell me you feel bad for her."
I blinked. "Who?"
She just kept staring. No flinch. No blink. Just those sharp, knowing eyes of hers locked on me like she could peel the answer straight out of my head.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "...Okay, maybe a little."
Her mouth curved—not a smile, not exactly. More like she was amused I even tried to dodge. "You’re terrible at lying."
"I didn’t lie," I defended weakly. "I just... didn’t say anything."
"That’s the same thing," she countered instantly, tone smug.
I gave her a look. "It’s not the same thing."
"Babe, it’s literally the same thing." She tapped her notebook with her pen like she’d just solved an equation. "You wanted to protect her feelings even though she’s been gunning for me since day one. Adorable. Wrong, but adorable."
I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "Look, it’s not like I’m running to her defense. I just—she looked wrecked. And I don’t like seeing anyone wrecked. Even if it’s her."
Celestia’s lips pressed together. She stared down at her notebook for a long second, tapping the pen again. Then, softer than I expected, she said, "That’s exactly why I love you, you know."
I blinked, caught off guard. "...What?"
She glanced sideways at me, eyes glinting. "Because you’ve got that stupid soft heart. Even when it’s inconvenient."
I couldn’t decide if it was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, so I just muttered, "Thanks... I think."
Her smirk returned. "Don’t think too hard. You’re not built for it."
"Wow," I said flatly.
She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice just enough so the chatter around us didn’t catch it. "Don’t worry. I’m not mad. I don’t want to argue about her." She rested her chin in her hand, eyes still on me. "I just needed to know where your head was at."
"You already knew," I pointed out.
"Of course I did." She smirked, unapologetic. "But hearing you say it is way more fun."
I rolled my eyes.
For a moment, it was quiet again. She doodled something absent-mindedly in the margin of her notes, I pretended to reread yesterday’s lecture slides. Then, as if the thought had just jumped into her head, she asked, "By the way... have you seen Marina today?"
I looked up. "No. Not yet."
Her brows pulled together slightly. "Hmm."
I tilted my head. "Why?"
She shrugged, feigning casual, but her tone betrayed the tiniest bit of curiosity.
"She usually catches me in the morning for our little girl talk—you know, two minutes of gossip before class starts. And she hasn’t today. Which is... weird."
I snorted. "Maybe she overslept."
Celestia side-eyed me. "Marina? Oversleep? Please. That girl could be on fire and she’d still show up to class with lip gloss and an essay already proofread."
I laughed quietly. "...You’re not wrong."
She tapped her pen again, staring at her notes like they might offer a clue. "It’s just not like her. Maybe she’s sick?"
"True" I muttered " People do get sick."
Her eyes flicked to me, suspicious. "You’d tell me if you knew something, right?"
I raised my hands defensively. "I have no Marina intel, Val. Swear on my Duchess"
That earned me the tiniest twitch of a smile.
Before she could reply, the door swung open, and the room shifted instantly. Professor Ramos stepped in, a stack of books tucked under one arm, his glasses slipping down his nose as he scanned the class. Conversations died, notebooks opened.
Celestia sat back in her chair, twirling her pen lazily between her fingers. But I caught it—the way her eyes flicked back at me one last time before fixing forward, as if to say this isn’t over.
And I knew it wasn’t.
---
Lunch should’ve been normal.
We had our trays, we had our usual spot by the window, and I had her sitting across from me with her hair half falling out of its clip like it always did by this point in the day.
The cafeteria buzzed around us—clinking trays, half-shouted laughter from the football guys across the room, someone dropping a soda can with a fizzing pop that made a couple heads turn. Just background noise. But between us? Quiet.
Not the comfortable kind though.
Because her fork scraped a slow line through her mashed potatoes. Circles, then straight lines, then a little mountain she leveled down with the back of her fork, like she was building and destroying cities in her head. She hadn’t even taken a real bite yet.
I stabbed a piece of chicken and chewed, watching her without saying anything. I’d learned better. Val wasn’t the type you could force answers out of. She’d get there when she got there. And once she did, once she’d pieced through every corner of whatever thought was in her head, she’d tell me. Always.
So I waited.
Sure enough, her eyes flicked up, sharp and thoughtful in that way that always meant my peace was about to end.
"Or maybe," she said suddenly, "it’s connected to why Trent looked at you that way this morning."
I froze mid-bite. "What?"
She leaned back in her chair, fork clinking against her tray like a gavel. "The glare. He looked at you like you kicked his puppy, remember?"
I swallowed, frowning. "Didn’t argue with him. Didn’t even talk to him."
"Mm." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "As in you didn’t, or as in you’re pretending you didn’t?"
"I didn’t," I said, more defensive than I wanted to sound.
That smirk of hers tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You’re guilty about something."
"I’m literally not."
Her fork lifted like she was pointing at me. "Then explain the glare. Go on. I’m waiting."
I ran a hand over my face. "Val—"
"No, really. Think about it." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes locking on mine like she had me pinned to the chair. "Marina’s not here. Weird enough, since she told me yesterday she’d definitely be around. Trent? He was planning to ask her out this week. He told us."
"Where’re you going with this?" I frowned.
"Marina’s missing. Trent’s glaring at you. Something definitely happened." she said breezily.
I shook my head. "That’s... reaching."
Her fork tapped her tray again. Tap, tap, tap. "You think so? Maybe she rejected him. And maybe he thinks it’s because of you."
I let out a laugh, short and disbelieving. "That’s ridiculous."
"Is it?" Her brows rose, the glint in her eyes sharp as glass. "You’re her closest friend. Everyone knows it. You two are practically glued together. If she turned him down, don’t you think he’d assume it’s your fault?"
I tried to roll my eyes, but my hand stilled halfway to my drink.
And she saw it. Of course she saw it. Her smile spread like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse. "See? You’re already thinking it."
I muttered, "Maybe. But why would Trent be mad at me? Shouldn’t he be mad at her?"
"Exactly," she said. "He should. But pride doesn’t work like that. Pride wants an easier target. And congratulations, husband, you’re it."
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. The noise of the cafeteria swirled around us again, but it felt muffled compared to her stare.
"You really are too suspicious sometimes," I said, trying for casual.
"Or maybe I’m just right." She leaned back, victorious.
Silence settled between us, heavier this time. She finally pushed her tray away, untouched food abandoned. My stomach tightened a little—she hadn’t been eating much all week.
"So what do we do?" I asked quietly.
She didn’t hesitate. "Call her."
I stared. "...Now?"
> "Yes, now."
Her tone was so firm it wasn’t even a question. She might as well have handed me the phone herself.
I dug mine out, thumb hovering over Marina’s name in my contacts. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail.
My throat tightened.
Celestia’s fork stilled mid-spin of her noodles. Her gaze flicked up, unreadable at first, then sharper. "Try again."
I did. Same result. Straight to voicemail.
This time, when I looked up, her expression wasn’t sharp anymore. It was unsettled. And that scared me more.
"She always picks up," she whispered.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Always."
Her hand dropped her fork with a small clatter. She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, chin resting on them, her eyes locked on mine. "This doesn’t feel right."
I wanted to say something, anything to cut the edge in her voice. But the truth was I felt it too. Something off, something invisible pressing down on us in a cafeteria full of noise.
We sat like that, the both of us not touching our food anymore, just staring across the table at each other while the world moved on around us.
"And I thought to myself, maybe the scariest part wasn’t Trent’s glare or Marina’s silence—maybe it was the what ifs Val had planted in my head. What if she was right? What if Trent really thought Marina rejected him because of me? Or worse... what if it was true?"
---
To be continued...