Their Mistake, Her Rise - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"Oh wow, she told us to get lost. I'm so scared," Cheryl said with a dramatic eye roll. "You want to attend this class? Well, I'm not letting you."
Then she took a step forward and tried to slam her shoulder into Zoe. But Zoe simply turned to the side, dodging it with ease.
Cheryl stumbled, nearly losing her balance—she wasn't used to that. Wine tasting was her thing. Physical stuff? Not so much. She barely managed to stay on her feet.
Embarrassed and fuming, Cheryl shot Zoe a glare. Everyone had seen her almost fall. She was about to yell when her eyes caught something—just above Zoe's wrist, a faint red mark.
"Cheryl, are you okay?" Eunice rushed to steady her.
But Cheryl had that look—like she'd just uncovered some dirty secret. She lifted her chin and smirked. "Well, well, Zoe," she said loud enough for the whole class. "So this is who you really are."
Everyone looked confused.
"What do you mean?" Eunice asked, pretending to be curious.
Cheryl pointed at Zoe's left wrist. "It's almost a hundred degrees out. We're all in shorts and tees. But she's covered up head to toe. You wanna know why? Because she's hiding something—hickeys."
There was a beat of silence. Then someone gasped. The thought of Zoe coming from some poor, rural place made it worse. People started whispering, imagining the worst.
"Oh my god," Eunice suddenly shouted. "Wait... Zoe, were you, like, a prostitute?"
She slapped a hand over her mouth like it slipped out, but her voice had carried loud and clear.
Herbert didn't know what the others thought—but he and Jacob? They bought it. All of it.
They already hated Zoe because of her ice-cold character and her arrogance. If she'd just acted sweet or humble, they might've left her alone. Strong women rarely got sympathy.
And with Eunice fanning the flames, Herbert now looked at Zoe like she was something rotten. "You disgust me," he said.
"What's going on here?" A voice cut through the noise. A woman in a crisp, tailored suit walked in through the doorway. It was Lucille Woodard, the wine tasting instructor. "Why don't you let the new girl in?"
Lucille was one of the top sommeliers in Clusia—not as famous as Zack or Lilian, but still highly respected. Seeing her only made Cheryl more eager to destroy Zoe.
"Ms. Woodard," Cheryl explained, "You probably don't know, but Zoe's from some tiny village in the middle of nowhere. I heard she used to live on the streets and do... questionable things for money.
"I just saw a hickey on her wrist. We think she might've been, you know, for hire. Like, with old men. Whips. Candles. The whole thing. She could be carrying something—diseases. We can't share a classroom with someone like that."
"If you don't believe me," she added quickly, "just ask her to roll up her sleeve. Show us the mark."
The students started shouting, caught up in Cheryl's storm.
"Yeah, show us!"
"She probably has something nasty!"
"We can't study with someone like that! The school should kick her out!"
Faced with the crowd of protesting students, Lucille hesitated. She didn't know the full story, but she did know one thing—every student in Highcrest University came from wealth and power.
And in the honors class? That influence was tenfold. She couldn't afford to offend them.
Awkwardly, she glanced at Zoe. "Zoe, I want to believe you're a decent girl," she said, trying to sound gentle. "But maybe... just show them. Clear up the misunderstanding."
Herbert was livid. His voice was like ice. "Zoe, you'd better think carefully before you refuse," he said, tone sharp and threatening.
If the rumors were true, the Evans family name would be dragged through the mud. They'd become a laughingstock in Jelonsburg.
Under the weight of so many eyes and accusations, Zoe scoffed. From the crowd, she could even feel Eunice glaring at her with disdain.
When they were kids, Eunice had done everything she could to drive Zoe out of the Evans family. Now, she was doing it again—this time trying to drive her out of Highcrest University.
However, it had been thirteen years. Eunice was still the pampered princess of the household. But Zoe was no longer the helpless girl she used to be.
"Sure." Zoe flashed a cold smile. "Since you're all so desperate to see... I'll show you. I just hope none of you have nightmares afterward."
The students laughed at her inwardly. 'Nightmares? Over some hickeys and bruises? Yeah, right.'
Everyone—Cheryl, Eunice, Herbert, Jacob, even Lucille—stared at her, unblinking.
And then, without hesitation, Zoe rolled up her sleeve. Her wrist was crisscrossed with scars—some faint, some still angry and red.
But these weren't love bites or marks from some sadistic lover. They were cuts. Bullet grazes. Wounds layered over wounds, old pain and fresh pain etched into her skin like a twisted tapestry.
Together, they formed a pattern—sharp and brutal, yet oddly elegant. A deep crimson mark bloomed across her wrist like a rose in full bloom. Not ugly. No. It was hauntingly beautiful.
No one knew that Zoe, under the codename Firefox, had once walked through hell in the world's most brutal war zones. These scars weren't something to hide. They were her medals. Her legacy.