3. Adrian Montclair

I’ve always admired Adrian Montclair, though I never expected to meet someone like him in real life. For me, he was just a ghost on a screen, a myth almost too good to be true. A chessboard in his hands was like an extension of his mind. Every of his moves were calculated, deliberate, and unyielding. I would watch videos of his chess matches late into the night, finding solace in the boldness of his moves. I envied that courage, the decisiveness I lacked badly.

Adrian’s reputation preceded him. He wasn’t just a chess prodigy and he was a name that carried fear. A mafia boss cloaked in accurate moves, his world was chaos, yet he remained unshaken with all those storms. Stories about him spread through whispers: the man who turned the tides of power in his favor, a leader feared by his enemies and revered by his own. But what fascinated me the most was how untouchable he seemed. Nothing fazed him; nothing broke him. Meanwhile, I felt like I was cracking at the edges every day.

People called Adrian cold. Aloof. Untouchable. They said he kept his distance because he trusted no one, but who could blame him? If the rumors were true, he carried more enemies than friends, and he never let anyone close enough to know him. What they didn’t know, and what I only discovered much later, was that Adrian’s steely demeanor wasn’t born from power, it was forged in pain.

Adrian’s childhood was far from the gilded one his status would suggest. His parents were violent and destructive, lashing out at the little boy who couldn’t fight back. They treated him like a punching bag for their frustrations, their venomous words leaving scars deeper than the ones on his skin. For years, Adrian endured their cruelty in silence until he couldn’t anymore. One day, he ran away from home. He left behind the house that never felt like home, fleeing into a world that seemed just as cruel.

It was then that he met Viktor Montclair, the man who became his adoptive father. Viktor was a mafia don, a man who was as ruthless as he was brilliant. Under Viktor’s mentorship, Adrian found refuge and purpose. Viktor taught him the rules of the game. It was not just limited to chess, but life itself.

“Life will always consume the weak,” Viktor had said. “You either become a predator or remain prey.” Those words became Adrian’s creed. He built walls around himself, fortifying his mind and heart against anything that might break him again.

And yet, he hadn’t truly healed. He carried his pain like a hidden wound, masking it with cold moves and quiet strength. It was why he excelled at chess, because his every move was a battle, every strategy was a perfect shield. For Adrian, winning was survival. And survival was all he knew.

I didn’t know all of this about Adrian then, of course. To me, he was just a distant figure, someone I could admire without ever meeting. I didn’t even know if he’d ever notice someone like me. But in my darkest moments, his videos gave me hope. Watching him made me believe, even if just for a moment, that I could be brave too. That I could make bold moves and not crumble under the weight of my fear.

But reality always pulled me back down. My life wasn’t like a chessboard; it was a battlefield and I kept losing. Isla made sure of that. She was relentless, always finding new ways to humiliate me. It wasn’t enough for her to steal my friends and reputation. she wanted to crush whatever dignity I had left.

“You should leave this school, Seraphina,” Isla said, her voice dripping with mockery. “You don’t belong here. And if you don’t go, I’ll make sure everyone knows about your mother.”

My heart stopped. She wouldn’t dare. I had tried all my best to suck up to her ever since we got to college, she wouldn’t be so heartless to throw me to the dogs. That was my belief!

“Don’t look so shocked,” Isla continued, stepping closer. “People will find out eventually. They might as well hear it from me, right? How your mother went mad and left you to fend for yourself. How you live every day wondering if you’ll end up just like her.”

I couldn’t breathe. She knew. Somehow, she knew. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was stand there, frozen, as Isla’s words cut through me like knives.

“Leave, Seraphina,” she said again, her voice a sharp whisper. “Before I ruin whatever little pride you have left.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. I hated her. I hated how powerless she made me feel. But what could I do? Isla was right about one thing: I lived in constant fear. Fear of being exposed, of being judged, of being nothing more than the madwoman’s daughter. And now she had the power to turn that fear into reality.

The confrontation ended with Isla walking away, satisfied with her victory. I stayed behind, feeling like the walls of the school were closing in on me. I didn’t know then that someone had been watching. That someone had filmed the entire thing and edited it to look like I had confessed my mother’s illness of my own accord. By the time I found out, it was too late. The video had been posted on the school’s website, and the damage was done.

The comments flooded in, each one more vicious than the last.

"Madwoman’s daughter! Guess we know why she’s so weird."

"No wonder Isla hates her. She’s a freak."

I felt the weight of their judgment suffocating me. My secret was out there, and there was no taking it back. In one day, my world had crumbled even further. I didn’t know how much more I could take, but a part of me knew this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. Not if I wanted to survive.