The wind cut sharp that morning, minus 13 degrees, the schoolyard frozen in silence. Frost clung to every brick, every railing, as if the whole place was holding its breath.

Then a black car slid into the principal’s parking space, tires crunching over ice. Doors creaked open. Out stepped the new girl.

Pink heels.

A pink jacket.

A smile too calm for someone walking into Ashthorne High.

The Hell Belles spotted her first. Seven girls built on violence and reputation, hungry to make an example of her. They dragged her behind the school, certain they’d send her home crying.

But she didn’t cry. She didn’t even blink.

She smiled.

By the time it was over, the Hell Belles were no longer feared.

That fear belonged to her now.

The whispers started that same day, sharp and terrified:

The Devil in Pink Heels.

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