Chapter 5: The Marble and the Mark

That’s right, I did it on purpose.

I straightened my shoulders, pride swelling in my chest. Savannah girls didn’t take bullying lying down.

My Parker family might not compare to the Governor’s, but I, Annie Parker, am not someone to be bullied so easily.

We may not have inherited mansions or trust funds, but grit and stubbornness ran in our blood. I knew how to defend myself.

Her falling into the lake was a little trick of mine.

A move learned after years of dealing with mean girls and overzealous cousins at summer barbecues. I kept my expression innocent, but inside I glowed.

No one saw the small marble I flicked from my sleeve. It clicked against the stone path, just where Lillian’s heel would land—a tiny, satisfying sound.

A trick borrowed from my younger brother’s bag of pranks. The marble rolled just where Lillian would step, and she never saw it coming.

But at that moment, I felt a piercing gaze on my back.

It prickled like ice. Someone was watching—really watching. I braced myself.

I turned and felt a chill run down my spine.

Marcus stood not far away, one hand behind his back, lost in thought.

He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes gave nothing away. I wondered if he’d pieced it all together.

Careless. I shouldn’t have shown off in front of him.

I cursed myself. Showboating never led anywhere good—not in front of someone who noticed everything.

In my dreams, I often boasted to him about my skills and self-defense classes.

Funny, how I always wanted to impress him—even when I was asleep.

But Marcus said nothing and walked away.

His silence felt like a verdict. I sagged with relief when he turned his back.

The commotion ended with Lillian being pulled from the water.

She sputtered, drenched and furious, hair plastered to her cheeks. The crowd broke into nervous laughter, a few sympathetic, most not.

Some debutantes, unwilling to give up, sent someone to ask Marcus if he’d taken a liking to any of them.

I caught snatches of whispered conversation, eyes darting my way. The rumor mill spun faster than a fan in July.

Marcus, usually so reserved, actually answered seriously.

The room went still, everyone straining to hear. Even the crickets outside seemed to hush.

"I don’t care about family background. Only whether I like her."

His words hung in the air, heavy as Spanish moss. I felt my stomach flip.

"She’d better have some skills, and not be too delicate."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Skills? Not delicate? Every girl sat up a little straighter, nerves on edge.

"I don’t want a useless vase."

Ouch. A couple of girls bristled, but most just wilted, the hope draining from their faces.

When these words reached the debutantes, they all sighed in despair.

The sound was collective, mournful, and more than a little theatrical. I hid a grin behind my hand.

Some looked down at their waists—thinner than their arms—and nearly fainted from crying.

One girl actually dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief. Another pressed her hand to her chest, as if the world had ended.

I pretended not to hear.

I busied myself with my phone, scrolling mindlessly, doing my best not to gloat.

But just as I was leaving the Sterling estate, someone shouted,

"Annie Parker, you know self-defense, don’t you? Isn’t Marcus talking about you?"

The words rang out across the drive, louder than the cicadas. All eyes snapped to me, suspicion and envy swirling.