A/N: People are out of control, especially men. Many women, instead of standing by their fellow women, do the greatest harm by digging an even deeper hole for them. It's as if we're not all women, as if the same things couldn't happen to us one day. Femicide, harassment, and rape cannot be normalized. Those who commit these acts should either be imprisoned or confined to a mental institution. No mother should have to cry just because someone's mental state isn't right. Take care of yourselves. I want you to know that not even the smallest detail in Stella's story is exaggerated. You might think, "What kind of fiction is this?" But I've written and continue to write this story, inspired by the news I've read and watched, and by what's happening around me, all while feeling extremely angry. I hope you are all safe and well.

The days hadn't yet been bagged. Her mother always said that to Stella when she saw her trying to get everything done in one day, but when it came to herself, she wouldn't go to bed until her work was finished. Stella had actually spent a pleasant afternoon with Flora and Helia, but her mind had already started to dwell on the classes she hadn't attended. Throughout the whole trip, she tried to hide her preoccupation with her studies, but eventually, Flora misunderstood, thinking that Stella didn't want to spend time with them, forcing her to explain. Flora, feeling both relieved and considerate, assured Stella that she'd get the notes from their classmates and send them to her, easing some of Stella's worries. Yesterday, she had already skipped school, wasting a day. Tomorrow was the weekend, and it would be better for her to reduce the number of days she missed. But now, with ballet classes looming over her, her mind was somewhat occupied with Ryan, who behaved inappropriately. Stella had tried to avoid him every time he approached her, making up excuses, but her success was limited. The man had no fear, normalizing his harassment in front of everyone's eyes as if it was part of ballet itself. She could no longer stomach it; she simply couldn't digest it. People were losing control, and every day it seemed they were testing her patience, making her question how she could possibly survive.

As she opened the door to her house in haste, she immediately shut it and leaned her back against it. The process of entering the house had become another stressful ordeal. Her mother not being home again was normal this time; she should have woken up from her nap by now and gone back to her office. Stella had lost track of how many hours Luna slept in a day, but she knew her mother really needed help. When Stella headed to the kitchen and picked up her measured glass, she instantly filled it with water, adding a slice of lemon without fail. Even if it wasn't an iron deficiency, no one could expect her to drink water without that slice of lemon.

She drank the water so quickly, before the lemon could even release its aroma, which she realized she had swallowed her own words, but she didn't care. Her headache, already present from thinking about Brandon, worsened with the thirst, so she had no choice but to resort to the easiest solution. She berated herself for letting Brandon occupy her mind again, closing her eyes in frustration as she pressed her hands onto the counter, performing her habitual act of rising onto her tiptoes and stretching by swaying side to side. There was no need for another shower today—she was clean. The moment she doubted that, she would immediately throw herself under the water, but for now, she swiftly went to her room to change into something comfortable—a pair of short sweatpants and a white tank top with small sunflowers on it. Although it was getting freezing outside, the inside of the house was always warm, thanks to Luna's insistence.

While Stella was preparing popcorn and cold coffee, she didn't neglect her ballet stretches. Finally, with her snacks in hand, she walked to the living room, already knowing what she would watch. During this season, Gilmore Girls was the perfect choice. She started the episode and began nibbling on her snacks when her phone's vibration caught her attention.

"AM I REALLY THAT DUMB TO THINK THEY'RE DATING?"

Frowning, Stella clicked on the message and was redirected to the site her school had created—a wannabe Gossip Girl—causing the popcorn she had just popped into her mouth to fall back into the bowl. Pictures of her and Brandon covered the entire site, and as she read through the comments and captions beneath each photo, she felt her stomach tighten. Her eyes glittered with rage as she placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and continued scrolling. Yet, instead of calming down, her anger doubled, no, tripled, making her even more furious. The comments were either insulting her or making disgusting remarks about her body. Almost all the hateful comments came from girls, while the below-the-belt comments were from boys.

"Am I nothing but an object?" she muttered angrily, throwing her phone onto the couch as she tilted her head down, causing her hair to fall in her face. She took deep, slow breaths, trying to prevent another panic attack. People had lost their minds. People were truly insane. Attacking others helped them forget their own problems, and these comments gave them pleasure. But what if Stella had been weak? What if seeing these comments had made her feel the need to harm herself? How could they not think of that? Even though she didn't want to cry, a panic attack was no fantasy. Her body was trembling more, and her vision was blurring. She knew these were fear-induced tears, but it didn't make her feel any better. She needed to stay calm and take control of the attack. "Damn it, damn you all." She shook her head from side to side, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. Just as she managed to calm down, her phone vibrated again, this time repeatedly. Reluctantly, she reached for it again.

"DID BRANDON MAKE A BET OVER THIS GIRL OR SOMETHING? WHY IS HE STILL HANGING AROUND HER? THEY'RE DATING, BUT THEY DON'T EVEN KISS! LOL."

Laughing emoji, tongue-out emoji, angry face emoji, hand gesture, another hand gesture, followed by several symbols of anger and disbelief. Her eyes darted over the screen as she clicked on another post, waiting for it to load.

It was under the title "STELLA'S LIST". And on the list… She jumped to her feet and began pacing back and forth, her eyes widening in fear. The list contained the group of guys who'd come after Stella the moment Brandon backed off. Not one by one—no, a group. What kind of thing was this?! If she wanted, her mother could easily get the site shut down and throw these people in jail, but Luna was already worn out, dealing with the underground mafias, almost to the point of collapse. She definitely didn't want to add this to her burdens. Biting her lip, she hesitated, then hit the share button. She couldn't think about it—if she thought for even a second, she'd back out. Knowing that, she forwarded the list to Brandon without a second thought. She had seen him briefly today, and Brandon had left, saying he had practice all day. They were preparing for the first interschool basketball game, and he made it clear he didn't want to be disturbed, but Helia seemed perfectly free. Had Brandon left school too?

When her phone vibrated in her hand, she glanced down at the half-lit screen and tapped the box with Brandon's name.

"What's this?"

What does he mean, "What's this?" What did it look like? Did he really not know? Was this the first time something like this had happened? Oh, what an honor, how proud she must feel.

"I think it's the list of people waiting for me the moment we break up."

Her reply was sharp, but Stella had actually toned it down. She bit into her lip, trying to calm herself, but it was pointless. She could forget every bad school, bad boy, and toxic environment movie she'd ever watched—this situation she was in was worse than all of them.

"Where are you?"

Should she give him her exact location, or just say she wasn't at school? She wasn't sure, but she gave both answers to get out of the dilemma.

"Get ready, I'm coming."

Stella shot up, looking around in confusion, unsure of what to do. It wasn't as if she didn't know why she didn't want Brandon to come. After all, she had neighbors too, and she was well aware that people noticed Brandon coming and going more than her own mother. She had to be conscious of what everyone thought and said. She thought about messaging Brandon, telling him not to come, but that would only make him show up faster. Sighing in resignation, she hurried to her room, throwing on black jeans and a white long-sleeved pullover. She quickly applied a bit of powder and blush to add some color to her face. She liked doing her makeup, but for some reason, she didn't feel like getting ready at all. After applying lip balm, she grabbed her black denim jacket, knowing she'd likely get cold, and headed back to the living room. She tidied up a bit, tossing her half-eaten popcorn and cold coffee into the kitchen. But she was growing irritated that Brandon hadn't shown up yet.

As if sensing her frustration, a message came through, letting her know he'd been waiting at the door for the past five minutes. She rushed to the door, slipped on her short black UGGs—the ones everyone judged but couldn't deny how comfortable they were—and stepped outside. Brandon continued smoking, not bothering to lift his head as she glanced around to make sure no one saw her and quickly approached him. She froze when she noticed the cigarette, keeping her distance. Brandon raised an eyebrow at her in a questioning, irritated manner.

"What?"

"If I wanted to smell like smoke, I'd switch my scented candles from vanilla to tobacco. Could you please put out that cigarette and throw the butt in the trash, not on the ground?"

Brandon stared at her for a second, genuinely questioning if she was serious, then, as if he hadn't heard her, kept smoking. Cigarette prices were sky-high, after all. If he threw away half a cigarette, how could he ever appreciate the value of money? For Stella, this was nothing short of suicide. The less you love yourself, the more you smoke. After all, if cigarettes showed on your face and eyes the way they affected your lungs and liver, half the population would quit out of fear for their appearance. Huffing, she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms against the cool air, while Brandon gave her a slow once-over and spoke with a blank expression.

"You didn't attend your classes."

This time, it was Stella questioning if he was serious. Her nerves were already frayed enough without him looking down on her.

"I had ballet class, so what?"

Taking one last breath, Brandon threw the cigarette butt to the ground, almost as if on purpose, but with the same expressionless face. Stella clenched her teeth. If Brandon hadn't interrupted her just in time, they'd be here all night, arguing about the harm he was causing to the environment.

"How do you expect me to protect you if I don't know where you are? You think I'm going to get a divine message telling me what's happening to you?"

He wasn't exactly wrong. Stella could agree with him on that, but the way he said it was all wrong. If he didn't correct his tone, it wouldn't take long for their disagreement to escalate into a full-blown war.

"There's something called a phone, you know? Ever heard of it?"

As Brandon pushed himself off the motorcycle and started walking toward her, Stella, fighting the urge to back away, stood firm, waiting for him to approach. With his towering height of almost two meters, it was normal for him to look down on her, but despite being 1.76 meters herself, Stella felt a strange irritation at how small he made her feel.

"Don't speak to me with your nose in the air, blondie. I'm not going to beg you to let me protect you. So either stay where I can see you or stop complaining about what happens to you."

She could've expected anything—anything—but she hadn't expected to feel hurt. As her eyes began to fill with tears, caught between anger and pain, Brandon froze, staring at her in shock. She could only read his surprise through his eyes, but even that gave her some satisfaction. She'd managed to catch something in him, no matter how small.

"Are you implying that I deserve what I've been through?"

Oh, fuck. For the first time, he wanted to take back his words, but he held himself in check, continuing to look her in the eyes without breaking his stance.

Her outfit was just casual—jeans, a blouse, a jacket. Her hair fell in waves to her shoulders, as usual. But to Brandon, she looked as if she'd spent hours getting ready, dressed in the world's finest fabrics, and he couldn't help but be amazed. He was also irritated. There was something about Stella that affected him deeply. And even though that effect was unfamiliar, Brandon had already done things under its influence that didn't suit him. Including what he'd done to Axel—pure cruelty. But he had lost his mind. Every time he thought of the bruises on Stella's skin, his rage towards Axel grew, making him take things further than he ever imagined. Even he couldn't believe what he'd done, but he'd done it. Axel had lost it, and Brandon had just stood there and watched. The worst part? He'd enjoyed it. He'd lit another cigarette and watched as Axel screamed, trying to rid himself of the swarm of bugs and reptiles crawling over him.

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

He couldn't have said that—he wasn't that much of an asshole. No woman deserved to be treated that way. He'd been raised with enough decency to know that. That's why he had no regrets about Axel. Because at least now he knew Stella could enter her own home without fear. It eased his conscience.

"But you need to be more careful. You should know that by now."

Stella turned her gaze away, biting down on her trembling lip. Brandon cursed internally, already starting to regret making her feel this way. He didn't know how to fix it, so the silence between them grew awkward. After a moment, Brandon turned and headed for his motorcycle, quickly putting on his helmet and handing the one he'd brought for her to Stella.

"Put it on."

As Stella walked over, Brandon thought he'd have to insist, but to avoid more interaction, she took the helmet, even though she didn't like it, put it on. When she climbed onto the bike behind him, swallowing her pride and wrapping her arms around his waist for safety, Brandon had to stop himself from sighing. He had no idea what he was being tested with, but whatever it was, he wasn't handling it well.

"Where are we going?"

She was surprised she'd even asked, but she was grateful for the helmet hiding her expression. Brandon glanced at her in the mirror, and although only her nose and eyes were visible, she still looked breathtaking. His nerves relaxed, and he shook his head slightly before speaking in a clear, firm voice.

"To announce that you belong to me."