Aaron held his champagne glass with steady hands, though inside he felt as if he were balancing on a tightrope over an abyss. The golden liquid caught the ballroom's crystal chandelier light as he watched the two individuals who had just entered—the very people who had made his teenage years a living hell.
Chad Baker and Jane Peterson. Their names alone were enough to make his stomach tighten with memories he'd spent years trying to suppress.
Chad had always been Aaron's primary tormentor, a natural-born predator who seemed to possess an uncanny ability to identify weakness and exploit it mercilessly. The physical abuse had been bad enough—the shoves into lockers, the "accidental" trips in hallways, the shoulder checks that sent Aaron sprawling—but the psychological warfare had been even worse. Chad had a gift for finding exactly the right words to cut deepest, delivered with a smile that made it seem like harmless fun to anyone watching.
Jane, on the other hand, represented a different kind of pain entirely. She had been Aaron's best friend since childhood, the one person who had truly understood him, who had seen past his awkwardness and insecurities to the person underneath. Her betrayal had cut deeper than all of Chad's cruelty combined, because it had come from someone he had trusted completely.
As Aaron's eyes swept the room, more familiar faces came into focus like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle reassembling themselves. There was Andrew Martinez, the class clown whose humor had often come at Aaron's expense. Brittany Williams, the school's gossip queen who had weaponized social media before it was even called that, spreading rumors and half-truths with the efficiency of a professional propagandist. Emma Chen, the academic superstar who had largely stayed above the fray of high school social warfare. Malcolm Torres, another member of Chad's circle who had participated in Aaron's torment with enthusiastic cruelty.
He even spotted a few teachers scattered throughout the crowd—Mrs. Henderson from AP English, Coach Roberts from the gym classes where Aaron had endured public humiliation on a daily basis, Mr. Yamamoto from chemistry who had been one of the few adults to show him any kindness during those dark years.
The reunion was unfolding exactly as Aaron had expected. It was a carefully orchestrated competition to see who could project the most success, who could claim the highest achievements, the most impressive career trajectory, the greatest accumulation of wealth and status. People moved through the room like peacocks displaying their plumage, their conversations peppered with name-drops, salary figures, and property values.
Many were clearly exaggerating their accomplishments, some were outright lying, and others were engaging in the time-honored tradition of sucking up to those they perceived as more successful. Aaron noticed a small cluster of people standing along the walls—the former outcasts, the invisible ones, those who had learned to blend into the background to avoid becoming targets.
But the center of attention was unmistakably Chad and Jane. They held court like royalty, surrounded by admirers and hangers-on eager to bask in their reflected glory. Chad wore a suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, and his Rolex caught the light whenever he gestured. Jane's dress was clearly designer, her jewelry tastefully expensive, and her entire presentation radiated the kind of confidence that came from never having to question whether she belonged.
They had apparently booked the venue themselves, which explained the lavish setting. According to the whispered conversations Aaron overheard, Chad was supposedly a multimillionaire businessman with his own company, while Jane had built a career as a model and social media influencer. Nothing too major in the grand scheme of things, but impressive enough to cement their status as the reunion's ultimate success stories.
As people began to take their seats around the large circular tables scattered throughout the ballroom, Aaron found himself sitting next to Eric at a table near the back. Emma Chen approached with a slightly apologetic smile.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside Aaron.
"Of course," Aaron replied, standing briefly in polite acknowledgment.
Emma settled into her chair with a small sigh. "This is all so superficial," she murmured quietly, her voice carrying the same intelligence Aaron remembered from their shared AP classes.
"Completely," Aaron agreed, grateful to find someone who seemed to share his perspective on the evening's theater.
"Can I ask you something?" Emma said, turning to face him. "Why did you come tonight? I mean, honestly."
Aaron considered the question for a moment. "You know what? I'm not entirely sure. What about you?"
"Same," Emma admitted with a rueful smile. "I keep asking myself that question."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of more people at their table, and soon the formal part of the evening began. A local DJ started playing music from their high school years, and a slideshow of old yearbook photos and candid shots began cycling on screens positioned around the room.
The questions and conversations flowed as predictably as Aaron had anticipated. People asked about careers, families, achievements, and future plans. The more successful someone appeared, the more attention they received, the more questions were directed their way.
Chad was clearly enjoying his role as the evening's star attraction. He regaled the nearby tables with stories of his business ventures, his international travels, his expensive hobbies. Jane chimed in with anecdotes about photo shoots, brand partnerships, and her growing social media following.
Eventually, Chad's attention turned toward Aaron's table. His eyes locked onto Aaron with the same predatory focus Aaron remembered from eighteen years ago, though now it was wrapped in the veneer of adult sophistication.
"Aaron Turner," Chad said loudly enough for several nearby tables to hear. "What have you been up to all these years? What's your line of work?"
The question hung in the air, and Aaron could feel dozens of pairs of eyes turning toward him with curious anticipation. Some faces showed genuine interest, others carried the barely concealed hope for gossip or scandal.
Before Aaron could formulate a response, Brittany's voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Oh, I can answer that," she said with the same malicious glee Aaron remembered from high school. "He's a house husband. Married into money—the Prescott family."
Jane's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose with interest. "Is that true, Aaron?"
Aaron took a sip of his champagne, buying himself a moment to consider his response. "Yes," he said simply.
The reaction was immediate. Several people began to chuckle, some trying to hide their amusement behind their drinks while others made no effort to disguise their entertainment.
"Well, that must be nice," Malcolm chimed in with a lewd grin. "Living off a rich wife. Some guys have all the luck."
But Brittany wasn't finished. She leaned forward with the expression of someone about to deliver a particularly juicy piece of gossip.
"Actually," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the nearby tables, "I heard from a friend who has connections to the Prescott family that Aaron doesn't actually get any money from his wife. Apparently, the whole family despises him, and because of that, they've basically separated him and his wife from the family fortune. They're practically living on scraps."
The laughter that followed was more pointed now, tinged with the particular cruelty that comes from seeing someone else's misfortune. Aaron felt the familiar burn of humiliation, the same sensation he'd experienced countless times during his teenage years.
Emma stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Brittany, you shouldn't talk about people like that. It's none of your business, and it's incredibly rude."
"I'm just being honest," Brittany replied with feigned innocence. "We always knew Aaron wouldn't amount to anything. Some people are just born to be followers, not leaders."
Aaron's grip tightened on his champagne glass as memories flooded back. Brittany had been one of the worst gossips in their class, someone who had elevated rumor-mongering to an art form. She had spread lies about him that had made his social isolation even more complete—claims that he lived in a trailer park, that he scavenged through dumpsters for food, that he had been seen engaging in desperate acts for money. The worst rumor she had ever spread was particularly vicious and humiliating, one that had haunted him for months.
"What do you do for a living, Brittany?" Emma asked pointedly, clearly trying to deflect attention away from Aaron.
Brittany's smile widened with pride. "I'm a model, actually. And I'm about to sign a major contract with Acadia Media Group. It's going to be huge for my career."
At the mention of Acadia Media Group, Aaron felt a slow smile spread across his face. The irony was almost too perfect to believe.
Brittany noticed his expression immediately, her own smile faltering slightly. "What do you think is so funny?" she demanded.
Aaron set down his champagne glass and looked directly at her. "Nothing really. It's just that I own Acadia Media Group."
The statement landed like a bomb in the middle of the conversation. For a moment, complete silence fell over their section of the ballroom. Then, as if on cue, the entire table erupted in laughter.
Jane was the first to recover, her laugh tinkling like expensive crystal. "Aaron, sweetie, just because your circumstances aren't ideal doesn't mean you have to make up stories. We're all adults here."
"Seriously, Aaron," Brittany added, her voice dripping with condescension. "Do you even know what Acadia Media Group is? They're a massive corporation worth billions of dollars. The idea that someone like you—a poor leech living off his wife's family—could own something like that is absolutely ridiculous."
Chad leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. "Come on, man. We get it, the whole house husband thing might be embarrassing, but there's no need to compensate with obvious lies. Just own what you are."
The laughter continued, washing over Aaron like a familiar tide of humiliation. But this time, something was different. This time, he wasn't the powerless teenager who had to endure their cruelty in silence.
Aaron simply picked up his champagne glass again and took another sip, his smile never wavering. Let them laugh, he thought. Let them have their moment of perceived superiority.
They would soon learn just how powerful he had become. And when that moment arrived, he would savor every second of their shock, their disbelief, and their desperate attempts to backtrack from the cruelty they were showing him right now.
The game was just beginning, and Aaron held all the cards.