(The aftermath of the dance. Envy turns to sabotage. And one of them pays the price.)
Sunday Morning
Kade had never woken up smiling before.
Not like this.
The echo of her warmth still lived in his arms. Her laughter—too loud during that one fast song—still rang in his ears. Her lips had pressed to his cheek as they left the dance, slow and soft and sure.
He'd survived the night.
He'd even enjoyed it.
For once, he didn't feel like a ghost watching the world live.
He felt alive.
He felt chosen.
When he walked into school on Monday morning, he expected whispers.
What he didn't expect—
Was silence.
Dead. Cold. Strategic silence.
Eyes moved past him like he didn't exist again.
But this time, it wasn't ignorance.
It was design.
Viera
She noticed it too.
The shift in air pressure.
The invisible current of hostility crawling under the floor tiles.
Something had changed.
And not just in the way people looked at her and Kade now.
Something planned.
Orchestrated.
She wasn't surprised.
She was disgusted.
At lunch, she opened her locker and paused.
A note, folded neatly, sat on top of her books.
No name.
She opened it with one hand, eyes already narrowed.
Inside: a single sentence written in jagged, rushed pen.
"Hope your freak breaks again."
She didn't cry.
She didn't storm.
She just closed her locker and smiled.
And when she turned, her eyes were already calculating.
Kade (Later that Week)
It started small.
His locker, jammed shut every morning.
Sticky notes that said "loser" or "freak bait."
Someone slipped ketchup into his backpack, ruining his sketchbook.
But he didn't snap.
Not once.
Because he knew.
This wasn't about him anymore.
This was about her.
Someone wanted to hurt her by going after him.
Soft targets break easier.
They thought he was still soft.
They were wrong.
But one afternoon, after sixth period, he stepped into the art room early.
The lights were low.
No one was supposed to be there yet.
And then—
CRACK.
A metal pipe slammed across his back.
He hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of him.
His head smacked the floor. The sketchpad in his arms flew into the air.
His vision blurred instantly.
Then—
Footsteps.
Three pairs.
One voice.
Logan.
Of course.
"Think you're a big man now, huh? Walking around with her like you're worth something?"
Kade didn't answer.
Didn't move.
But that only made it worse.
Logan kicked him in the stomach.
Twice.
Someone else laughed.
Then spit on him.
Then another blow—this one to the ribs.
He bit his tongue trying not to scream.
He thought maybe this was it.
Again.
But this time, something different happened.
This time—
The door creaked open.
A voice rang out.
"Hey. Drop it."
Everyone froze.
It was Mr. Hemley.
The janitor.
An ex-cop.
Old, wiry, quiet.
But dangerous when needed.
Logan didn't fight.
He just dropped the pipe and fled with the others.
Kade lay there gasping, chest burning.
And even as Hemley called for help—
He didn't cry.
Not this time.
Because this time… he knew who would come.
Viera (That Night)
When she got the call, she didn't scream.
Didn't sob.
Didn't panic.
She just… froze.
And then, quietly, to no one in particular, she said:
"They're going to regret this."
The hospital visit was brief.
Kade didn't need stitches.
Just ice, bandages, rest.
His ribs were bruised, not broken.
But when she saw the fresh wounds—
Something dark moved in her.
And something bright shattered.
She sat beside his bed, holding his hand.
And for the first time, she spoke not like a girlfriend, or a cheerleader, or a teenage girl.
But like someone about to end a war.
"You don't have to fight them," she whispered.
"I already started."
He turned his head. Winced. "Vi…"
"No." Her voice hardened. "They don't get to do this again."
She pulled out her phone.
Opened a folder labeled:
REPAYMENT.
Inside were dozens of pictures. Screenshots. Voice memos. Recordings.
She had receipts.
Of everything.
Logan's secret parties.
Underage drinking.
Coaches covering for athletes.
Cheerleaders stealing tests.
Even a video—grainy, but real—of the beating last time. She'd found it, traced it, stored it. A backup on her cloud. On her email. On a flash drive hidden in Kade's closet.
Insurance.
Leverage.
Warheads.
"I didn't just date you," she whispered, brushing a hand over his cheek.
"I studied them. I've been watching. Planning. Since the first bruise."
Kade's eyes burned.
Not from pain.
From love.
"Vi…"
"Yes?"
"…You're terrifying."
She smirked. "Told you. I'm not just pretty."
End of Chapter 12
Next: Chapter 13 – Queen's Gambit