Elsa's POV
The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood echoed through the gym as the cheer squad practiced their new routine. Elsa wiped sweat from her forehead, her ponytail bouncing as she landed a flawless cartwheel.
"Perfect as always," Anna teased, clapping as she jogged over with a water bottle in hand.
Elsa smirked. "You should keep up, Anna. Can't have you slacking before senior showcase."
Before Anna could retort, a group of girls from the squad leaned in, whispering loud enough for them to hear.
"So… did you hear?" one girl said, smirking. "The new guy—Adrian Rivers—picked Irene as his partner in chemistry."
Another squealed. "I almost died when I heard that! Of all the girls in the class, he chose her."
Elsa raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The girl shrugged, feigning innocence. "Nothing. Just… Irene isn't exactly the type boys like Adrian usually go for. He's… mysterious. And she's, well… the quiet A-student."
Anna's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk like you know her. Irene doesn't throw herself at people like you do. That's what makes her different."
The group giggled, but Elsa gave Anna a playful nudge. "Relax. They're just jealous. Irene's not chasing him, and that's probably what makes Adrian notice her more."
Anna huffed but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Still, I don't like people gossiping about her. She's not even here to defend herself."
"Yeah," Elsa said thoughtfully, glancing toward the bleachers. "But admit it… you're curious too."
Anna rolled her eyes, though her silence said enough.
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Angel's POV
The bell above the Walker family café door chimed, letting in a gust of warm Los Angeles air. Angel greeted the customer with her usual bright smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She poured steaming coffee into a paper cup, her hands trembling just slightly.
"Rough day?" the man asked kindly as he paid.
Angel forced a laugh. "Just busy. Always busy."
The moment the customer left, she slipped behind the counter, pulling a small silver flask from the pocket of her apron. She unscrewed it with practiced ease and tipped back a quick sip, sighing as the burn steadied her nerves.
When the café quieted later, Angel retreated into the back room. She sat on a wooden stool, pulling an old, half-burned photograph from the drawer. Her fingers traced the faces in it—faces younger, happier, untouched by the storms that had followed.
"I thought I left all this behind," she whispered, her voice thick. "Why won't it let me go?"
Her hand shook as she took another drink, staring at the photo until her vision blurred. She shoved it back into the drawer when she heard Jerry calling from the front. Plastering on another smile, she returned to the counter, hiding the cracks in her armor as best as she could.
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Mr. Blackwood's POV
The Blackwood estate was silent that night, its grand halls dimly lit by lamps. Mr. Blackwood sat in his study, the heavy oak desk before him covered in neatly stacked papers. A phone rested in his hand, his tone clipped but firm.
"You're returning tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yes," Mrs. Blackwood's gentle voice came through the line. "I'll be home before evening . It's been too long."
His shoulders eased slightly. "Good. Adrian needs you."
There was a pause. "What's wrong?"
"He's distracted," Mr. Blackwood said, rising from his chair to pace the room. His sharp gaze caught the reflection of his stern face in the window. "This move was supposed to be a reset. But he still looks at the world like it owes him something. Like he's free to waste his potential."
"Or maybe," she said softly, "he's just trying to be a normal teenager for once."
Mr. Blackwood's jaw tightened. "He doesn't have that luxury. You know what's at stake. He must learn discipline. Control. The pack cannot follow a boy who cannot master himself."
There was silence on the other end before Mrs. Blackwood's sigh came through. "You're too hard on him. He's our son, not just an heir. When I return tomorrow, I'll speak with him."
His grip on the phone loosened slightly, but his voice stayed firm. "Make him understand. He cannot fail again. The pack is watching. Our family's legacy depends on it."
As the line clicked dead, Mr. Blackwood remained at the window, staring into the night. His reflection stared back at him, eyes hard with worry and determination.
"He must be ready," he whispered to the empty room. "Too much rests on his shoulders."
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