The alarm blared at 6 a.m., a relentless screech that yanked Emma from the depths of a dreamless sleep. She slapped it silent, staring at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars from her childhood still clung like forgotten wishes. Two weeks since the crash. Two weeks of pretending she was okay. She rolled out of bed, her body heavy, and padded downstairs to the kitchen where Anna was already bustling, the scent of fresh coffee and toast filling the air.
"Morning, kiddo," Anna said, sliding a plate toward her. Her eyes, kind but weary, scanned Emma's face. "You look like you wrestled a bear last night. Sleep okay?"
Emma forced a smile, poking at the eggs. "Yeah, fine. Just... school stuff." It wasn't a total lie. Senior year was a grind—AP classes, college apps, the constant hum of "what's next?" But layered over it all was the grief, a shadow that followed her everywhere. She juggled it like a circus act: mornings at school, afternoons studying in the library to avoid the empty house, evenings at the Sullivans'. Anna helped where she could—paying bills from her own pocket, cooking meals that Emma barely touched—but it wasn't enough. The mortgage loomed, and Jonathan's lawyers kept sending letters, sniffing around like sharks.
"You're doing great," Anna said, squeezing her shoulder. "Your parents would be proud."
The words stung, a reminder of what was missing. Emma nodded, grabbing her backpack. "Thanks, Anna. See you tonight?"
Anna waved her off with a dish towel. "I'll have dinner waiting. And hey—don't forget to eat lunch today."
School was a battlefield Emma navigated on autopilot. Sarah was her anchor, chattering about prom committees and weekend plans to distract her. "You have to come to the game Friday," Sarah insisted during lunch, shoving a fry into Emma's hand. "It'll be fun. Normal."
Normal. The word tasted bitter. Emma glanced around the cafeteria, the cliques orbiting like planets: jocks at one table, artsy kids at another, and at the center, queen bee Vanessa Hartley with her glossy posse. Vanessa was everything Emma wasn't—flawless makeup, designer clothes, a laugh that commanded attention. Emma had never been on her radar, which was fine. Invisibility was her superpower these days.
But that afternoon, as Emma headed to her locker, the air shifted. Whispers rippled through the hall like a current. Heads turned toward the main doors where a new kid strode in, backpack slung over one shoulder, his dark hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features that screamed trouble—piercing blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and a smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked.
"Who's that?" Sarah murmured, elbowing Emma.
"No idea," Emma replied, but something about him tugged at her—familiar, yet not. He scanned the crowd, his gaze landing on her for a split second, narrowing with... amusement? Then he turned away, vanishing into the principal's office.
By the end of the day, the rumors were flying: Jayden Sullivan, transferred from some elite boarding school out east. Rich kid. Bad boy. Vanessa was already circling, her laugh trilling as she "accidentally" bumped into him in the hall. "Oh, sorry," she purred, her hand lingering on his arm. Jayden just grinned, that same smirk, and walked on.
Emma shook it off, heading to the Sullivans' for her shift. The house loomed as always, a gothic beauty with ivy climbing the walls. Mrs. Sullivan was out—some charity event—so Emma let herself in with the spare key. Max and Lily tackled her at the door, their energy a welcome chaos.
"Emma! Play tag!" Max yelled, darting around the foyer.
Lily tugged her sleeve. "Or read stories? Please?"
Emma laughed, the sound surprising her. "Both. But homework first, monsters."
As the evening wore on, she settled them with snacks in the kitchen, glancing out the window at the sprawling backyard. The Sullivans' place was massive—pool, guest house, gardens that screamed old money. But it felt empty, like a museum. Mr. Sullivan was always working late; Mrs. Sullivan, distant. Emma wondered about their story, but she didn't pry. She had enough secrets of her own.
That night, back home, Anna had lasagna waiting. They ate in companionable silence, the TV droning in the background. "How's the job?" Anna asked finally.
"Good. The kids are sweet." Emma hesitated. "Weird family, though. Quiet."
Anna nodded, clearing plates. "Rich folks usually are. Just keep your head down."
The next day at school, Jayden made his move. Emma was at her locker, juggling books, when he leaned against the one next to hers, arms crossed. Up close, he was even more intimidating—tattoos peeking from his sleeve, a scent of leather and something spicy.
"You're in my way," he said, voice low and mocking.
Emma blinked, stepping back. "This is my locker."
He smirked, that infuriating curve of his lips. "Cute. But I need space." He reached past her, "accidentally" knocking her books to the floor. Papers scattered like leaves in the wind.
Heat flushed her cheeks. "Hey!"
"Oops." He didn't move to help, just watched her scramble, his eyes glinting with challenge. Around them, kids whispered, Vanessa hovering nearby with a predatory smile.
Emma straightened, shoving books into her bag. "Jerk," she muttered, but her voice shook. Why did his stare make her pulse race? It wasn't fear—it was something sharper, electric.
Jayden chuckled, low and throaty. "See you around, new girl." He walked off, Vanessa falling into step beside him, her laugh echoing.
Sarah appeared, fuming. "What was that? Who does he think he is?"
"Some transfer kid. Sullivan." Emma's heart thudded. Sullivan? No, coincidence. Lots of Sullivans in the world.
But the bullying escalated subtly, like a game only he knew the rules to. In English, he sat behind her, kicking her chair rhythmically until she whipped around. "Stop it!"
He leaned forward, breath warm on her neck. "Make me." His eyes locked on hers, intense, almost searching. She turned away, cheeks burning, ignoring the flutter in her stomach.
In the halls, he'd brush past her too close, his shoulder grazing hers, murmuring, "Watch it, Watson." But there was a tease in his tone, a spark that made her want to push back. Vanessa noticed, her crush on him blooming into full obsession—she'd flip her hair, bat her lashes, invite him to parties. Jayden played along, but his eyes always found Emma, like she was the real target.
After school, Emma vented to Sarah over texts while heading to the Sullivans'. He's insufferable. Why me?
Sarah: Because you're not fawning over him like Vanessa. Guys like that love a challenge.
Emma rolled her eyes, but a part of her wondered. The subtle pull—the way his smirks softened when no one was looking, the lingering glances. It was messed up, this mix of annoyance and attraction. Bully-victim love? No, she wasn't falling for that trope.
At the house, the kids were hyper, sensing her distraction. "What's wrong, Emma?" Lily asked, cuddling her rabbit.
"Nothing, sweetie. Just boy trouble at school."
Max grinned. "Boys are gross."
Emma laughed. "You got that right."
Mrs. Sullivan breezed in late, her heels clicking. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," Emma said, grabbing her coat. But as she left, she heard a faint thud from upstairs—like something climbing the trellis outside a window. She paused, peering into the dusk. Nothing. Probably a cat.
The week blurred: school, bullying, babysitting. Jayden's torments grew bolder yet oddly intimate. In the cafeteria, he swiped her apple, taking a bite before handing it back. "Tastes better now," he said, winking. Emma snatched it, her fingers brushing his, sending a jolt up her arm. Vanessa shot daggers, but Jayden ignored her, focused on Emma.
"Why do you hate me?" Emma snapped one day in the empty hall after he'd "tripped" her, catching her arm before she fell.
His grip lingered, thumb tracing her wrist. "Who said I hate you?" His voice was soft, eyes darkening. Then he released her, sauntering away.
Emma's heart raced. What was this? Hate? Flirtation? She pushed it down, focusing on survival. Anna noticed her distraction at home. "You seem... off. School okay?"
"Yeah," Emma lied, not wanting to burden her. "Just busy."
Unbeknownst to them, Jayden had been home all week—sneaking in through his bedroom window each night, avoiding his parents. He'd been expelled from boarding school, a secret he kept buried. From his room, he'd watched Emma with the kids, her gentle laugh piercing the house's silence. She intrigued him—broken yet fierce. So he tormented her at school, testing her fire, hiding his growing obsession.
Friday came, the game night Sarah dragged her to. Emma sat in the bleachers, the crowd roaring as the team scored. Jayden was there, not playing but lounging with Vanessa's crew. His eyes found hers across the field, holding until she looked away.
After, as she walked home, a car pulled up—Jayden's sleek black Jeep. "Need a ride, Watson?"
"No thanks," she said, but rain started pelting down.
He rolled his eyes. "Get in before you drown."
Reluctantly, she did. The car smelled like him—leather, rain, that spicy cologne. Silence stretched, charged.
"Why do you pick on me?" she asked finally.
He glanced at her, smirking. "Because you fight back. Most girls don't."
She huffed. "That's twisted."
"Maybe." He pulled up to her house. "See you Monday."
Emma slammed the door, heart pounding. Twisted, yes—but exhilarating.
That night at the Sullivans', the kids were asleep early. Emma tidied the living room, humming softly. A creak from upstairs made her freeze. Then another—footsteps? She crept up, heart in her throat, toward the closed door at the end of the hall. Jayden's room, Mrs. Sullivan had said once, but he was away at school.
She knocked softly. "Hello?"
The door swung open, and there he stood—Jayden Sullivan, in sweatpants and a tee, his hair damp from a shower. The room behind him was a mess of posters and unpacked boxes.
Emma's world tilted. "You... what? You're..."
His smirk faded into shock, then amusement. "Surprise, babysitter."
The pieces slammed together: the familiar face, the name, the thuds at night. He'd been here all along, sneaking in, watching her. Bullying her by day, hiding by night. Her bully was her boss's son. The queen bee's crush. And the way he looked at her now—raw, unguarded—sent a shiver down her spine.
"You've been here the whole time?" she whispered, voice breaking. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Jayden stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Because this is more fun." But his eyes betrayed him—hunger, vulnerability. The bully mask cracked, revealing the boy beneath.
Emma backed away, mind reeling. Shocking didn't cover it. Her tormentor was part of the family she relied on. And worse, the subtle spark between them? It just ignited into something dangerous.