They called me: The sweetheart, Brielle. The girl with the easy smile, the soft words, the polished shoes, and the perfect bow in her hair. East Crest High had set the stage, but Willow Heights University -WHU- had turned it into a theater, and I was its shining star. Or at least, that was what they saw.
What they didn't see was the careful calculation behind every smile. The way I angled my head so the sun caught my hair just right. The way I laughed, light and airy, and only when it drew attention from the right people. The way I made everyone believe I was listening, truly listening, when inside, my mind was already sharpening its knives.
On the Stormhawks' cheer squad, I was untouchable. Our uniforms were fire orange and black, short skirts pleated in ways designed to whip with every movement, our tops cropped just enough to hint at the shape underneath. The crowd loved us. The players fed off us. And me? I thrived on the attention.
But I wasn't just a cheerleader. I was a Lancaster.
Old money, old power, old rules. That was how my father always phrased it. We weren't the new wave of business moguls clawing for relevance in Crestmont's glossy skyscrapers. We had roots older than the city's highways, older than its politics. My family's name didn't just open doors — it dictated them, alongside who was allowed to walk through them.
It meant professors who might have challenged me thought twice.
It meant invitations to parties I barely cared about but never declined.
It meant whispers whenever I walked into a room: That's Brielle Lancaster.
And I wore it like armor.
– – – –
The practice gym was loud that evening, the echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, the rhythmic chant of our captain, Nadia, leading warm-ups. She was all discipline and sweat, a senior who believed every routine was life-or-death.
"Brielle, higher kicks!" she barked.
I lifted my leg, not too high — just enough to satisfy her. But when she glanced away, I lowered it again. Why waste energy perfecting a routine I'd already mastered? Still, I nodded sweetly when her eyes landed on me again.
"Yes, Nadia," I said, voice soft, deferential.
That was the trick. Pretend compliance, feed their ego, and do as you please the moment they turn away.
From the bleachers, the Hockey team was watching, sweaty from their own practice. Their captain, Aiden Ross, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on me. Aiden was the golden boy of the team — disciplined, talented, and irritatingly principled. He'd taken it upon himself to look out for the team and helped them in perfecting their skills. The Cheer squad was not left out either, no one was safe from Aiden's shadow as long as you're part of the Stormhawks.
As though I needed protecting.
After practice, he cornered me near the lockers, his brow furrowed in that way that made the other girls sigh.
"You weren't focused today," he said. "You cut corners."
I tilted my head, widened my eyes — the picture of innocence. "I did? I thought I was keeping up. Maybe I was tired?"
"Elle," he pressed, "you're better than that. You can't just slack because you know you'll still look good out there. The squad needs consistency."
I let a small, guilty smile slip, lowering my lashes like a child caught sneaking cookies. "You're right, Aiden. I'll do better."
He relaxed, visibly relieved that I listened. That was the beauty of it — make him believe he'd gotten through to me, and he'd never look closely enough to see that nothing would change.
Inside, though, I was laughing. Aiden didn't understand — I didn't need to be better. I only needed to be adored. And adored, I was.
– – – –
By month's end, it was required of me to travel home back to Crestmont, because, yet again, my parents had hosted another of their tedious dinner parties in our Crestmont estate — crystal chandeliers dripping gold light across silk tablecloths, wine glasses clinking like soft chimes. My father held court at the head of the table, discussing land acquisitions with men who wore suits older than some of our professors. My mother floated like a ghost, beautiful and untouchable, offering smiles no one dared question.
I played the role expected of me — the perfect daughter. I leaned forward when my father spoke, nodding at the right times. I laughed politely at stale jokes. And when guests asked about WHU, about the cheer squad, about my wellbeing I gave them answers designed to delight.
As if they were interested in the stead.
"She's blossoming," my father said proudly, cutting a look at me that was both a warning and a promise. "A Lancaster girl always knows her worth."
"Yes, Father," I murmured, the model of obedience.
But beneath the table, I dug my nails into my palm until little crescents burned against my skin. Knowing my worth didn't mean following their rules. It meant bending the world until it served me.
– – – –
The morning after the dinner party, I left Crestmont before the house fully woke. My father hated when I did that — no dramatic farewells, no one lingering in the doorway to wave me off like the Lancaster jewel they'd polished me into. But I had no desire to play their little tableau of perfect family any longer than necessary.
The driver loaded my bags into the sleek black car, and as the gates opened, I leaned back against the leather seat, slipping on my sunglasses. Crestmont glittered in the early light, all polished steel and glass, but to me it felt suffocating. WHU was freedom, or at least the closest version of it I allowed myself — a stage big enough for me to perform without my father's constant gaze.
When the car pulled up at Willow Heights University, the buzz of campus life spilled over immediately: students laughing too loud on the quad, couples tangled together on benches, study groups half-working, half-flirting in the sun. The sight of the Stormhawks' banners fluttering from lampposts made me smile — not because I cared about school spirit, but because my face would be front and center at the next pep rally, painted into the background of their memories whether they liked it or not.
"Miss Lancaster," the driver said, opening the door.
"Thank you," I replied, sliding out gracefully, a picture of poise. Students turned their heads as I passed. They always did.
– – – –
Back in my dorm, my roommate Camille was sprawled on her bed, surrounded by makeup palettes and half-folded laundry. She was sweet, in that desperate way some girls are — eager to please, eager to be noticed. She looked up when I entered, her eyes lighting up like I'd just come home from war.
"Bri! Finally! You missed the pre-game party last night. Everyone kept asking where you were."
Exactly the kind of update I needed.
I smiled, tossing my bag onto my bed. "Family obligations. You know how it is."
She pouted sympathetically. "Ugh, Crestmont things, right? I don't know how you deal with it."
"Discipline," I said simply, peeling off my sunglasses. "And charm."
She giggled, nodding like I'd just handed her a life lesson. Easy. Too easy.
As she launched into gossip about who kissed who after the party, I let my mind wander. Camille was useful — she had her ear to the ground, always the first to know when a party was brewing, when a scandal was about to break. Keeping her close was strategic, even if I could hardly stand her endless chatter.
"By the way," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Aiden was looking for you last night. He seemed… annoyed?"
I hid my smirk by fussing with my hair in the mirror. Of course he was. Aiden Ross made it his life's mission to keep me in line, as if I were one of his teammates who needed drills and discipline. He'd never admit it, but my refusal to bend made me more interesting to him than any flawless routine could.
"Was he?" I asked lightly, adjusting my bow until it sat perfectly centered. "I'll have to soothe his wounded pride at practice."
Camille sighed dreamily. "He's so intense. If he ever looked at me like he looks at you—"
"He won't," I cut in smoothly, turning to face her. My tone was soft, but the words left no room for illusion. Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head.
Control. That was all it ever was.
– – – –
Practice that afternoon was exactly as I expected - Nadia barking counts, the squad sweating through warm-ups, the hockey boys lounging at the sidelines under the guise of "support." I hit every move, sharp and effortless, because it was easy for me. Too easy.
When Nadia wasn't looking, I let my kicks slack just slightly, my timing drift half a beat. Not enough to ruin the formation - just enough to be noticed by one pair of watchful eyes.
And right on cue, Aiden cornered me as we packed up.
"Elle," he said, his voice low but firm. "You're doing it again."
I tilted my head, feigning confusion. "Doing what?"
"Slacking. You're good, but that doesn't mean you can coast. People follow your lead. If you don't take it seriously, they won't either."
I widened my eyes, giving him the full weight of my innocent act. "Aiden, I didn't mean to. I guess I was distracted. I'll work harder, I promise."
His shoulders eased, relief flickering across his face. He wanted to believe me. He always did.
Inside, I laughed. If only he knew how little I cared for his lectures. I didn't want to be a better cheerleader. I wanted to be untouchable. And untouchable, I was.
– – – –
That night, my phone buzzed with a call from home. I ignored it. I already knew what it would be - my father reminding me of responsibility, my mother reminding me of appearances. They thought they could mold me into the perfect Lancaster daughter, but what they didn't realize was that I wasn't interested in perfection.
I was interested in power.
And here, at WHU, surrounded by people desperate to be liked, to be chosen, to be adored — power came easy. All I had to do was smile.
The next day, Ethan found me. We hadn't seen much of each other in the past month.
Not that I really cared if I saw him, I've been seeing him since East Crest days, and I think I'm finally ready to spread my tentacles.
After we exchanged pleasantries, he launched into his usual check-ins and 'honorary advice'.
"You know," he started, falling into step beside me, "people really look up to you. If you used that influence to actually push them harder, instead of…" He trailed off, searching for a polite word.
"Instead of what?" I asked, smiling as though we were sharing a private joke.
He sighed. "Instead of coasting. You could be a leader."
I stopped walking, letting the sunlight catch the soft gloss on my lips, tilting my head just so. "Maybe I don't want to be a leader, Ethan. Maybe I just want to… be."
He frowned. "That's not you. You don't just 'be.' You take up space whether you like it or not. People notice you."
And there it was — the truth, laid bare by someone who didn't even realize he was feeding the fire. People noticed me. That was all that mattered.
I touched his arm lightly, letting my fingers linger just long enough. "Thank you for caring, Ethan. Really. It means a lot."
He blinked, thrown off balance, and I walked away, leaving him standing there, caught between frustration and something softer.
But my true nature - the part only I knew - was sharper than that. Crueler.
Take Sofie, one of the newer girls on the squad. She had talent, I'd give her that, but she was naïve enough to think talent was enough. At practice, when Nadia asked us to pair up, Sofie had eagerly moved toward me.
"Want to work together?" she asked, hopeful.
I smiled sweetly. "Of course."
Then, when it came time for lifts, I deliberately loosened my grip just enough to make her wobble. Not enough to drop her, of course — I wasn't careless. Just enough for Nadia to notice and scold her.
"Sofie, tighten your core! You're throwing off balance!"
Sofie flushed red, nodding quickly, and stammering apologies.
I squeezed her hand, whispering, "Don't worry, you'll get it," my tone dripping with sympathy.
She smiled gratefully, never realizing it was me who had made her falter.
That was the game.
And I always played to win.
– – – –
By the time I slipped into bed that night, silk sheets cool against my skin, I thought back to Ethan's words, to Sofie's stumble, to my father's pride.
Everyone believed in the version of me I wanted them to see.
But beneath it, I was sharpening the edges.
Because kindness was a costume.
And cruelty?
Cruelty was the truth.