The morning sunlight slanted cold and bright across the school courtyard, casting pale streaks over stone and steel, but the air was thick with something rawer, sharper—whispers slicing through it like a blade. Amy stood at the edge of the crowd, the microphone trembling in her damp, clenched hands. The weight of a hundred pairs of eyes bore down on her, prickling hot against her skin. For one breathless, dizzying moment, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, a frantic drumbeat rattling in her chest.
"I—I need to say this," Amy stammered, her voice thin, cracking at the edges, but she drew in a shaky breath, forcing her shoulders back, chin trembling as she lifted it. Her eyes were glassy, wide, the muscles in her jaw flickering with the effort to hold herself steady. "I let Evelyn use me. I helped her cover up things that… that should have never been hidden."
A ripple tore through the sea of students, a wave of hushed gasps, incredulous murmurs, the sharp hiss of exchanged whispers. Amy's fingers clenched tighter around the microphone, white-knuckled, as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the earth and keeping her from collapsing into the cold stone beneath her feet. Her breath hitched as she scanned the faces staring up at her—some wide-eyed with shock, some tight-lipped with suspicion, others already pulling out phones to capture the moment. Her skin prickled under the weight of it.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, voice trembling but audible now, slicing through the hush like a thread pulled taut to snapping. "To all of you—and to myself."
For a heartbeat, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
Off to the side, Lottie stood with her arms loosely crossed, her expression cool, unreadable, but her dark eyes never wavered from Amy. As the last words left Amy's lips, Lottie gave the barest tilt of her head, a subtle nod so slight it was almost a flicker. But Amy saw it, and the sight of it was like a thread unspooling in her chest, a knot loosening at last. A shaky breath escaped her lips, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, she felt just a sliver of lightness, a flicker of something that tasted like freedom.
In the crowd, Leo shifted his weight, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket as he cut deftly through the press of students. His grin, sharp and laced with mischief, flickered briefly as he reached Amy's side. Without a word, he tucked a small slip of paper into her palm, the touch quick but deliberate.
"Just in case you need backup," Leo murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. His breath was warm against her ear, the words brushing her skin like a faint pulse. "Number's real. Use it."
Amy's fingers closed reflexively around the slip, the corner crinkling slightly in her damp palm. She gave a tiny nod, her lips twitching upward in the faintest ghost of a grateful smile. Her chest ached, tight and sore, but somewhere under the ache, a flicker of something steadier took root.
Far from the courtyard chaos, Evelyn Hayes slammed her bedroom door so hard the framed photos rattled on the wall. The sharp, furious sound ricocheted through the mansion's cavernous halls, rattling the crystal decanters in the study and drawing a sharp, startled intake of breath from the housekeeper two floors down. Upstairs, the sound of Evelyn's heels striking the polished wood floor cracked through the stillness as she paced, a caged predator, eyes wild and unseeing.
Her reflection in the gilded mirror sneered back at her—perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect everything—but Evelyn's lips curled, the muscles in her jaw twitching as her eyes flashed. With a snarl that burst loose before she could catch it, her trembling hands shot out, sweeping the line of perfume bottles off her dresser with a savage crash. Shards of glass exploded across the floor, the sharp, floral scent of crushed fragrance rising into the air, thick and cloying as panic in her throat.
"You stupid little traitor," Evelyn hissed, voice rough and shaking. Her fingers dug into the polished wood of the dresser as she leaned forward, chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. Her gaze darted to the laptop screen on the edge of the desk, the plummeting vote count flickering like a death knell. Another strangled sound clawed its way from her throat, halfway between a laugh and a scream.
Downstairs, in the mansion's high-ceilinged living room, Grace Hayes waited by the window, shoulders stiff, jaw locked tight. Reporters crowded at the front gate, their shouts floating through the marble halls like the sharp, tinny peal of alarm bells. Evelyn's mother held her phone tight in her manicured hand, the screen glowing with unanswered calls, blinking voicemails, and sharp, curt texts. The moment Evelyn stormed downstairs, Grace turned, her too-tight smile cracking like ice underfoot.
"What have you done?" Grace's voice splintered, raw with a fury she could no longer smooth over. Evelyn whirled to face her, eyes wide, pupils pinpricked with adrenaline.
"I can fix this," Evelyn snapped, but even as the words left her lips, they rang false, trembling on the air. Grace's mouth thinned, the muscles in her face tightening as her hands balled into fists.
"You've shamed this family," Grace whispered, each word falling like a lash. "Fix it? You can't even fix yourself."
For a moment, Evelyn just stood there, chest heaving, mouth open. Then she snapped it shut, lips pressed to a bloodless line, and spun on her heel, her footsteps retreating up the stairs in sharp, clipped beats. Behind her, Grace's eyes shone glassy in the afternoon light, fingers twitching once, twice, as if she wanted to reach out—then curled in on themselves, empty.
Back at school, Lottie leaned against a pillar in the corridor, her phone pressed lightly to her ear. Adrian's voice murmured through the line, calm, steady, threaded through with quiet calculation.
"We need to get ahead of this," Adrian was saying. "Mason's legal team is already combing through Evelyn's financials. We may have more leverage than we thought."
"Good," Lottie murmured, her gaze flicking through the glass doors to where Amy still stood, the crowd around her thinning but watchful, wary. "But we don't crush her all at once."
"Strategic mercy?" Adrian's tone curled with faint amusement, dry as dust.
"No," Lottie murmured, voice soft but edged with steel. "Just strategy."
Outside, the dusk was creeping in, a hush folding over the courtyard like the slow drawing of a curtain. Leo nudged Lottie's shoulder lightly as he approached, his grin flickering, though his eyes were sharp and watchful.
"Amy's a mess," Leo murmured, his hands slipping into his pockets, "but the crowd's warming up. Evelyn's loyalists are bailing like rats off a sinking ship."
Lottie let out a breath, slow, deliberate, feeling the tension coiled in her chest loosen just a fraction. "Let them."
Inside the Hayes mansion, Evelyn sat cross-legged on the floor, shards of broken glass glittering around her like ice. She barely registered the thin sting of a shallow cut across her palm, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen, where comment threads spiraled downward into a freefall of blame and betrayal. Her lips moved without sound, shaping words she could barely swallow.
"I'll make them all pay."
Her shoulders jerked with a sharp, shuddering breath, her fingers tightening in her lap. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing eyeliner in jagged, black strokes across her cheekbones, and let out a thin, desperate laugh that scraped the inside of her throat raw.
Downstairs, Grace's phone buzzed again on the marble countertop, the sharp vibration rattling against the cold stone as headlines bloomed like bruises across the news feeds. Grace's fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, her breath catching on a soft, half-choked exhale as she whispered, to no one in particular, "How did it come to this?"
In the courtyard, Amy sank slowly onto a bench, her elbows braced on her knees, head bowed low as the last waves of adrenaline shivered through her. Her heart still pounded, wild and erratic, but for the first time, no iron weight crushed her chest. She felt Leo slip onto the bench beside her, his presence light but anchoring, his arm draped across the backrest without touching her.
"You survived," Leo said lightly, his voice a quiet ripple through the cooling air, but beneath the easy charm, there was something gentler, sharper—a thread of quiet respect.
Amy let out a choked laugh, swiping at the damp streaks on her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "I'm still terrified," she admitted, voice rough, raw, her throat scraped thin. "But I think… I think I'd rather be terrified and free than safe and chained."
Leo's grin softened, the edge smoothing just slightly, his eyes glinting with something warmer. "Good choice, kid."
Across the courtyard, Lottie's gaze met Amy's—no words, no gestures, just the quiet weight of a nod. Amy's chest tightened, the knot of guilt and gratitude tangling somewhere deep inside her as her lips pressed into a small, tremulous smile.
Inside her room, Evelyn slammed her fists into her silk-covered bed, the muffled thud barely denting the storm raging inside her chest. Her phone buzzed and buzzed, but she let it ring, curling tighter around herself as the words inside her head looped like poison, a mantra twisting sharp in the dark.
They betrayed me. They all betrayed me.
On the far side of town, Mason's legal team worked deep into the night, the pale glow of monitors painting sharp planes of light across intent faces. Fingers flew over keyboards, files unearthed, paper trails pieced together like the edge of a blade.
Back at school, night had fully settled, the first stars cutting cold, bright pinpricks into the velvet sky. Lottie stood at the top of the auditorium steps, the stone cool under her palms, her breath a faint curl of mist in the chill air. Adrian's voice murmured in her ear one last time.
"Careful, Lottie," Adrian said softly. "Desperate people are unpredictable."
A faint, sharp smile ghosted across Lottie's lips as she tucked the phone into her pocket.
"I'm counting on it."