The living room smelled like greasy pizza and over-sprayed perfume. Matteo's music thumped through the Bluetooth speaker, some bass-heavy trap beat that didn't match the mood in the room at all.
They were all there. Matteo. Lucas. Levi. Mason. Beatrice and her two shadows—as usual—lounging on the leather couch like they owned the damn place. Everyone was talking over each other, laughing, buzzing from the fight like it was a scene out of a movie.
But me? I just sat there with a frozen bag of peas against my cheek and a stomach full of guilt.
"You should've decked him," Levi said, tossing a slice of pizza onto his plate. "I don't care if he's her stepbrother, man. He went all animal on you."
"He would've wrecked his pretty-boy face," Skye said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "And then Zara wouldn't be holding his hand all lovingly after."
That earned a round of mocking oohs and whistles.
Beatrice, though? She wasn't laughing.
She was sitting forward in one of the chairs, arms folded across her chest, eyes locked on me like lasers. Her lips were pressed tight, and I could practically see the fire building behind them.
"You let him hit you," she finally said. No humor in her tone. Just disgust. "You stood there and let him humiliate you in front of everyone."
I clenched my jaw.
"And then," she continued, rising to her feet, "you let her walk away with you like some little damsel who just rescued her knight in shining armor. What the hell is going on, Liam?"
"She picked you," Matteo added with a grin, clearly enjoying the drama.
"Yeah," Beatrice snapped, rounding on him, "and now everyone at school thinks she's actually dating him for real. Do you know how that makes me look?"
I didn't say anything.
She walked toward me slowly, heels clicking on the hardwood like warning shots. "Let me ask you something, Liam," she said, her voice sharp now. "Are you falling for her?"
The room went silent.
Even the music seemed to fade.
I looked up at her, heart thudding.
"No," I lied.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "You sure?"
"Positive."
Another lie.
I couldn't even look her in the eye anymore. Couldn't meet any of their gazes. My fingers curled tighter around the ice bag. My cheek throbbed, but not as much as the inside of my chest.
"Then why didn't you shut it down today?" she pressed. "Why didn't you embarrass her when Kaylee gave you the perfect opportunity? You could've said anything to make her look stupid. But no. You just sat there and took the punches, like some whipped loser."
"I didn't want to make a scene," I muttered.
"Too late," she snapped. "You already did."
Matteo snorted. "C'mon, Bea, chill. The plan's still working. Zara's head over heels. She practically kissed the ground he walked on today."
"That's not the point," Beatrice hissed. "The point is, he was supposed to stay in control. And now I'm not so sure he can."
"Relax," I said, finally looking up. "I've got it under control."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "So you'll still break her?"
My throat tightened.
"Yeah," I said, slower this time. "I'll break her."
But even as the words left my mouth, they felt wrong. Heavy. Poisoned.
Levi clapped his hands once. "Alright, then! Back on track. Let's get the final part rolling."
"What's that?" Nina asked, leaning closer.
Mason grinned. "Prom's in next week. He gets her to fall harder. Then drops her in front of everyone."
Beatrice smiled again. It was cold. Triumphant.
"And then she learns what it feels like to be humiliated."
I nodded mechanically, every muscle in my body stiff with tension.
They kept talking—joking about dresses and decorations and what Beatrice should wear to make sure she's the "queen" when Zara crumbles. I barely heard any of it.
All I could see was Zara's face earlier—her hands gently pressing the bandage to my temple. Her voice when she told me she chose me. Her kiss—sweet, trusting, real.
Real.
Damn it.
I wasn't supposed to feel this way. She was the plan. The target. The punchline.
But I wasn't laughing anymore.
I wasn't even sure who I was siding with anymore.
Beatrice stepped beside me again, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Don't get soft now, Hunter. We're almost done."
I forced a smile and nodded.
But inside?
I was unraveling.
And I didn't know how much longer I could pretend.
The house was silent now.
The kind of silence that didn't just settle—it swallowed. Swallowed the air, the noise, the laughter from earlier. Even the scent of pizza had faded, replaced by that faint, sterile smell of emptiness.
Everyone had gone. Beatrice in a huff, her friends following like shadow puppets. Matteo and the guys had left too, still buzzing over the fight, still clueless to the war going on inside me.
I was alone.
Lying in bed, one arm thrown behind my head, the other holding my phone loosely over my chest. The bruises were starting to ache now that the adrenaline had worn off. The left side of my face throbbed every time I swallowed. Nick had a hell of a punch.
And I'd let him throw it. All of them.
I unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered over the camera roll for a second too long before I gave in and tapped it.
There they were.
Zara.
Her smile in that first photo we took when we were working on our project at my house—reluctant, skeptical, but there. Her nose crinkled just a little like she was trying not to laugh when I said something dumb.
Then the one at the ice cream shop. Her eyes rolled mid-eye roll, but her lips curved at the corner like she was trying not to enjoy herself. That was the first time I noticed she did that. Smiled when she thought no one was looking.
God, she was beautiful.
I flipped to the next one—she'd taken it on my phone when I wasn't paying attention. A shot of me, focused, laughing at something she'd said, the background a blur of sunlight and books and her favorite iced coffee drink.
I had no idea she'd taken it until hours later when she sent me a selfie and I saw it in my gallery. I didn't delete it.
Didn't even try.
I scrolled through the rest. Each one felt like a punch to the gut now.
Because this was never supposed to happen.
She was just a game. A challenge. A way to knock her down a peg for thinking she could walk into our school and not play by our rules. That's what Beatrice said. That was the point.
But then she smiled.
Then she trusted me.
Then she kissed me like it meant something—and it did. It did.
I sighed and dropped the phone beside me, staring up at the ceiling fan turning slowly above me.
What the hell was I doing?
This was supposed to be simple. Pull her in. Make her fall. Break her. Walk away.
But now the thought of hurting her made my chest physically ache.
I remembered the way her eyes lit up when she told me it was her first kiss. The way she whispered it like it was a secret she wanted me to treasure. And I had. God help me, I had.
How could I go through with this?
How could I look at her and pretend she was just another girl?
How could I sit next to Beatrice, knowing the plan was to destroy the same girl who made me feel like I was finally seen?
I turned my face into the pillow and exhaled, long and slow.
Maybe this was what guilt felt like.
Maybe this was what falling felt like too.
And I had no idea which one was worse.