LIAM
She stepped out of the house, and everything around me — the street, the trees, the quiet hum of the wind — just stopped.
Zara.
There she was.
And she looked like the kind of girl you don't recover from. The kind of girl who walks into your life, breaks open your ribs, fills every corner of you — and then leaves you wondering how you ever breathed without her.
Her emerald green dress caught the light like it had been stitched with starlight. The way it hugged her frame, the way her hair fell in those soft, perfect waves down her shoulder, the way her eyes searched for mine the second she stepped outside — it knocked every thought clean out of my head.
For a moment, I forgot why I was here.
For a moment, I forgot who I was.
Until the guilt came rushing back.
Because tonight was the end.
The night I was supposed to break her heart.
The final piece in this messed-up revenge Beatrice orchestrated — the cruel, twisted game we all agreed to play just to knock down the quiet girl who had the audacity to carry herself like she didn't need anyone.
I was supposed to make her fall.
And God, she did.
She had fallen so beautifully, so completely — in the way she smiled when she read my texts, the way her eyes softened when I leaned in too close, the way her hand always found mine like it belonged there.
She had fallen for me.
And the worst part?
I'd fallen right along with her.
But they didn't know that.
Beatrice. The guys. Her minions. No one knew that this wasn't acting anymore. That somewhere between the teasing and the ice cream and the stupid bracelets, somewhere between the night drives and the kiss in the hallway, I'd lost the ability to fake this.
Zara became real to me.
Too real.
And now I was standing here, wearing a suit picked for her, a green tie to match her dress, holding the bracelet she wore like it meant something — and I knew I was going to destroy her anyway.
Because I had to.
Because I told myself I would.
Because if I didn't, Beatrice would know. She would see it in my hesitation, and she would burn this all down in ways I couldn't stop.
"Hi," she said, all soft and unsure, and I swear, my knees almost gave out.
"'Hi'?" I repeated, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest. "You show up looking like that and all I get is 'hi'?"
She laughed, and I clung to it.
God, her laugh. I was going to miss that.
When she slipped her arm into mine, it felt like home. The kind of home I'd never had. The kind that made you want to build a life and a future and maybe — just maybe — break every rule that told you not to.
"You look like the reason the moon shows up at night," I said.
Her eyes widened, and I instantly regretted it. Too much. Too honest.
So I covered with a grin, "Okay, I stole that from Pinterest, but it felt appropriate."
She laughed again. And that tiny sound? It made it harder to breathe.
I opened the door for her, and as she slid into the car, I caught a glimpse of the silver bracelet around her wrist — the one I had custom-ordered with our initials.
Z & L.
She'd worn it.
She'd trusted me.
And tonight, I was going to break her.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter than I should've and told myself — one last time — that it was just a game. That this was what I signed up for.
But nothing about this felt like a game anymore.
Zara wasn't a pawn. She wasn't some weak target to humiliate. She was everything Beatrice wasn't — real, grounded, fire-hearted and full of soul.
And yet…
Tonight at prom, Beatrice and I would be crowned king and queen. That was the plan. The final blow. I'd break up with Zara on the stage. In front of everyone. On the microphone. Public and brutal.
That was the moment we'd built toward.
That was the moment Beatrice was waiting for.
And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't rehearsed it in my head a hundred times.
But now?
Now, with her sitting beside me, fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of her dress, whispering, "Do I look okay?" — I wanted to take a detour and drive us as far away from this night as possible.
I wanted to tell her the truth.
I wanted to tell her that she changed me.
That I wasn't supposed to care.
But I did.
God help me, I did.
And tonight would end with me losing her anyway.
Because I was a coward.
And because even though I had her heart in my hands…
…I was going to shatter it.
********
The car hadn't even fully stopped before the flash of phone cameras started.
I should've expected it — it was prom, after all. But this… this wasn't just any arrival. This was Zara.
And apparently, Zara cleaned up into a goddamn goddess.
I stepped out first, every inch of me rehearsing how to act normal, how to pretend like this night wasn't one long countdown to heartbreak. I moved to her side, opened the door, and then—
She stepped out.
Every conversation within a fifty-foot radius died instantly.
I swear even the DJ missed a beat.
The crowd outside the school entrance parted like we were royalty. Phones lifted. Girls stared. Guys blinked in stunned silence.
And all I could think was: They're seeing her now the way I've been seeing her for weeks.
Zara stood tall, despite how awkward she must've felt in heels and that sleek, emerald velvet gown hugging her in all the right places. Her makeup was soft but glowing, hair done in those loose waves I knew she hated sitting through — but damn if it didn't look like the universe styled her itself.
I heard Matteo somewhere behind us mutter, "Holy sh—" and then someone smacked his chest.
I looked to the left and spotted my group — Beatrice, her minions, Matteo, Lucas, Levi, Mason— all frozen, watching. Beatrice's smile flickered, faltered.
I caught it.
For the first time since this whole twisted plan began, she wasn't in control.
And I had to pretend like I didn't enjoy that.
"Everyone's staring," Zara whispered, fingers curling around my arm tighter as I guided her up the stairs.
"Yeah," I murmured back. "Because you're the most stunning girl in the city and they've never seen you like this before."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed.
Beatrice's eyes followed us as we passed.
She wasn't just annoyed — she was calculating. Confused. Like Zara had taken a throne no one expected her to sit on.
"Zara?" one of the popular senior girls — Eliza, I think — blinked at her. "You look… amazing."
Zara managed a small, awkward thank-you, and I couldn't stop the grin tugging at my lips.
I was proud of her. Too proud. Damn it.
Inside, the gym had been transformed. Twinkling lights strung across the ceiling, a soft purple hue cast over the crowd. Tables were set with ridiculous centerpieces and the dance floor already held a few swaying couples. The prom committee had outdone themselves.
But no one looked better than the girl on my arm.
And I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Guys I didn't even know by name nudged their friends, pointed subtly — or not so subtly. A few jaws visibly dropped. One of the football seniors actually did a double-take and then gave me a half-impressed, half-jealous smirk.
It should've made me feel smug.
Instead, I wanted to throw a jacket over her shoulders and get her out of here before someone else tried to take her away.
What the hell is wrong with you?
I led her through the crowd, hands resting possessively on the small of her back. Not because I was putting on a show. Because I needed to feel that she was still close, still mine — even if only for tonight.
"You okay?" I leaned down and asked.
She smiled, biting her lip. "Kind of feels like a dream. Like this isn't me."
I squeezed her waist gently. "It's you. You're just finally letting the world see what I've seen this whole time."
Her eyes flicked to mine, and I saw the exact moment her guard wavered.
God, don't do that. Don't look at me like that.
Because I'd break before midnight.
And I couldn't afford that.
We made our way to the photo booth, where someone handed us a ticket for the couple shot. Zara was still half-laughing from a compliment someone gave her when the flash went off.
She didn't even realize it yet — that the photo they just took? That'd be the one people pinned up, talked about, gossiped over.
Zara had just walked into her own story.
And she didn't need Beatrice's permission to do it.
Beatrice watched us from the corner now. Her arms crossed, face tight. Skye said something to her, but Beatrice didn't respond. Her eyes never left Zara.
She looked threatened.
And maybe she should be.
Because Zara — the girl Beatrice wanted to break — was glowing.
And I…
I was the one she trusted.
I was the one she loved.
And I was going to destroy her.
Unless I found the strength not