The morning sunlight sliced through the curtains, spilling golden slashes across the pale duvet, catching on the sharp edges of Lottie's phone as it buzzed endlessly on her nightstand. She'd barely slept. Her mind, restless and sharp-edged, had tangled itself deep into the web of last night's digital ambush, knotting and unknotting every moment, every word, every flicker of betrayal. Now, as her eyes flickered open, gritty with exhaustion, the flood of notifications rolled in, lighting up the screen like fireworks.
She reached out, slow, fingers brushing the cool glass, and brought the phone to her chest for a beat, pressing it hard enough that she could feel the vibration thudding against her ribs. For a moment, she just sat there, breath tight, the faint scent of yesterday's lavender lotion clinging to her skin, the weight of the phone anchoring her. Her throat felt dry, the taste of last night's tension still metallic on her tongue.
With a muted exhale, she unlocked the screen.
The first headline hit her like a slap.
#LottieHayes: Cheating Scandal or Setup?
Evelyn Hayes's Concerned Post Sparks Debate Online.
Classmates Rally Behind Unexpected Hero.
Her breath hitched, sharp and fast, a single pulse of disbelief and something darker, sharper, threading through her chest. The corners of her mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, more a flash of teeth, something feral, before restraint slid neatly back into place. She sat up, the duvet falling in soft folds around her waist, her hair a tumble of dark waves over her shoulder, knees drawn tight to her chest as she scrolled, thumb flicking fast, heartbeat flicking faster.
Her counter-post was working.
The screenshots—meticulous, time-stamped, undeniable—had begun to ripple outward. Threads dissected her work with forensic intensity, classmates reposting with captions like "Did you SEE this??" and "Okay, maybe she's legit." Evelyn's polished comment, carefully worded with sugary sympathy, was being dismantled in real time.
"So thoughtful of Evelyn to worry, considering how fast she jumped on that rumor…"
"Weird that Amy vanished right when things got ugly. Guilty conscience?"
Lottie's thumb hovered over the refresh button, trembling faintly, the tension in her shoulders sharp as wire. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, dragging in a breath, her lungs tight with the lingering ache of too little sleep, and forced herself to exhale, fingers unclenching from the tight fist they'd curled into under the duvet.
A new text slid across her screen.
Leo:Thumbs-up. Proud of you, warlord.
A shaky, breathless sound slipped from her lips—something between a laugh and a huff, edged with raw relief and a flicker of disbelief. She typed back one-handed, the other brushing through her tangled hair as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing cool wood. The floor was like ice against her skin, grounding, pulling her back from the frantic pulse in her head.
Lottie:You're not off the hook. Stay alert.
Downstairs, the muffled sounds of breakfast drifted up—the delicate clink of porcelain on marble, Mother's bright, brittle laughter, Father's low, clipped murmurs. Somewhere in that polished chaos, Evelyn's voice threaded through, smooth as cream, twice as rich, syrupy and effortless.
Lottie's stomach twisted—not with fear, but with a dark, coiling anticipation. Her fingers gripped the edge of the mattress for a second, feeling the tension vibrate down to her elbows, before she pushed herself to her feet, the faint brush of her nightshirt against her thighs sending a ripple of goosebumps across her skin.
When she arrived at school, the air was electric.
The moment she stepped onto campus, it hit her: the charged hush, the darting glances, the flutter of whispers breaking like ripples against her skin. Heads turned, voices fell, then rose again in low, buzzing hums as she passed. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the leather biting faintly into her palm.
Her chin lifted instinctively, the line of her shoulders drawn taut and proud, every step a deliberate echo of control. She could feel the stares sliding over her like cold rain, some sharp with judgment, others curious, a few even admiring. It was a dance—and today, she led.
"Amazing post, Lottie," a girl murmured as she slipped past, breathless with a flicker of awe, her fingers brushing Lottie's arm briefly in a gesture that was half reflex, half apology.
"She shut it down, huh?" someone else whispered, just loud enough, the words curling like smoke into the charged morning air.
At her locker, Amy hovered at the end of the row, fingers twitching at her sleeves, eyes darting between Lottie and the floor. Their gazes collided for a single, searing second—Amy's face crumpling slightly, mouth parting as if to speak—but Lottie turned smoothly away, fingers gliding over the lock dial, spine straight as an arrow. The ache in her chest pulsed once, sharp as a bruise, but she shoved it down, down, where it belonged. Not today.
The metallic click of the locker door sounded louder than usual, echoing faintly in her ears.
Footsteps approached, light and easy, the scuff of sneakers on polished tile.
"Hell of a morning," Leo's voice drifted in, low and amused, the faintest rasp at the edges betraying how closely he'd been watching. His hand brushed the locker next to hers, a casual lean that masked the sharp flick of his eyes as they swept the hallway. "Didn't think you'd go full gladiator on them."
"I'm adaptable," Lottie murmured, sliding her books into her bag, the zipper's rasp loud against the soft tension that clung to the air.
Leo smirked, the corner of his mouth hitching upward, a flicker of teeth glinting. "Understatement of the year." His voice dropped, a shade softer, just for her: "They're watching her now, you know. Evelyn. Not you."
A flicker of something sharp and bright cut through Lottie's chest—triumph, bitter-sweet and fleeting. Her lips barely moved, but the ghost of a smile touched them. "Good."
As the morning unraveled, the shift was palpable. Teachers paused longer on her, their eyes speculative rather than cold, lingering just a heartbeat too long as they called attendance or handed back papers. Classmates clustered in little knots, whispering in low tones, glancing up with expressions she could only describe as… recalibration. Even Evelyn's inner circle wavered; a few of them offered hesitant smiles in the hallway, their gazes darting away when Lottie's eyes met theirs, the cracks beginning to show like hairline fractures in porcelain.
It was Evelyn herself who held Lottie's gaze across the quad between classes, the look polished to a mirror's shine. For a heartbeat, the air stretched thin, the sunlight slicing between them like a blade. Evelyn's lips curved, delicate and soft, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were daggers, cool and calculating, gleaming with a hard, cutting edge that made the breath catch tight in Lottie's throat. She could feel the subtle shift in Evelyn's posture, the slight lift of her chin, the poised tilt of her head—all rehearsed, all carefully measured, but Lottie saw the tension in the fingers wrapped too tightly around her phone, the way her smile pulled a fraction too wide at the corners.
Lottie felt her own pulse steady, the wild beat smoothing into something quiet, controlled, a steady drum in her veins. The trap had sprung. The wolf had teeth. And Evelyn knew it.
She stepped into her next class, the murmur of voices behind her shifting like a tide, the soft scrape of chairs and shuffling feet rolling through the room like distant thunder. At her seat, she exhaled slowly, letting the tension roll down her arms, into her fingertips, her shoulders loosening by slow, stubborn degrees. The edge of her pen dug into her palm—she hadn't even realized she was clutching it. She set it down carefully, fingers tingling from the pressure, the faintest tremor still dancing in the muscles of her hand.
A soft vibration buzzed against her thigh, a muted thrum like a second heartbeat. She fished the phone out, angling it low under the desk.
Unknown:You've survived this round. Are you ready for the next?
The pulse that leapt through her chest was sharp, almost electric. Her fingers hovered over the keys, the edges of the classroom blurring at the periphery of her vision, the muted chatter slipping into a dull hum in her ears.
Lottie:Always.
When the final bell rang, the afternoon sun slanted low and sharp through the hallways, casting long, golden fingers across the polished floors. As she rounded the corner, there Evelyn stood—waiting, perfectly still, perfectly poised, her silhouette etched in light and shadow. The crowd eddied around her, glances flicking between them like sparks dancing across dry grass.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Evelyn's lips curved, slow and deliberate, a porcelain-doll smile stretched just a little too wide. "Enjoy the moment, Lottie," she murmured, voice like silk drawn over glass, so soft it barely stirred the air between them. "It never lasts."
Lottie's answering smile was a blade wrapped in velvet, sharp and sweet and deadly. "I'll enjoy it more knowing you're watching."
Evelyn's fingers tightened slightly where they curled around her phone, the faintest tremor betraying the cracks beneath the flawless surface. And for the first time in days, Lottie felt the tight knot of dread in her chest loosen—not because the war was over, but because she could finally see the battlefield clearly.
As she walked away, the faintest breath of air stirred at her ear—a whisper of movement, the murmur of voices folding in behind her, the sharp click of Evelyn's heels like the tick of a winding clock, counting down to whatever came next. Lottie's fingers brushed the cool metal of her locker as she passed, the bite of cold grounding her, anchoring her to the electric thrum of the moment. Her heart beat steady now—not calm, never calm, but ready.