The next day, Kayla arrived at school as usual.
Mira spotted her in the hallway first, weaving through the crowd to catch up. She leaned in and whispered a joke under her breath. Kayla's lips curved into a brief smile—quick, restrained, but real.
In the classroom, Mrs. Chan gave a short introduction to the new topic, explaining the expectations and timeline. Before anyone could ask questions, she added that students would be choosing their partners before the next class and dismissed them early.
The moment the bell rang, the atmosphere shifted.
Students lingered instead of leaving. Boys and girls alike subtly edged closer to Kayla. There was something about her—her quiet confidence, her graceful posture, the way she carried herself without trying—that drew attention effortlessly. Everyone wanted a reason to talk to her.
Across the room, a girl stepped toward Mira with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"You and Kayla are friends, right?" she said sweetly, closing the distance. "It's best to look out for each other. People like us should stick together."
Mira stiffened, clearly uncomfortable, her fingers tightening around her notebook.
Nearby, Aidan saw his chance. He started toward Kayla, intent on suggesting they partner up. But Stacy stepped in front of him, gripping his arm lightly.
"Don't forget," she said coolly, "we're engaged. You shouldn't get attached to your new toy."
Her eyes flicked toward Kayla with open disgust.
Aidan's expression darkened. "She isn't a toy," he warned. "And stay away from her."
Stacy's lips curled into a smile. "I will—if you invite her to the Halloween party this Friday."
She leaned closer, her voice low. "I just want to get to know her better… since you seem so interested in her."
Aidan froze. "I won't."
Stacy shrugged. "Then I'll invite her myself." She winked, slipping her hand into his. "We're partners, remember? Don't start thinking about changing that."
Across the room, Kayla felt the crowd closing in. The noise, the attention—it pressed against her skin. Without hesitation, she walked straight to Mira.
"She's already my partner," Kayla said coldly, fixing the girl with a sharp glare. She pulled Mira closer to her side. "So back off."
The girl blinked, then laughed softly. "I guess common folks stick together." She waved mockingly. "Bye-bye for now. See you later."
She walked away.
Around them, several boys muttered in disappointment before dispersing.
Mira exhaled in relief and smiled up at Kayla. "Thank you."
Kayla glanced at her, confusion flickering briefly in her eyes, as if she wasn't entirely sure why she'd done it—only that it felt necessary.
Mira chuckled, tore a sheet from her notebook, and scribbled something down. She handed it to Kayla.
"My number. Text me when you want to start the project."
Kayla nodded, folding the paper carefully and slipping it into her pocket.
She didn't say much—but she didn't let go of Mira's side either.
During lunch break, Kayla and Mira decided to eat in the library after collecting their trays from the cafeteria.
Mira greeted the librarian before sitting next to Kayla. She asked a few questions about the assignment and offered suggestions on how they could plan their work. Kayla answered briefly, her tone flat and controlled.
Aidan walked into the library and greeted them. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.
Mira glanced at Kayla before agreeing.
Once they finished eating, Kayla looked at Aidan. "Speak."
"Kayla, I want us to be friends, and I know you—"
"Last chance. Speak," Kayla interrupted, sharp..
"Fine," Aidan sighed. "I was wondering if you ladies would like to be invited to the Halloween party this Friday. I thought it might be fun… a chance to get to know each other a little." He handed her the invitation.
Kayla's expression stayed unreadable, making him nervous.
"And I'll make no attempts to harm you, I promise," he added nervously, glancing at Mira before leaving.
Kayla turned to Mira. "We are starting the project this weekend. Don't try to convince me otherwise."
"Kayla, I know you don't like parties, but can you try it for me? I'd love it if we went together," Mira said softly.
"Don't leave my sight if we go. If anything happens, we leave immediately," Kayla warned.
"Thanks. Promise to text me so we can start the assignment tomorrow," Mira replied.
Kayla thought about the parties she had seen in movies—how easily they could spiral out of control, ruin someone's life. But watching from the sidelines wasn't enough. She needed to experience it firsthand, to feel the tension, to see if someone was targeting her.
She noticed Mira had agreed, probably to avoid being targeted herself if she refused.
That made Kayla's instincts sharpen. A warning needed to be sent—subtle, careful, but unmistakable.
Marcus and Stacy huddled in a corner, whispering furiously about their plans to ruin Kayla at the party—dumping pigs' feet on her and sabotaging her car.
"Did you discover anything about her background?" Stacy asked, narrowing her eyes.
"She lives with her grandma and older sister in this district," Marcus replied. "She didn't attend any other school before ours—she was homeschooled. She doesn't interact with neighbors, and she has no friends except her grandma and sister."
"She's a nobody," Stacy sneered.
"No parents, no social life… a freak. How did she even get admission into our school? Or is the principal blind for letting trash like her in, even on a scholarship?"
"Relax," Marcus said, leaning back. "Let's wait until the party starts. That's when the fun begins."
*At the estate*
Mr. Wayne held the men who had kidnapped his son captive, torturing them as he interrogated them.
"Who ordered this?" he demanded calmly, even as their screams echoed through the room.
One of the men laughed weakly through bloodstained teeth.
"It doesn't matter who ordered us," he said hoarsely. "Or who paid us. We would have done it anyway. After everything you did to ruin our lives—after what you hide beneath your company—we wanted you to feel the pain we felt."
Mr. Wayne's expression didn't change.
He raised a hand.
"Continue."
The guards obeyed.
Moments later, Mr. Wayne leaned forward and spoke again, his voice low and controlled.
"Tell me who your informant is," he said. "I can give you wealth. I can grant you your freedom."
The man spat blood at his feet.
"I lost everything because of you," he growled. "Do you really think you can bribe me?"
His body was covered in scars and fresh wounds, blood dripping onto the floor.
One of the guards leaned closer and whispered, "Sir, they would rather die than tell the truth."
The leader sneered, lifting his head despite the pain.
Whoever sent that message to Mr. Wayne, he thought, sent a warning that shook him to his core. This is karma.
Even if I die, I hope his rival destroys him completely.
Mr. Wayne studied them for a long moment.
Then he straightened.
"Release them," he ordered.
"There's no need to spill more blood."
The guards hesitated but obeyed.
Mr. Wayne turned away, disbelief tightening his chest.
He couldn't accept it.
A group of gangsters—men who should have begged to survive—had chosen death over betraying a single name. Had chosen silence over revenge.
No evidence.
No proof.
No trace of a plan against him.
Mr. Wayne clenched his hands together slowly.
For the first time in years, uncertainty settled in his bones.
Mr. Wayne watched from the upper balcony as the captives were dragged out of the interrogation room, their bodies barely holding together. He did not look back.
Their silence disturbed him more than their defiance.
Men like that begged when death stared them down. These ones had smiled through broken teeth and chosen suffering over a single name. That was not loyalty—it was belief.
Someone was moving against him from the shadows.
Someone patient.
Someone close.
And worst of all, someone who had already reached Kayla.
Mr. Wayne poured himself a drink, his thoughts narrowing to one conclusion. He would not rush. He would wait. The mysterious ally would make a mistake eventually. Everyone did.
After school, Kayla arrived home without delay. She removed her uniform neatly, placing it exactly where it belonged before heading into the shower. The warm water slid over her skin, washing away the noise of the day, but not the unease beneath it.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Dinner will be ready by seven, miss," the maid said gently.
"I know," Kayla replied, her voice calm and even.
Once dressed, Kayla sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her phone.
Kayla: What time are we starting the project tomorrow?
The reply came almost instantly.
Mira: Around 3 p.m. if that's okay with you, I'll bring my notes.
Kayla stared at the message for a moment before responding.
Kayla: Be on time.
She locked her phone and leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
Parties ruined lives. She had seen it enough times—watched careless moments spiral into permanent damage. Yet this time was different.
This time, she was walking directly into the danger.
Not out of curiosity.
Out of necessity.
If someone was watching her, then they would be watching the party too.
And if someone planned to strike, they would not resist such a perfect opportunity.
Kayla reached for her phone again and sent a message—short, coded, and deliberate.
She set the phone aside, dressed, and powered on her console.
Call of Duty loaded.
The moment the match began, Kayla's posture changed. Calm vanished—replaced by focus. Her eyes tracked movement with precision as she mapped routes, counted seconds, predicted spawns. Every move was deliberate. No wasted shots. No hesitation.
Enemies dropped one after another.
She flanked without being seen, cut off exits, forced opponents into traps they didn't realize existed until it was too late. Headshots came clean. Efficient. Almost surgical.
The chat exploded.
"What the hell?"
"She's insane."
"That's not normal."
"Mad demon."
Kayla didn't react.
She wasn't playing for entertainment.
She was calculating.
Every path.
Every angle.
Every way an enemy could be eliminated before they knew they were being hunted.
The match ended in silence—then defeat.
Kayla leaned back, exhaled once, and queued for another game.
Because in war—real or virtual—she never left anything to chance.