3

Vienne's Pov

The pounding in my skull could not be overlooked. It started behind my eyes and spread like cracks through glass, sharp and relentless. 

Sunlight sliced through the half-open curtains of my bedroom, turning the silk sheets into something blinding. I groaned, pressing my face into the pillow that still smelled faintly of my own shampoo mixed with something else; clean soap and faint cologne that didn’t belong to me...

My phone kept vibrating somewhere on the nightstand and it was not the gentle morning alarm I usually set. This was a constant, angry buzz, like some hive of bees had decided to attack at once.

I forced one eye open. My eyes felt gritty, my tongue thick and dry. The events of yesterday swirled back into my memory in fragments: the courtyard, Ryan’s flat voice, Amelia’s smirk, the drive, the club, the neon lights, the strong hands that had kept me from falling.

Damon Calloway.

I sat up too fast. The room tilted. My stomach lurched, but I swallowed hard and reached for the phone. The screen lit up with hundreds of notifications;  tags, comments, direct messages, group chats blowing up.

My thumb trembled as I opened the first one.

The photo filled the screen.

There I was, outside the club, leaning heavily into Damon’s chest. His dark jacket draped over my shoulders, one of his hands steady on my waist, the other supporting my arm. My brunette hair was messy, eyes half-closed, lips parted in what looked far too intimate under the light. 

The caption screamed in bold letters: Vienne Reyes moved on FAST. From Ryan Knox to scholarship boy in one night?

Suggestive enough.

The comments poured in like acid.

‘Damn, Reyes doesn’t waste time.’

‘Ryan must be pissed’ 

‘Amelia is going to do what?’

‘That jacket tho…’

Heat flooded my cheeks, burning hotter than the hangover. I scrolled frantically, heart slamming against my ribs. The picture had been taken from the shadows; someone from school, no doubt, lurking outside the club and I had happened to overlook. 

It had spread through every senior group chat overnight. Ryan had already seen it. Amelia too.

I dropped the phone onto the silk sheets, the device landing with a soft thud. Humiliation, fresh and raw, mixed with something sharper, a spark of defiance that refused to die.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet met the cool hardwood floor of my luxurious bedroom. 

I stood, swaying slightly, and walked to the mirror. My reflection stared back; messy hair and brown bloodshot eyes. The silk camisole from last night clung to my skin, wrinkled and carrying the faint scent of the club mixed with Damon’s jacket.

His jacket.

I spotted it draped over the back of my desk chair. I must have kept it somehow. The fabric was simple, nothing designer, yet it felt heavier than anything in my closet right now.

My mind raced, the hangover fog lifting just enough for clarity.

Ryan had humiliated me in front of the entire school. Amelia had finally gotten her revenge. The perfect image I had spent years building lay in pieces.

But this photo… This photo would change things.

It wasn’t just evidence of my breakdown. It was a weapon.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity. And I could see it unfolding; Ryan’s face when he saw me with someone else, especially someone like Damon. The scholarship kid who never bowed to the elite crowd. The brooding basketball star who made the court his kingdom without needing their approval. Jealousy would eat at Ryan to have him crawling back.

And Amelia? Watching the girl she hated suddenly linked to the quiet, intense boy who barely gave anyone the time of day? That would burn.

A reckless idea solidified in my chest, pushing past the nausea and the ache.

I needed a plan. A real one. 

Not color-coded notes this time. 

But something bold. And flipping.

Tutoring. Calloway’s grades were slipping; everyone knew. Scholarship on the line, younger sister to support, the constant pressure of making ends meet after losing his parents. He couldn’t afford to repeat senior year.

I could offer that. Help him pass every subject he was failing. In exchange…

Fake boyfriend.

Public enough to make Ryan regret everything. Close enough to make Amelia seethe. Real enough to look believable in photos and hallways.

I grabbed my phone again, ignoring the wave of new notifications and finally found the school directory. I scrolled until I reached his name: Damon Calloway. My thumb hovered over the message icon.

The second thing I noticed was the way my pulse quickened; not just from hangover or fear, but from something different. Anticipation. Risk. The same stubborn fire that had kept me from crying in the courtyard.

I typed quickly, fingers still slightly unsteady.

Let's talk. About last night. And about a deal I think you’ll want to hear. Library after basketball practice? – Vienne Reyes

I hit send before I could overthink it.

The reply came faster than I had expected. Just two words.

Fine. 4pm.

No emojis. No questions. Blunt, like the voice that had steadied me outside the club.

I heaved out a heavy breath, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. I set the phone down and headed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face until the pounding eased. 

My parents would video-call later, all smiles and ask , “How was your first day?” And I would lie beautifully, the way I always did.

But inside, the plan took root.

I would walk into Minerva High tomorrow not as the dumped girl, but as the one who had already moved on; with the one boy who might actually make the elite circle uncomfortable.

By the time I finished showering and pulled on fresh clothes in simple clothes that still screamed quiet luxury, the heaviness in my chest had shifted. It wasn’t gone. But it felt different now. Lighter. Purposeful.

I picked up Damon’s jacket, folding it carefully. The fabric still carried his scent.

I will return it today. Along with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

They wanted fun? Fine.

I would give them a show they’d never forget.

Downstairs, I hollered back at Mrs Lopez, the housekeeper that had greeted me. I grabbed my bag, slipped Damon’s jacketi nside, and headed for the door.

Senior year had started with betrayal, but it would not end that way.