18. Katy Schwartz

After school I went straight to my mom's salon like usual. She'd texted me earlier, thanking Anne for agreeing to the photos. Ever since she posted Anne's makeover on the salon's website, the floodgates had opened. In two weeks, we were booked six months out. My mom had to hire help just to keep up with the demand.

Everyone wanted to be "transformed." They wanted the Anne Treatment.

Honestly? I didn't regret becoming friends with her—not like Jackie and Lara swore I would. Anne wasn't creepy or weird like people used to whisper. She was just disinterested in the fake shit. Smart, dry-humored, observant. One of the first people who didn't treat me like I was an airhead.

Helping her glow up felt good. Like I'd made up for all the crap I'd been part of with my old friends.

But there was still one thing in Anne's life I couldn't stomach: Victor.

Sure, he was attractive in that 90s teen idol way, and he checked literally every box on the "perfect boyfriend" list. Always pulled out her chair. Bought her lunch. Stuck by her side.

But I know for a fact perfect doesn't exist.

Victor was off. Always there, always smiling—but it was a smile that never touched his eyes. There was something mean behind it. Something scary. I didn't know what it was, but I didn't trust it. And I've never been wrong about dangerous people.

I was checking more DMs when a voice made my heart lurch.

"Hello, Katy."

I looked up.

Victor. Just outside the glass door. Hands folded neatly. That too-perfect smile on his face.

"Victor," I said cautiously, nodding once. My pulse spiked.

How the hell did he know I was here?

I hadn't even told Anne about today's plans.

"Can we talk for a few minutes?" he asked.

God. No. I didn't even want to look at him for a few seconds. He was trying too hard to seem harmless, and that made him feel more threatening.

I looked behind me into the salon. My mom met my gaze and smiled, giving me the thumbs up.

Of course she did. Everyone trusted Victor. Golden boy. Top student. Polite and neat and polite again.

"I—sure," I said, forcing a smile. I didn't feel like I had a real choice. Something told me that if I'd said no, he wouldn't have accepted it.

So I led him next door to the café. The one with clean windows, a dozen cameras, and baristas who knew me by name.

Just in case.

The moment we stepped inside, I regretted it though.

It was too warm—or maybe that was just me. My palms were sweaty, and my latte felt like a prop. The café was quiet today, too. Bad luck. Not enough people to make this feel safe.

Victor stood beside me in line, motionless, like a statue in a perfect-boyfriend museum.

"You seem tense," he said.

"Long day with the salon and school and whatnot," I replied, trying to stay chill.

"You looked up from your phone like I was going to stab you or something."

Because I don't put it past you, you psychopath.

"I didn't see you coming," I said, forcing a chuckle.

He ordered black coffee. No sugar, no milk. The serial killer special.

We sat at a booth near the window. I felt the sweat prickling down my spine.

He was staring.

Not in a flirty way. Not curious. Just... assessing.

Like I was a threat. Or maybe just a puzzle he needed to solve.

I took a sip of my latte, but it tasted off now. My favorite drink, ruined.

"Why am I here, Victor?" I finally asked. "You didn't come just to watch me not enjoy my drink."

His smile faltered—just a little—but it came back fast.

"I enjoy having clarity," he said. "I think everyone does. So I just wanted to ask if you've been trying to plant things in Anne's head."

Only that you give me the creeps, and she agrees with me.

"What kind of anything?" I asked, buying myself time. "We talk about a lot."

"Anything that might make her feel confused about what she is to me?"

I laughed, sharp and short. "Anne has a mind of her own, Victor. I don't need to tell her how to feel."

"But you do influence her," he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You're her friend. That means something. And when someone you care about is... fragile... the things they hear can break them."

I stared.

Fragile?

Who the hell was he talking about?

Was he calling Anne weak?

I wanted to say something, anything, but I stopped myself. Because I recognized the trap in his tone. Victor wasn't here to chat. He was here to make sure I knew my place.

He was giving me a warning.

But so help me God—I wasn't going to give him the reaction he wanted.

"I didn't say anything. No need for you to worry," I said.

Victor didn't blink. He just studied me like he was trying to peel the skin off my face and see underneath. His eyes were dark with calculation, like he was adding something up.

Then he nodded slowly.

"Good," he said, voice soft and even. "Because I know that you're a lot smarter than you pretend to be."

I didn't smile.

He might as well have said: I know where you sleep. And it would've had the same effect. My stomach tensed. My fingers curled around my cup.

"So, was that a threat?" I asked, arching a brow, masking my nerves the way I always had—fake it 'til you make it.

Victor blinked at me, head tilting like I'd just asked the weather if it wanted coffee. "Of course... I don't know what you're talking about."

Liar. A smug one at that. And the worst part? He said it so calmly, so sweetly, like I was the one being dramatic.

Fine then. No more pretending.

"What did you do to Lara and Craig?" I folded my arms. "I know you're somehow involved."

Craig had been declared dead after that gym collapse. And Lara? She "fell" down the stairs and somehow decided not to talk about it. Both of them just happened to target Anne. Both just happened to be silenced.

I'd be a fool to miss that pattern.

Victor's face finally changed. The smile that curved his lips was genuine. Not that fake, polite expression he wore like a mask. No, this was the kind of smile you give when you've gotten exactly what you wanted.

"I don't know what you mean, Katy," he said, casually taking a long sip of his black coffee. "Craig was on drugs. That was bound to end badly."

He let that hang in the air like a joke.

"And Lara... well, accidents happen, don't they?" he added. "Is it my fault she got hurt that badly? Karma is just funny that way, don't you think?"

My stomach flipped. Not because he was lying. But because I believed him.

He didn't think he was guilty—he thought he was right. In his head, that probably wasn't murder or revenge. It was justice. It was balance.

And worse? He was untouchable. There was no proof. Lara backed off. Craig overdosed. Everyone still loves this guy. Game over.

I should've ended the conversation right there. Should've said something fake and polite and left.

But I couldn't.

"You're really weird about Anne," I said.

"Oh?" Victor raised a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Yeah, like... obsessively weird. You're always watching. You think people don't notice, but you're not slick. At all."

I left out the part where Anne noticed too. I wasn't about to throw her under the bus—not when I was pretty sure Victor would burn the bus down.

Victor didn't respond right away. He just sipped his coffee again, slowly, like he had all the time in the world to decide if I was a threat.

Then he set the cup down, folded his hands together, and leaned forward just slightly.

"So... tell me what side you're really on, Katy."

The question hit harder than it should've.

That was it. That was the reason for this little outing. Not coffee. Not conversation. Not intimidation.

This was a test.

And now I was sitting in front of something dangerous with no exit.

"It's a simple question, Katy," he said, voice smooth. "No trick."

I swallowed. "Well, isn't it clear that I'm on Anne's side?"

His eyes softened. Or pretended to, I don't know.

"That's enough then," he said, rising from his seat and putting that fake, perfect smile back on his face. "Thanks for the drink."

He walked away with the same casual grace he entered with, pausing only to hold the door for an elderly couple. They smiled up at him like he was an angel on Earth.

If only they knew.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from him: Anne's side. Just watch accordingly.

I stared at the screen, the meaning cutting through me like ice.

He didn't thank me. That wasn't gratitude.

That was a checkmark.

A tally.

A warning.

Should I tell Anne? Would it even help?

Or should I just shut up and be grateful I was still breathing?

I didn't know.

I only knew one thing: I was in deep now.

Dammit Anne, I hope you have a plan.