LOGINKianna's Pov:I sat cross-legged on my dorm bed, knees pulled to my chest, phone clutched so tightly in my hand that my knuckles had gone white. The screen was dark now, but the images were burned into my mind: Maddox’s laughing face lit by the glow of someone else’s phone, Emily stumbling, tears mixing with spilled beer, his friends jeering in the background. The caption—“Beating your enemy at his own game”—felt like it was aimed straight at me.I’d scrolled past it the first time, thinking it was just another rumor. Then I watched the videos three times going on the Fourth. Each replay made my stomach twist harder until I had to drop the phone and press my palms to my eyes to stop the room from spinning.How could I have been so stupid?All those weeks of him being sweet—bringing me coffee exactly how I liked it, helping me to heal, texting good-night like clockwork—had felt real. He’d looked me in the eyes and sworn he’d changed, that the old Maddox was gone. And I’d believed
Maddox's PoV:I woke up to my phone buzzing like a goddamn hornet's nest, notifications piling up faster than I could swipe them away. Groggy from last night's hangover—yeah, I'd partied a bit too hard at that shithole apartment with the guys. I grabbed the phone off the nightstand, expecting the usual crap: likes on my latest gym selfie, flirty DMs from underclassmen, maybe a text from Kianna saying good morning. But no, the screen was flooded with tags, mentions, and shares from the school forum app. "What the fuck?" I muttered, sitting up in bed, the sheets tangling around my legs.I opened the app, and there it was: a post from some anonymous profile called ‘ShadowExpose’. And under it were videos of me at the Millwood Apartments last night, hanging with my crew—Jake, Tyler and the usual suspects. We were messing around with that nerdy chick, Emily, the one who's always got her nose in a book. She looked rough, yeah—sick from whatever flu was going around, or maybe just ligh
Mordred's PoV:I slumped deeper into the worn-out armchair in my dimly lit living room, the fabric frayed at the edges from years of neglect, much like everything else in this godforsaken apartment. The bottle of cheap whiskey—some off-brand rotgut I'd picked up from the corner store on my way home, clutched in my hand like a reluctant lifeline. The amber liquid sloshed gently as I raised it to my lips, the sharp burn sliding down my throat, searing away the edges of the day's humiliation. But it couldn't erase the memory. No, that played on an endless, torturous loop in my mind: Kianna’s warnings, the eyes that watched us fight like cats and dogs, the smugness on some of their faces and Kianna's last glare at me before walking away with Lesley. And it was all the bastard's fault, if he hadn't interfered in our life, if he'd leave us the fuck alone..none of it would've happened.I took another swig, wincing at the fire that spread through my chest, but welcoming the haze it broug
Kianna's PoV:I barely made it to the girls’ bathroom before the dam broke again.The door slammed behind me, echoing off the tiles like a gunshot. I stumbled into the furthest stall, locked it, and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold floor, knees to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them as if I could physically hold myself together. The sobs came in waves, ugly and unstoppable, ripping out of me until my throat burned and my ribs ached.Why is it so hard to just be normal? Why does every time I think I’m safe, the ground opens up and swallows me whole?Mordred’s face in the cafeteria flashed behind my eyes: rage turning to shock when I accused him of stalking me. The way his fist had frozen mid-air. The hurt that flickered across his features before he shut it down. Even though I'm trying my best to deny it, the thought of losing him still haunts me to this day.Every damn time I see his face, something in me just awakens. I can still recall all the precious mo
Mordred's PoV:The safe house felt like a tomb that night—cold and empty with the kind of silence that presses in on you until it hurts to breathe. I paced the living room like a caged animal, boots scuffing the hardwood and the echo mocking me with every step. The lights were off, but the city glow seeped through the blinds in sickly stripes, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls. I couldn't sit. Couldn't think straight. All I could do was to replay the scene at Pearl Street over and over, a nightmare loop that clawed at my insides.Kianna, my Kianna—bursting through that door, her face crumbling like I'd taken a hammer to her heart.The tears in her eyes, the way her voice broke on “it's over”. Like all the moments we'd shared—the rooftop kisses under starlight, the way she'd laugh when I'd burn breakfast trying to impress her, the nights she'd trace my scars with her fingers like they were maps to my soul, meant nothing. Like I was just another asshole in a
Maddox’s POV: I'd spent weeks trying to track this ghost—paying Jayden under the table, slipping him my phone's logs, chasing shadows through burner numbers and encrypted calls. And now here he was, sitting across from me like we'd scheduled a coffee date. "You," I breathed, straining against the ropes. "What did you do? How did you…"The auto-tune laughed, cutting me off in a recognized echoing sound that always crawled under my skin. "Since you were looking for me... I decided to come and see you instead.” the voice muttered, then took in a deep breath before continuing.“Don't waste your time tracking me, Maddox. Everything you do, I know.”I glanced at Jayden, his head lolling to the side, blood trickling from a gash on his temple like a zombie. They'd beaten him bad—probably to make a point. "You didn't have to do this," I said, voice low but trying to sound tough. "We're on the same side and our plan is working successfully. I just wanted to meet you and at least thank yo







