Nina closed her bedroom door and locked it.
Her back slid down the cool, smooth wood until she was sitting on the floor. Her heart was still a frantic drum against her ribs. It wasn't fear. It was the sharp, metallic taste of failure. The adrenaline drained out of her, leaving her feeling hollow and weak.
He hadn't done it.
She pushed herself up and walked to her desk. She pulled out a thick, leather-bound notebook. Inside, written in neat, precise English, were pages of analysis on every person in this godforsaken world she was trapped in.
She flipped to the page titled 'Ryan Hancock.'
Next to the words 'impulsive' and 'easily angered,' she drew a sharp, red question mark.
She replayed the scene in her mind. His rage was real. The way his eyes had darkened, the violent tremor in his fist—that wasn't an act. But his restraint was real, too. Something had held him back at the very last second.
The Hancock name. The family's obsessive fear of scandal. In the privacy of his own room, with no witnesses, even he had a leash. A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.
Her conclusion was simple. To make him lose control, she had to do it in public. She had to put him on a stage where his pride and his precious reputation were on the line.
She remembered the passages from the book. Ryan's devotion to Ashleigh was his defining trait, his greatest weakness. He would do anything for her.
The next stage had to be at school. And the fuse had to be Ashleigh.
She needed an event. Something public, something inescapable, something that would pull all three of them into a vortex of chaos.
Her eyes fell on the school calendar pinned to her corkboard. A date was circled in red.
Midterm Exams.
A plan began to form in her mind, cold and sharp and beautiful. She would humiliate him. In front of everyone. In front of his teachers, his teammates. In front of her.
It was risky. It could backfire. It might result in her own social annihilation. But for a chance at true death, a chance to go home, it was a risk she was willing to take.
She paused, her pen hovering over the page. A thought crystallized, cold and absolute. Suicide was a door, but that door was closed. She had tested every lock in her previous life. Only another's hand—driven by rage, unrestrained by consequence—could tear open the seam between worlds. That was the rule. She would not break it.
A soft knock on her door was followed by the housekeeper's voice. "Miss Nina? Dinner is served."
Nina closed the notebook, sliding it into the deepest part of her desk drawer, hidden beneath old textbooks.
She walked down to the dining room. Ryan was already there, a bandage wrapped clumsily around his knuckles. He was stabbing at a piece of steak, his face a thundercloud.
The silence at the table was heavy, broken only by the clink of silverware against porcelain.
Nina deliberately took the seat directly across from him. She wanted him to see her.
He looked up, his eyes like shards of blue ice. He said nothing, but the hatred was a palpable force in the air between them.
Nina picked up her own knife and fork. She cut a piece of her filet mignon, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Does your hand hurt?" she asked, her voice deceptively sweet. "Next time, you should try using my head. I'm told it's much harder than drywall."
Ryan's fork clattered against his plate, the sound sharp and jarring.
He shot to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping violently against the polished floor.
Maria, the housekeeper, looked at them, her eyes wide with alarm. "Master Ryan..."
He ignored her. He stared at Nina for a long, silent moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the dining room.
Nina watched him go, a slow, satisfied smile touching her lips.
She was on the right path. His anger was a bomb, and she just needed to find the right place to detonate it.
She calmly returned to her meal, the steak tasting like victory.
Later that night, as she was getting ready for bed, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
"Stay away from him. You'll regret it."
She didn't need to guess who it was from. Ashleigh Meadows. The queen bee protecting her most loyal drone.
Nina didn't delete it. She took a screenshot, saving it for later. It was a piece of evidence. A future weapon.
She typed a simple reply.
"I'd love to see you try."
She hit send, then tossed the phone onto her bed. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. The pieces were moving. The game was on.
