FLASHBACK
I never had to announce myself when I walked through the school gates of East Crest High. People did it for me—maybe not out loud, but in the way conversations shifted, laughter dimmed, and eyes turned, pretending not to look. I could always feel it: the prickle of awareness that followed me like a crown I hadn't asked for but had learned to wear.
This morning was no different. The sun had barely climbed high enough to bleach the courtyard in gold, yet the usual hum was alive—fresh uniforms, sneakers squeaking, backpacks slung over one shoulder. I caught the sound of my name in a whisper from a cluster of sophomores by the vending machine. It trailed after me like perfume, thin and sweet.
"Brielle."
Lyla caught up to me first, her stride quick, her lip gloss a shade she'd borrowed from me last week and forgotten to return. She always did that—borrowed pieces of me and wore them like armor. I didn't mind. It suited her.
"You're early," she said, falling into step beside me.
"I like the way campus feels before everyone gets loud," I replied. My tone was casual, but she understood it for what it was: my way of saying I liked being the first thing people noticed.
By the time we reached the main hall, the rest of my circle had joined in—a slow magnetic pull, one after another. Madison with her high ponytail and endless gossip, Cara with her nervous laugh, two juniors who always hovered too close as if proximity might win them an invitation into the inner ring. They fell into rhythm around me without needing instruction, like planets realigning to their orbit.
I smiled at them, not because I had to but because I knew what my smile could do. It made people lean closer, made them want to be part of whatever joke I was about to share. That was the secret no one admitted out loud: power wasn't in being the loudest. It was in being the one people strained to hear.
"Did you see what Alyssa was wearing yesterday?" Madison started, her voice sharp with judgment.
I tilted my head, letting the silence stretch until she flushed and added, "I mean, it looked like she stole it from her mom's closet."
I gave a soft laugh, light enough to seem effortless, but it was enough to seal the moment. Madison grinned, reassured, and the juniors copied her reaction a second too late. It was almost funny—how timing was everything in this game.
We reached my locker, and I leaned against it instead of opening it, surveying the hallway like it belonged to me. In a way, it did. People passed by and looked twice, some with envy, some with admiration, and some with fear. I wasn't cruel—not unless someone gave me reason—but reputation had a way of growing its own claws.
A hand slid onto my waist, warm and familiar, pulling me slightly back into the present. Ethan.
"Morning, babe," he murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple.
The hallway rippled with reaction, as it always did. We were the couple people measured themselves against, the glossy picture they tried to copy but could never quite capture. I turned to face him, catching the way his dark eyes softened just for me. He was tall, confident, and beautiful in the kind of way that made girls glance twice when they thought I wasn't looking. I noticed everything.
"You're late," I teased, though my lips curved into a smile.
"I figured I'd let you make your entrance first," he said smoothly, like he knew the game too.
Lola giggled beside me, and Madison whispered something behind her hand, but I didn't give them the satisfaction of looking. My attention stayed on Ethan, though I let my fingers trail down his arm just long enough for everyone else to see.
Being with Ethan wasn't just about affection—it was about balance. He was strong enough to stand beside me, yet wise enough not to compete. When we walked down a hall together, it wasn't just me or him people noticed. It was us. And in high school, that meant everything.
Still, power was fragile if left unchecked. I leaned up slightly, brushing my lips near his ear, and whispered, "Don't forget—you promised me tonight. No excuses."
He smirked, the kind of smile that told me he'd never dare forget.
By third period, the day had fully unfolded. My squad trailed into the gym for a quick practice before classes, and though I hadn't planned to lead, I couldn't stop myself from correcting little details—the dip of a shoulder, the sharpness of a turn.
"Straighter lines," I called out, my voice echoing just enough to remind them this wasn't casual.
They obeyed instantly, and I felt that small thrill I always did when everything snapped into order. Control wasn't just about appearances. It was about discipline, about proving that I could shape chaos into something beautiful.
When the routine tightened, I gave a single nod. The girls exhaled, some smiling, some flushed with relief. They looked to me for approval the way they always did, and I gave it sparingly. Too much praise makes people lazy.
Later, walking back through the courtyard, I caught my reflection in the glass doors of the library. Hair in place, uniform crisp, smile easy but deliberate. I didn't look untouchable, but I felt it. Because I knew the truth: it wasn't about how perfectly I played the role. It was about how much people believed in the version of me they'd created.
And they did.
Every single one of them.
––––
The summer after East Crest High felt like a coronation.
Not a farewell, not a simple graduation, but a glittering send-off that reminded me exactly who I was: Brielle Lancaster, the girl everyone watched, loved, and envied in equal measure. My peers thought they were moving on to greater things; I knew better. They would disperse into mediocrity while I was destined for a bigger stage, a sharper crown.
Willow Heights University.
The name itself carried weight, an institution woven into old money and quiet power. Its ivy-clad walls weren't just for education -they were breeding grounds for legacy. If East Crest had been my playground, Willow Heights was to be my empire. And empires, I reminded myself as I packed silk blouses into leather trunks, which were built on bloodlines and precision. Fortunately, I had both.
The Lancaster name didn't just open doors; it swung them wide with velvet-lined reverence. My father had secured a substantial donation to Willow Heights before I was even born, cementing my admission decades in advance. My acceptance letter wasn't just a formality—it was destiny printed on embossed parchment. And when I stepped onto campus, I did so like a queen entering her court.
The morning sun lit the red-brick buildings in a kind of golden haze, like the universe itself conspired to make my arrival cinematic. Students milled around the quad, some wide-eyed freshmen like me, others seasoned elites who had already carved their hierarchies into the social stone. Whispers rose almost instantly as I passed—my suitcase wheels humming against the cobblestone paths, Ethan's tall figure flanking me like the golden knight he so effortlessly embodied.
Ethan Harthorne.
My Ethan.
He'd been the crown jewel of East Crest, the boy every girl wanted and every boy wanted to be. But he'd chosen me. He'd always chosen me. Together, we were untouchable. He thrived in my shadow as much as I thrived in his glow. Hand in hand, we were luminous, the golden couple everyone photographed with their eyes but never dared to ap proach too closely.
"Feels the same," Ethan murmured, adjusting his duffel bag. "Like East Crest all over again."
"No," I corrected smoothly, tilting my chin as though surveying territory. "This is bigger. East Crest was rehearsal. This is opening night."
He chuckled—warm, adoring, oblivious. That was Ethan's charm. He grounded me, humanized me, and made me palatable to the masses. They saw his easy smile and forgot the steel of my gaze, the calculation behind my lips. Together, we were dazzled. Apart, I was sharper, dangerous.
The first days blurred in a whirl of orientation events, welcome parties, and polite smiles exchanged with those eager to orbit me. I chose my acquaintances carefully. Not all wealth is equal—old money like mine and Ethan's carried gravitas, a sheen newer fortunes could never polish onto themselves. Still, I played my role gracefully. I let the nouveau riche daughters with their designer-but-just-off-trend handbags laugh at my jokes, I let the scholarship students feel momentarily important when I remembered their names. A queen knew how to dispense charity, even in the form of attention.
It didn't take long for the invitations to start—dinners, study groups, clandestine rooftop parties. By day three, I had assembled a court of sorts. By day five, my name was etched onto the lips of every fraternity brother, sorority sister, and social climber desperate for a seat at my table.
And then came the cheer squad.
The Stormhawks weren't just any university team. They were legends. Their cheer program was nationally ranked, notorious for turning pretty faces into icons. Tryouts, I had heard, were brutal. But I wasn't here to try—I was here to claim.
The gym was buzzing with nervous energy when I walked in, Ethan trailing behind me with his easy confidence. Girls stretched in perfect splits, ponytails bouncing as they whispered about the infamous coach who cut even legacies without hesitation. I saw their sidelong glances, the quick exchanges when they realized who had just entered. Brielle Lancaster wasn't just a name; it was a headline.
I tied my hair back, slid into formation, and performed as though the squad had always been mine. Every movement was sharp, commanding, and effortless. Where others strained to impress, I exuded inevitability. By the time the final whistle blew, the coach didn't even bother with suspense.
"Lancaster, you're in."
Of course I was.
Ethan's grin when he kissed me afterward was boyish, proud, and almost naive. "Knew you'd crush it," he said, spinning me lightly before setting me down as though we were in some teen rom-com montage. Around us, girls sighed and boys smirked, as if our perfection was scripted. Perhaps it was.
The cheer squad became another throne. I didn't dominate with claws outstretched—at least, not yet. For now, I wore a charm like silk, letting the other girls believe we were equals. I complimented their jumps, encouraged their tumbles, laughed at their jokes. I made them feel safe in my glow.
But make no mistake: I was already studying them. Who was ambitious? Who was insecure? Who could be bent, who could be broken? Power wasn't about brute force—it was about knowing when to unsheathe the blade.
And in the quiet corners of my mind, the darker truths of myself whispered. The side no one here had seen yet, not even Ethan. They saw the queen; they hadn't met the predator. Not yet.
For now, I played balance—neither cruel nor kind, simply magnetic. A perfect mask. The cruelty, the sharpness beneath the gold, would reveal itself soon enough.