Liam had been watching me all day.
Not subtly.
Not discreetly.
Not like someone with a crush.
No.
He watched me like a soldier waiting for orders.
Like a predator guarding what he believed was his territory.
Like I was the only thing keeping him breathing.
I could feel his stare burning into my spine long before the final bell rang.
When school ended, he caught up to me just outside the gates.
"Crystal," he said breathlessly, "can we talk?"
I tilted my head, feigning hesitation. "Talk? About what?"
"About… everything."
His eyes shone with a mix of worry and obsession, the kind that would make any sane person step back.
But I stepped forward.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's talk."
We walked to the back of the school—an unused courtyard behind the gym where no one ever went. The sun was low, throwing long shadows across the cracked pavement. A perfect place for confessions… and manipulation.
Liam shoved his hands into his pockets, restless. "Crystal… you're not okay. I can tell."
I exhaled softly, lowering my gaze. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I feel it." His voice broke slightly. "You're always carrying something heavy. I can see the pain you try to hide. And I can't stand watching you suffer alone."
I almost smiled.
He had no idea how perfect he was becoming.
"Liam," I said quietly, "some things… some things hurt too much to talk about."
He stepped closer. "Then let me share the weight. Please."
I let the silence stretch, building tension—letting him feel like he earned my trust.
And then, slowly, carefully, I began.
But not with the truth.
Not the full truth.
Not the bloody river.
Not my mother's murder.
Not the darkness that lived beneath my ribs.
No.
I handed him the version that would bind him to me tighter.
"When I was ten," I began, letting my voice break at the edges,
"My mother died."
Liam immediately grabbed my hand, squeezing it like he could protect me from past ghosts.
"And after she died," I continued softly, "my aunt… Helen… took everything."
"What do you mean everything?" His voice sharpened.
"Everything my mother owned. Her store. Her land. Her savings."
I looked at the ground. "She said I didn't deserve anything. That I was worthless without my mother."
Liam's jaw clenched so tightly I saw the muscle jump.
"And it didn't stop there," I whispered. "She and her husband made me work like a servant. Beat me when I made mistakes. Starved me when I cried. They said I should be grateful they let me stay alive."
Liam's breathing grew uneven—sharp, ragged, furious.
"She stole my mother's property," I whispered, my voice trembling in controlled precision. "Everything that should've been mine. Everything my mother worked for."
That was a lie.
It should have been mine, yes—eventually.
But I wasn't going to tell him that part.
Not yet.
He didn't need the full truth.
He needed a target.
I gave him one.
Liam's voice came out low, shaking with rage.
"What's their full names?"
I blinked innocently. "Why?"
"Because they don't deserve to breathe after what they did to you."
Ah.
There it was.
The reaction I wanted.
The blind devotion.
The violent loyalty.
"Liam…" I whispered, touching his arm lightly. "I don't want anyone hurt."
He stepped closer—too close.
"But you want justice," he said. "Right?"
I let silence answer.
"And you want what belongs to you."
Another silence.
"And you deserve it."
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"I'll make it happen. I swear."
I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes.
"How?" I asked softly.
"My father," he said immediately. "You know how he is. Connections, money, power… he can destroy people with one phone call if I ask."
A small, calculated shiver ran down my spine.
So easy.
So perfect.
So predictable.
"Liam," I breathed, "I can't ask you to do that."
"You don't have to ask," he said. "I want to do it."
His eyes were fever-bright with obsession.
"I want to protect you, Crystal."
He touched my cheek with trembling fingers.
"I want to give you back the life you were robbed of."
I forced my breath to shake. "You'd do that for me?"
"I'd do anything," he whispered. "Anything."
Already done.
Already mine.
I pulled away slowly, just enough to make him follow.
"What exactly… would you tell your father?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"The truth," he said fiercely. "That you were abused, manipulated, robbed. He'll get the papers looked into. He'll send lawyers. Investigators. Whatever it takes."
My pulse remained calm—even as excitement hummed under my skin.
"And if they try to deny it?" I asked.
Liam's eyes hardened.
"Then they'll regret it."
He swallowed, voice turning cold.
"My father doesn't lose. And I won't let you lose."
I nodded slowly.
Then I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—soft, fleeting, but enough to break something inside him.
"Thank you, Liam," I whispered. "You don't know how much this means to me."
His breath hitched.
He didn't even realize I had just sealed his fate.
He reached for my hand.
I let him hold it.
Not because I loved him.
Not because I needed comfort.
But because holding his hand made him believe he mattered.
Made him believe he was chosen.
Made him believe I trusted him enough to open the locked door of my past.
He gripped it like it was sacred.
"I'll fix everything for you," he vowed.
"Just tell me what you need."
And I smiled.
Slowly.
Softly.
Dangerously.
"I need you to help me reclaim what's mine."
His eyes darkened with certainty.
"You will have it," he whispered.
"I promise."
I nodded against his chest, hiding the icy satisfaction curling through me like smoke.
Good.
Perfect.
Exactly as planned.
Liam walked me home—silent, tense, protective.
Every glance he threw behind us was filled with feral devotion.
When he left, I stood at the window and watched him go, his shoulders tight, steps determined.
I whispered into the glass:
"You'll get everything I want for me, Liam.
And you won't even realize you're being used."
The wind carried the words away.
But the truth remained.
Liam had made a promise.
A promise he would break bones, laws, and boundaries to keep.
And I?
I had given him nothing in return.
Nothing except a carefully crafted tragedy.
A strategically edited past.
A wound designed to evoke loyalty and obsession.
He would get me my mother's property back.
He would destroy my aunt and uncle.
He would be the perfect weapon.
And when the time came?
I would decide whether to keep him…
…or break him.
Either way—
This world?
This revenge?
This empire I was building?
It would all be mine.