Liam changed the very next morning.
Not gradually.
Not subtly.
Not like someone trying to be cautious.
He changed like a switch had flipped inside him.
Like my story had ignited something violent, territorial, and ready to spill blood.
He didn't tell me what he planned.
He didn't need to.
I could already feel the shift in the air.
He walked beside me to school—as if I belonged to him. He hovered near my locker. He glared at anyone who looked at me for too long, especially boys.
And when our first break came, he disappeared.
Not with friends.
Not to the cafeteria.
Not to class.
He slipped away with a look I had already learned to decode:
He was doing something for me.
Something I could use.
Something that would change everything.
I didn't follow him.
I didn't need to.
My weapon was already functioning exactly as designed.
By lunch, his father had already called him.
I knew because Liam returned with a controlled, shaking excitement—like adrenaline was chewing him from the inside out.
He sat beside me under the large oak tree at the edge of the field. No hesitation. No permission asked.
"I talked to him," Liam murmured.
"Your dad?" I kept my tone light, as though my pulse didn't spike. "What did you say?"
"The truth," he whispered. "He's furious. Not at you—at them."
Good.
Perfect.
Exactly as I wanted.
"He wants names, documents, everything." His leg bounced rapidly. "He said he'll make sure you get justice no matter what it takes."
I swallowed a smile.
"Liam… that's too much—"
"It's not enough," he snapped sharply. Then softened. "They hurt you, Crystal. That isn't something I can forgive."
I gently touched his hand.
A reward.
A leash.
A promise.
It worked.
His breathing steadied, but the fire in his eyes never dimmed.
"Give me everything you know," he said. "Your aunt's last address, her husband's name, your mom's store information—whatever you remember."
I tilted my head.
"Why?"
"So we can take back what's yours."
We.
How sweet.
How naïve.
How convenient.
That evening, after Mrs. Olivia fell asleep, I sat on the floor with my old metal box—the one I kept hidden under the bed, filled with the few scraps of my mother that I still owned.
A hair pin.
Her old notebook.
A photograph of us at the beach.
And tucked deep in the bottom—a folded, yellowed receipt.
Reed & Harper Textiles.
Sole Proprietor: Evelyn Reed.
My mother's store.
Stolen.
Seized.
Wiped from existence after her death.
Now it was the "property" of my aunt and her husband.
But they made a mistake.
A big one.
They left paper trails.
Paper trails I could resurrect.
I took pictures of the old documents, scanned them with Mrs. Olivia's printer, and stored them in a brand-new folder on a brand-new USB drive.
Evidence.
Weapons.
Future leverage.
Then, I opened my laptop and created a new email account.
Anonymous.
Untraceable.
Cold.
I used it to request archived property transfer records under the guise of "academic research."
That was step one.
Step two would be far more powerful.
Confrontation—eventually.
Not face-to-face.
Not physical.
But psychological.
My aunt was greedy, paranoid, materialistic, and gullible.
She had weaknesses.
I just needed time to map them.
The next morning at school, Liam walked up to me with an energy that almost vibrated.
"My dad started the process."
I blinked. "What process exactly?"
"He reached out to his lawyer. He's requesting old land records and property disputes involving your mother. He wants to check if anything illegal happened."
Illegal?
Everything they did was illegal.
They just never expected consequences.
"He said once he verifies the documents," Liam continued, eyes dark with excitement, "he can take legal action immediately. Maybe even seize their assets."
Seize their assets.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
"And," Liam added, "he wants to know if you're willing to testify… or if he should keep your name out of it."
I paused deliberately.
Pretending to think.
Pretending to be conflicted.
Pretending to be human.
Finally, I whispered, "Keep my name out. Please."
His expression softened with something close to devotion.
"I'll protect you," he said.
I believed him.
Not because he was powerful.
But because he was predictable.
Later that night, I made my decision.
It was time.
Time to reclaim something.
Not the store.
Not the land.
Not the money.
Not yet.
Those would come later.
I wanted something symbolic.
Something small but meaningful.
Something that would remind my aunt and her husband…
that the past they buried was resurfacing.
I logged into the anonymous email account.
Drafted a single, simple message.
Attached the scanned copy of my mother's store certificate.
And sent it to the official community forum page where all local vendors, including my aunt, monitored trade notices.
Message subject line:
"Reed & Harper Textiles — Unsettled Ownership Issues Pending Review."
I clicked send.
And leaned back, feeling a cold thrill ripple through me.
My first strike.
Small.
Precise.
Silent.
But enough to make her panic.
Enough to make her look over her shoulder.
Enough to remind her that the little girl she threw away wasn't gone.
I wasn't even close to done.
This was just an echo.
A whisper.
A warning.
The next day, my aunt's name trended on the community page.
People were whispering.
Commenting.
Speculating.
Someone had told her—someone always told her—and she was panicking, calling the community officers, demanding answers.
She had no idea who was behind it.
Even better?
Liam's father quietly submitted his formal request for records the same day.
Two strikes.
Simultaneously.
One from me.
One from Liam.
She wouldn't know where to focus.
Good.
Confusion was fertile soil for psychological warfare.
At school the next morning, Liam cornered me before I even reached my locker. He cupped my face, eyes wild with excitement.
"She's going down, Crystal," he whispered. "Your aunt. Her husband. All of them."
My stomach fluttered—not with fear.
With power.
He wasn't doing this for justice.
He was doing it for me.
"For you," he said quietly, reading my thoughts.
Then he leaned his forehead against mine.
"I'll burn the whole world if it means giving you peace."
I smiled softly.
Peace.
That wasn't what I wanted.
I wanted victory.
Revenge.
Restoration.
Control.
Peace was for people who healed.
I wasn't healing.
I was rebuilding.
One calculated step at a time.
And today?
Was my first real step toward reclaiming my mother's stolen life.
My stolen life.
The war had begun.
And I would win.