I felt it the moment I walked through the school gates that morning—
the weight of a gaze trailing after me.
Liam Harrington's.
Of course.
His attention clung to me like smoke, thick and choking, a constant reminder that I'd let him get too close. That I'd let him touch the edges of my world, the corners I usually kept stitched shut.
And now…
he wanted more.
More time.
More answers.
More of me.
But there was nothing left for him to have.
Not now.
Not yet.
I tightened my grip on my books and moved faster, navigating the hallways with practiced precision. I didn't look at him. I didn't slow down. I didn't give him the opening he wanted.
Distance was necessary.
Distance kept things clean.
Distance kept him manageable.
I had other battles to prepare for—real battles.
Ones that stretched far beyond school walls and childish crushes.
My father.
My mother's stolen legacy.
The life that had been ripped from me long before Liam ever said hello.
Liam wasn't part of that war.
Not anymore.
---
I spent the first four periods pretending not to notice how quiet Liam had become. Normally he found ways to slide near me, linger in my space, offer small gestures—carrying my bag, sharing notes, asking questions he already knew the answers to.
Today he didn't.
Today he simply watched.
His eyes followed me from across classrooms, cafeteria corners, and the hallway between periods. I could practically feel the confusion radiating off him, the frustration, the subtle panic.
He wasn't used to being ignored.
He wasn't used to me ignoring him.
Good.
Attachment was a liability.
And I had no more room for liabilities.
By the time school ended, I hoped he would've given up. Accepted the convenient lie that I was busy preparing for exams. Believed it, swallowed it, and moved on.
But of course…
Liam Harrington wasn't built that way.
He found me beside the lockers, just as I was about to leave.
"Crystal."
His voice was quiet, but that quiet trembled. "Can we talk?"
I didn't turn. "About what?"
"You tell me," he said. "You've been avoiding me."
I closed my locker slowly, forcing my expression to remain blank. Cold. Unreadable.
"I haven't been avoiding you," I said, smooth as melted ice. "Exams are close. I need to focus."
His eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
I finally faced him.
Mistake.
Liam's blue eyes were too open, too earnest, too willing to drown in me.
"I'm not lying," I said. "Not everything is about you, Liam."
That hurt him.
I saw it.
It flickered across his face, sharp and sudden.
"Maybe not everything," he murmured, "but some things should be."
A knot pulled in my stomach—annoyance or guilt, I wasn't sure. I stepped past him. "I don't have time for this."
But his hand caught my wrist—gentle, hesitant, trembling just a little.
"Crystal, please… don't shut me out."
I looked down at his fingers on my skin.
He dropped his hand instantly.
He knew better.
And still…
His voice broke a little. "Did I do something wrong? Is this about what happened with your aunt? With your mother's property? I thought… I thought things were better now."
"They are," I said. "Thanks to you."
His chest lifted slightly—hope. God, he was too easy.
"But that's done now," I continued. "That part of my life is handled. I don't need—"
"Don't say you don't need me."
His voice cracked.
I paused.
Liam wasn't the type to raise his voice or lose control. But right now, he was trembling on the edge of something.
"Crystal."
He stepped closer.
Not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
"I don't want to lose you."
"You can't lose what you never had," I whispered.
His face broke.
For a moment, something inside me twisted—sharp, unwelcomed, almost like guilt. But feelings were dangerous. Feelings were blinding.
Feelings got people killed.
I didn't have the luxury of having them.
"I have things I need to do," I said, voice flat. "Things that don't involve school crushes or emotional complications."
"I'm not a complication to you."
His voice hardened.
It surprised me.
"You are," I said, meeting his eyes directly. "And you always will be."
He swallowed.
Pain rewrote the shape of his face.
"Crystal… if this is about your father—"
I stiffened.
"Don't," I warned quietly. "Don't bring him into this."
He lifted his hands slightly, surrendering. "I just want to help."
"You already did," I said. "And I'm grateful. But now I need to focus on myself."
"And where does that leave me?" he whispered.
I answered without hesitation.
"Where you were always meant to be—behind me, not beside me."
The words hit him like stones.
But they were true.
Harsh truths were cleaner than gentle lies.
He nodded once, jaw tightening. "Fine."
He stepped back.
Something in his eyes dimmed.
Something broke.
Something shifted.
But he didn't argue.
He didn't beg.
He didn't touch me again.
He simply said, in a voice barely above a breath—
"If you ever need me… for anything… I'll come."
And he walked away.
No dramatic turn.
No last plea.
Just quiet steps echoing down the hallway.
For the first time in months, I felt truly alone.
And somehow… it was easier that way.
As I walked home, I pushed everything else out of my mind.
Liam's pain.
His confusion.
His desperate loyalty.
It all had to be background noise.
Because the real danger, the real battle, still waited for me.
My father.
Taking down my aunt and uncle had been easy—child's play compared to the monster who'd thrown my mother's body into a river and walked away without a stain on his hands.
Aunt Helen was nothing—greedy, petty, predictable.
But my father?
He was powerful.
Connected.
Untouchable.
To destroy him, I would need more than charm.
More than manipulation.
More than well-placed pawns like Liam Harrington.
I would need time.
A solid identity.
A public reputation.
A future strong enough to stand on its own.
And I would need to become a woman capable of ripping a man like him apart piece by piece.
Not yet.
Not now.
But soon.
Very soon.
Liam was right about one thing—
I was shutting him out.
And I would shut out everyone else too.
Until I had the life, the power, and the strength to return to the home where my mother screamed her last breath…
…and finish what I promised the river.
Revenge wasn't a feeling.
It wasn't a dream.
It wasn't an impulsive act of anger.
It was a timeline.
A strategy.
A destiny carved from blood.
I murmured to myself as the sun dipped behind the horizon:
"Father… I'm not ready yet."
My fingers coiled around the strap of my bag.
"But when I am…"
A cold smile stretched across my lips.
"You will be the first to fall".