The viewer count shattered 4,000. The chat was a waterfall of disbelief and hype.

I couldn't help shaking my head, still sitting in the Veneno, watching this circus unfold through the windshield.

Connor Hayes was technically our friend back then, he'd proven himself loyal enough to enter our inner circle (Me, Tommy and the Twins). Which meant he knew things. Real things. Including how Kayla Richards had actually gotten that software.

The seduction. The manipulation.

The way Sarah's friend had played me like a fucking violin.

I'd been sixteen. Kayla had been cute, flirty, paying attention to me when nobody else did. She'd shown interest.

Asked questions.

Made me feel seen.

And somewhere in those late-night conversations, she'd mentioned this blockchain project she was working on. How she was struggling with the cryptographic protocols and whatnots. How she'd heard I was good with code.

I'd built it for her. Spent week on it. Custom blockchain architecture with advanced verification protocols and security layers that would've made professional developers jealous. Handed it over thinking she genuinely cared about me.

I was really a fool and a simp back then, wasn't I?

She'd gotten the interview at Mirror Crypto House within a week.

Got the job within two minutes in the interview before it even ended. I had built it and she'd been there, I had explained it to her. In and outs and Kayla was a genius and smart enough to know it like it did.

Disappeared from school the day after her first paycheck.

I hadn't heard from her since. No thank you. No acknowledgment. Nothing. Just gone, with my work as her golden ticket.

Sarah's friend. Someone I'd actually thought might love me. Or at least like me enough to not completely ghost after using me.

Stupid. I'd been so fucking stupid.

"Actually, Master," ARIA's voice cut through my thoughts, clinical and matter-of-fact. "Kayla Richards returned to Lincoln High two days ago. She's been attending classes regularly. Sarah chose not to inform you, believing it would hurt your feelings."

I sat there, hands still on the Veneno's steering wheel, processing that.

Kayla was back. Had been back for two days. At this school. Walking these halls. And Sarah—protective, analytical Sarah—had deliberately hidden it from me.

To protect my feelings.

The girl who'd used me, exploited my skills, and vanished with my work was somewhere in this crowd right now. Probably watching this whole spectacle. Probably seeing me step out of a custom million-dollar hypercar while Connor broadcast her betrayal to four thousand people.

I wondered if she felt anything. Guilt. Shame. Satisfaction at her success.

Probably nothing.

People like Kayla didn't feel guilt. They felt opportunity. And I'd been an opportunity she'd exploited perfectly. Or maybe she felt guilt... who knew? Who cares?

I killed the Veneno's engine. The silence after that V12 shriek was deafening.

I stepped out.

The Veneno's scissor door lifted, and I unfolded from the cockpit—six-foot-three of post-race euphoria and godly good looks courtesy of the All-Perfect Pill and the Taboo System. The cream polo that had looked good this morning now looked like it had been tailored by gods. Not a hair out of place despite driving like I was outrunning the apocalypse.

The crowd noise shifted.

Girls' whispers cut through the general chaos:

"Oh my God, is that Peter Carter?"

"He looks so different—"

"How is he that hot?"

"He's been gone like a week and came back looking like THAT?"

"Those arms though—"

"I would let him—"

Some guys laughed, voices carrying: "It's the car, bro. The Lamborghini's blinding them. Peter Carter? Hot? Please."

Poor bastards. The System wouldn't let them see what the girls saw. They looked at me and their brains just... adjusted reality. Smoothed out the threat. Made me dismissible.

The girls had no such protection.

Their pupils dilated. Hearts raced. The Lust Presence and Taboo Aura did the work but I let the pheromones wash over them too seal the deal, like a wave they couldn't name but definitely felt.

Madison's door scissored up. She rose from the center seat with fluid grace, pulled off her sunglasses, and immediately walked over to me.

She didn't say anything. Just wrapped both arms around my right arm, pressed against me, smiled up with that dangerous satisfaction.

"That was fun," she said simply. "We should do it every day."

"Your father would kill me."

"My father can try."

The crowd ate it up. More phones. More recording. Madison Torres—trust fund princess, untouchable queen—hanging off Peter Carter like he was her whole world.

Connor was still livestreaming, now at 3500 viewers, narrating everything: "And there's Madison Torres herself, Heiress of Torres Developments worthy $500 billions ladies and gentlemen! Claiming Lincoln High's mysterious tech god!"

Tommy stepped out of his Carbonado, practically bouncing with adrenaline. He spread his arms wide, grinning at the crowd like a conquering emperor.

"GOOD MORNING, LINCOLN HIGH!"

The crowd erupted. Cheers. Screams. Someone started a chant and they all followed: "TOMMY! TOMMY! TOMMY!"

Connor pivoted immediately, sensing content. He pushed through the crowd toward Tommy, phone leading the way like a weapon.

"Tommy! Tommy Chen! Can I get an exclusive? Your boy Connor Hayes, you know me—quick interview for the people!"

Tommy looked at me.

I shook my head once. Subtle. Clear.

Tommy understood immediately. Connor would ask about the software rumors. And today; Monday, Tommy had an interview scheduled with Rivera TV—actual professional media. The last thing he needed was Connor's clout-chasing chaos complicating that narrative.

But Tommy was too smart to just blow him off.

He turned to Connor with that friendly energy, tapping him on the shoulder like they were old friends. "Connor! My guy! Always hustling, I respect it."

Connor's smile widened. "So can I get that—"

"You know what though?" Tommy's tone shifted. Still friendly. But with an edge underneath. "I remember when you used to roll with us. The winning group. But then the quarterback squad called, and suddenly we weren't good enough anymore, huh?"

Connor's smile faltered. "I mean, it's not like that—"

"It's cool, it's cool." Tommy patted his shoulder again, harder this time. "But hey—" He turned to address Connor's livestream directly, looking into the camera. "—you want exclusive Tommy Chen content? Catch me on TV. Rivera Media. Monday. Prime time."

He walked away.

Connor stood there, viewers blowing up his chat with laughing emojis and "HE GOT YOU" comments, his face cycling through embarrassment and calculation.

Before he could recover and redirect toward us, Madison tugged my arm. "Come on, babe. Let's go."

We walked toward the building entrance, Madison laughing against my shoulder. "Did you see his face? Tommy just murdered him."

"Tommy's learning."

"You taught him well."

Behind us, Connor was trying to salvage his livestream, spinning the rejection into content: "You heard it here first! Tommy Chen going to Rivera Media! We're MOVING UP, people!"

The crowd was still buzzing, still recording, still processing what they'd just witnessed.

Then I heard it. The engine note I'd recognize anywhere.

A Range Rover—black, pristine, expensive—rolled into the compound. Not at speed. Not making a scene.

Just arriving with quiet authority.

The driver's door opened. Soo-Jin stepped out, her movements precise and professional, scanning the crowd with that trained awareness she'd brought from Korea.

Then the back doors opened.

Sarah emerged first. My twin sister, looking around at the chaos we'd created with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. She saw me and rolled her eyes.

Emma came out next. Younger twin, social media obsessed, eyes going wide at the three hypercars, the crowd, the phones, all of it. She was probably already thinking about how to spin this for her Instagram.

And then Sofia stepped out.

Sofia Delgado...

She was looking at me.

She walked across the compound—through the smoke still hanging in the air, through the crowd that parted for her like water—with purpose. Her eyes never left mine.

Jack Morrison was there. Near the admin building. Watching. His letterman jacket suddenly the saddest costume at the party.

Sofia reached me.

She didn't hesitate. Didn't ask permission. Didn't check if anyone was watching.

She just grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me.

Not a peck. Not tentative. A kiss that claimed. That announced. That said "mine" louder than any words could.

The school compound exploded.

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