Kevin's morning started like any other.
Coffee from the campus café, perfectly brewed. A nod from the headmaster in the hallway. Students parting like the Red Sea as he walked through the courtyard, their whispers trailing behind him like background music.
He was winning. Zion was gone, suspended and isolated. The friend group was fracturing without their so-called leader. Mabelle was distant but still within reach. Mikey looked lost without his anchor.
Everything was falling into place.
Until it wasn't.
First period: Advanced Literature. Kevin sat in his usual spot, third row, center—close enough to seem engaged, far enough to maintain authority. Ms. Chen was mid-lecture about symbolism in classical texts when a student aide knocked on the door.
"Excuse me, Ms. Chen? The headmaster needs to see Kevin Langston. Immediately."
The class went silent. Heads turned.
Kevin's jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. "Of course."
He gathered his things slowly, deliberately, refusing to look rattled. As he walked out, he caught Mabelle's eyes across the room. She looked confused. Concerned, even.
Good. Let her worry.
But as the door closed behind him and he followed the aide down the empty hallway, something cold settled in his chest.
Immediately meant trouble.
The headmaster's office felt different this time. Colder. More formal.
Mr. Harrington sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. Beside him stood Ms. Rowe and Mr. Carlisle, both looking grim.
"Sit," Harrington said.
Kevin sat, spine straight, face calm. "Is there a problem, sir?"
Harrington slid a folder across the desk. "We received an anonymous complaint this morning. Multiple complaints, actually. All regarding your conduct toward other students."
Kevin's heart rate spiked, but his face didn't change. "What kind of complaints?"
"Harassment. Manipulation. Coercion." Harrington's voice was flat, clinical. "The accusations span back two years and involve at least seven different students."
Kevin's mind raced. Seven? Who—
"I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding," Kevin said smoothly. "I've never—"
"There's evidence," Ms. Rowe interrupted, her tone sharp. "Screenshots. Recordings. Witness statements."
Kevin's blood ran cold.
Harrington opened the folder. Inside were printed messages, photos, timestamps—everything meticulously organized, labeled, dated.
"This is your phone number, correct?" Harrington pointed to one screenshot.
Kevin barely glanced at it. "Yes, but—"
"And this group chat? You're listed as admin?"
"Anyone could've faked—"
"We had our IT department verify the metadata," Carlisle said quietly. "It's authentic, Kevin."
The walls were closing in.
Kevin's mind scrambled for an angle, a defense, anything. "Sir, I don't know who's behind this, but it's clearly a targeted attack. Someone with a grudge—"
"Zion Vale?" Harrington asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kevin hesitated. That was the obvious answer. Too obvious.
"Maybe," Kevin said carefully. "Or someone working with him."
Harrington closed the folder. "Mr. Vale has been suspended and off-campus for days. He has no access to school servers, no way to coordinate something like this. And frankly, given his current situation, he has bigger problems than you."
Kevin's stomach twisted. If not Zion, then who?
"We'll be launching a full investigation," Harrington continued. "Until it's complete, you're suspended from all extracurricular activities—student council, athletics, social events. You'll attend classes and nothing else."
Kevin's fists clenched under the desk. "Sir, this is—"
"Non-negotiable," Harrington said firmly. "You're dismissed."
Kevin walked out of that office feeling something he hadn't felt in years: fear.
Not the dramatic, movie-villain kind. The real kind. The kind that crawled under your skin and whispered that control was slipping through your fingers like sand.
By lunch, the rumors had already started.
"Did you hear Kevin got called to the office?" "Apparently there's some investigation." "I heard it's about bullying or something." "Wait—like, serious bullying?"
Kevin sat at his usual table, surrounded by his usual circle, but the energy was off. People were quieter. More cautious. A few kept glancing at their phones, like they were checking to see if their names were on some list.
"You good?" one of his friends asked.
"Fine," Kevin said, forcing a smile. "Just some administrative nonsense. Nothing serious."
But even as he said it, he didn't believe it.
And neither did they.
Meanwhile, across campus, Isla was having lunch with Lucian when her phone buzzed.
It was a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Check the school forum. Now.
She frowned, opening the app. At the top of the feed was a new post, uploaded anonymously:
TITLE: "The Truth About Kevin Langston"
Below it was a thread—dozens of testimonies from students, some named, most anonymous. Stories of manipulation, lies, sabotage. Screenshots of messages. Voice recordings of threats.
Isla's hands trembled as she scrolled.
One post was from a girl in their year: "He told everyone I cheated on a test I didn't even take. I almost got expelled."
Another from a guy she vaguely recognized: "Kevin blackmailed me into quitting the debate team so his friend could take my spot."
And then, buried halfway down, she saw it.
A testimony from Marcus Chen.
Her breath caught.
"Isla?" Lucian's voice cut through the fog. "What's wrong?"
She couldn't answer. She just stared at the screen, at Marcus's words detailing everything Kevin had done to him and Nyra two years ago.
It was all there. Every lie. Every manipulation. Every calculated move.
And at the bottom of the thread, one final line:
"This is just the beginning. More to come."
Isla looked up at Lucian, her voice barely a whisper. "Someone's going after Kevin."
Lucian leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Good."
By the end of the day, the post had over three hundred comments. Students were tagging each other, sharing their own stories, adding fuel to the fire.
The administration tried to take it down, but it had already been screenshotted, reposted, sent to group chats across every branch.
Kevin's name wasn't just mud—it was radioactive.
And in his penthouse across the city, Zion sat with his phone in one hand, watching the chaos unfold in real-time.
Beside him, Nyra leaned against the window, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face.
"Phase one complete," she said.
Zion didn't smile. He just stared at the screen, watching Kevin's empire crack.
"He'll fight back," Zion said quietly.
"Let him," Nyra replied. "We're three steps ahead."
Zion finally looked up, meeting her gaze. "What's phase two?"
Nyra's smirk widened. "We make him turn on his own people."