Kieran POV:
Hollowridge High was a buffet of easy targets, and I'd spent years walking past the trays untouched.
Too predictable. Too soft.
I leaned against the lockers like I belonged there, an unlit cigarette balanced between my fingers, watching the social machinery grind forward—jocks posturing, cheerleaders orbiting, teachers pretending not to see the rot beneath the polish.
Then she walked by.
Alora Hale moved through the hallway like she'd bent gravity to her will.
Her hair was pinned deliberately over her left ear, a careless perfection that made it impossible not to look twice at my mark. I smirked remembering that moment. She laughed at something someone said, and the sound cut clean through the dull noise of the building—bright, sharp, alive.
Untouchable.
A phantom sting bloomed on my lip, uninvited.
I remembered the heat of her skin from that alley weeks ago, the way she'd fought like a cornered animal, refusing to break even when fear should've taken over.
Most people here were made of glass.
Alora was made of steel.
Which, at the time, had made the bet irresistible.
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Flashback: Three Days Ago
The air in the back of the "Devil's Den"—a dive bar on the edge of town where the IDs were never checked—was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer. Jax, Liam, and a few other varsity hangers-on were crowded around a circular table, their faces flushed with bravado.
"I'm telling you," Jax said, slamming his glass down. "Alora Hale is a fortress. Every guy in this school has tried. She shuts them down before they can even get a sentence out."
Jax looked at me, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. "What about you, Black? You think that Russian charm works on a girl who calculates her GPA to the fourth decimal point?"
I leaned back, my eyes tracking the smoke as it curled toward the ceiling. "I don't play games for free, Jax."
Jax grinned, sensing blood. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it onto the center of the table. "A thousand dollars. From all of us. Whoever makes Alora Hale fall in love—actually fall in love—wins the pot. And you have until the Winter Formal to do it."
"I'm in," I said, my voice like a blade.
"Count me in too," Liam said suddenly.
The table turned to him, dead silent. Liam, her "loyal shadow," didn't join in on the jokes. He didn't say anything hurtful about her, didn't mock her 'perfection' like the others did. He just stared at the pile of cash with a blank, heavy expression. Why him? Why was the boy who followed her like a devoted dog suddenly putting a price on her head?
At the time, I didn't care. I assumed he was just another pathetic kid looking for a way to feel relevant. I remembered the way I'd seen him look at her in the hallways—that soft, sickeningly adoring gaze he thought no one noticed. He didn't just like her; he was obsessed.
He didn't join in when Jax started making crude comments. He just slid his entry fee forward, his eyes cold and focused. "I'm in," he repeated.
That was all...
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After a Week
Six days passed.
I expected it to be fast.
Efficient.
A look, a line, a crack in the armor.
Instead, Alora refused to move.
For days, I stayed on the edges of her world.
Watched her in the library, brow furrowed in concentration like the rest of the universe had politely stepped aside.
Saw her in the hallways, tossing her hair back without realizing how many eyes followed the motion.
By day four, irritation settled into my gut like a live wire.
I wasn't sleeping.
I wasn't hungry.
Every time she smiled, it felt like pressure building behind my ribs—like she was breathing freely while my past sat heavy on my chest, reminding me of everything I'd buried and never escaped.
On the fifth day, I watched her through the glass doors of the gym during volleyball practice. She dove for the ball, hit the floor hard, came up grinning like pain was just another suggestion.
She wasn't a target.
She was a storm.
And I wanted—no, needed—to be the thing that split the sky open.
But something stopped me every time I tried to move. Some instinct I didn't recognize. Something that felt dangerously close to restraint.
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Present Day
The seventh day broke me.
I sat alone at the center table in the cafeteria, untouched food cooling in front of me. A blonde from the cheer squad—her name already lost to history—hovered nearby, fishing for attention like it was a competitive sport.
I didn't hear a word she said.
My eyes were locked on the entrance.
Alora walked in with Liam, their hands laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked relaxed.
Safe.
Happy.
It was wrong.
"Liam, seriously, get down here," she laughed, her voice carrying. "You're way too tall—I can't hear you."
He leaned down, laughing, and she rose onto her toes to whisper something in his ear.
Whatever it was made him laugh out loud, and his hand settled at her waist—easy, familiar, earned.
She didn't even notice. She was used to his touch.
But I did.
Something hot and feral tore through my chest. The bet evaporated. The money turned to noise.
All I could see was his hand where it didn't belong.
I stood up so abruptly that the blonde jumped.
"Come with me," I growled, my voice thick with a sudden, dark edge.
I grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the cafeteria, heading straight for the gym locker rooms.
Inside the dim, metallic-smelling space, I slammed her against the row of lockers. I didn't see the blonde.
I saw Alora's laugh. I saw Liam's hand on her waist.
I took her right there, ruthlessly. It wasn't about pleasure; it was about the erasure of the image in my head. I was taking out every ounce of that week-long frustration on her, my breath coming in ragged, violent gasps.
"Suka!" I hissed, the Russian words tearing from my throat as I pinned her wrists above her head. "Ty moya! Tol'ko moya! Алора" (You're mine! Only mine! Alora)
Every thrust was a strike against the memory of Liam's hand.
I screamed into the girl's face, the language of my home returning in a flood of jagged consonants.
When I was done, I pushed myself away, my heart still hammering an angry rhythm.
The bet didn't matter anymore.
The money was noise.
This was no longer a game.
I didn't want Alora Hale to fall in love with me for a payout.
I wanted to dismantle her world until I was the only thing left standing.
Liam was just another obstacle I would eventually crush.
Because Alora wasn't a target anymore.
She was an obsession.
My obsession…. Only mine....
Alora hale, I am coming to get you...
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Author's Note:
This chapter is powered by ego, poor impulse control, and the bold confidence of someone who should absolutely not be trusted with free will 💀✨.
The bet is a joke 😌💸, the obsession is clocking in early 🕰️x, and everyone involved is sprinting toward consequences like it's cardio 🏃♂️🔥.
Kieran thinks he's calm, collected, and three moves ahead ♟️😎—which is hilarious considering the mess already forming behind him 🧨🙂.
Enjoy the tension, the delusion, and the vibes while they're still simmering 🍿🕯️.
Things escalate.
Badly. 😈
-Vaanni🖤