The first thing I learned about the new school year was that the universe had a terrible sense of humor. The second was that it hated me personally. I discovered both lessons at exactly 8:07 on Monday morning, standing in front of the Westbridge High School noticeboard, staring at a name I had spent two years hoping never to see again. DAMIEN BLACKWOOD. For several seconds, I simply stared. Then I blinked. His name remained. "No," I whispered. Beside me, Serena Whitmore stopped scrolling through her phone. "No what?" I pointed at the noticeboard. Her eyes followed my finger. The moment she read the name, her expression changed. It was subtle-just a slight tightening around her mouth-but I noticed it. I always noticed things when they concerned Damien Blackwood. "You have got to be kidding me," Serena murmured. "Apparently, Westbridge has decided that my suffering was insufficient last year." "Maybe it's a mistake." "His name is printed in bold letters beneath the list of returning senior students. Unless someone has developed a very specific sense of humor, it isn't a mistake." Serena looked toward the school entrance. "Amelia, maybe he's changed." I turned to her slowly. "Changed?" I repeated. "Is that what we're calling people who ruin lives now?" She sighed. "You promised you wouldn't let what happened two years ago control your entire life." "I promised I wouldn't punch anyone this year. That is a very different promise." A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. I didn't laugh. Two years ago, my older brother, Daniel, had been Westbridge's brightest student. Teachers loved him. Students admired him. He was supposed to graduate with a scholarship and a place at one of the best universities in the country. Then a collection of leaked messages and accusations destroyed everything. Daniel was blamed for stealing examination materials and selling confidential information. His scholarship disappeared. His friends abandoned him. Even people who had once praised him began whispering whenever he walked past. And Damien Blackwood had been at the center of it all. At least, that was what I believed. Damien left Westbridge shortly after the scandal. No explanation. No apology. Nothing. For two years, I had imagined what I would say if I ever saw him again. I had prepared speeches in the shower, arguments in my bedroom, and entire conversations while brushing my teeth. Now he was back, and all those speeches had vanished. Because the boy standing at the school entrance looked nothing like the memory I had kept of him. He was taller than I remembered, dressed in the school's navy blazer with his tie hanging loosely around his collar. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his expression suggested that returning to Westbridge was the last thing he wanted to do. Then his gaze found mine. He stopped walking. For one strange second, the noise around us seemed to disappear. His grey eyes narrowed slightly. Recognition crossed his face, followed by something I couldn't identify. Regret, perhaps. Or irritation. Knowing Damien, probably irritation. He started walking toward me. "Amelia Hart," he said when he reached us. His voice was deeper than I remembered. Unfortunately, so was my dislike of him. "Damien Blackwood," I replied. "I see they still let anyone through the gates." One corner of his mouth lifted. "And I see you still mistake being rude for having a personality." Serena made a small choking sound beside me. I ignored her. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you." "Then we're already making progress." I folded my arms. "What are you doing here?" "Attending school. It's a fascinating concept. You should try it." "Didn't you get enough of this place the first time?" His smile disappeared. For a moment, I saw something shift behind his eyes. It was gone so quickly that I might have imagined it. "Some of us don't get to choose where we start over," he said quietly. Before I could respond, he stepped past me and headed toward the main building. I watched him go, furious that he had managed to end the conversation as if he had won something. "He is still unbelievably annoying," I muttered. Serena slipped her arm through mine. "And you are still unbelievably interested in arguing with him." "I hate him." "Of course." "I mean it." "I know." She sounded unconvinced. I decided to ignore that, too. By eight-thirty, the entire senior class had heard the news. Damien Blackwood was back, and every hallway conversation seemed to revolve around his mysterious return. Some people said his family had lost their money. Others claimed he had been expelled from his previous school. One particularly imaginative rumor suggested that he had returned to win back a girl he had supposedly left behind. I found all of it exhausting. My only concern was surviving the first day without getting involved in his nonsense. That plan lasted exactly forty minutes. Our first lesson was Advanced Literature, taught by Mr. Lawson, a man who considered surprise tests a legitimate form of education and happiness a suspicious emotion. I took my usual seat in the second row, placed my notebooks on the desk, and opened my planner. My final year mattered. My grades mattered. The scholarship I intended to win mattered more than anything. I had spent the summer preparing, and I wasn't about to let one arrogant boy distract me from my future. The classroom door opened. Damien walked in. Of course he did. Mr. Lawson looked up from his desk. "Ah, Mr. Blackwood. You're just in time. Take a seat." Every empty chair seemed to disappear at once. Then Damien noticed the vacant seat beside mine. I stared at the chair. He stared at me. "No," I said. Mr. Lawson raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Miss Hart?" "Nothing, sir." Damien pulled out the chair and sat down. I moved my books several inches away from him. He glanced at the empty space between our belongings. "Afraid I'll contaminate your notes?" "I'm afraid you'll contaminate the entire learning environment." "Good morning to you, too." Mr. Lawson clapped his hands. "Now that everyone is settled, I have an announcement." The room fell silent. "As you know, Westbridge will nominate one student for the prestigious Sterling Academic Scholarship this year. The scholarship covers university tuition and living expenses. It is awarded to students who demonstrate exceptional academic ability, leadership, and character." My attention sharpened. The Sterling Scholarship was the reason I had spent the entire summer studying while my friends went to parties and watched movies. Winning it would mean university without placing an impossible financial burden on my mother. Mr. Lawson continued. "The selection process begins today. Candidates will be assessed through coursework, a research project, and a final academic competition." I opened my notebook and wrote the date at the top of the page. Then he said the words that ruined my morning. "Our two strongest candidates this year are Amelia Hart and Damien Blackwood." The class erupted into whispers. I slowly turned toward Damien. He was already looking at me. "You have got to be joking," I whispered. "Believe me," he murmured, "if I had planned this, I'd have chosen a seat farther away from you." "Good. Then you won't mind losing." His gaze held mine. "That's the thing about you, Amelia. You always assume you've already won." "And that's the thing about you, Damien. You always assume you deserve to." For the first time that morning, he didn't have an immediate answer. Mr. Lawson handed out the first assignment. We were to submit a research proposal by Friday, and the strongest proposals would determine the final candidates for the scholarship. I began writing before he had finished explaining the instructions. Damien leaned back in his chair. "Still trying to prove you're the smartest person in every room?" he asked quietly. "Still trying to compensate for your lack of manners?" He gave a soft, humorless laugh. "You haven't changed at all." "Neither have you." Something in his expression turned serious. "You don't know anything about who I've become." I met his eyes. "I know enough." "No," he said. "You know what someone wanted you to believe." My pen stopped moving. Before I could ask what he meant, Mr. Lawson called for our attention, and Damien turned toward the board as though he hadn't just dropped a bomb into the middle of my morning. I tried to concentrate on the assignment. I really did. But his words kept repeating themselves in my mind. You know what someone wanted you to believe. It was a ridiculous statement. A manipulative attempt to confuse me. Damien had always been good at making other people doubt themselves. I would not fall for it. When the bell rang, I packed my books and stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor. Damien remained seated. "Enjoy your first day back?" I asked. He looked up at me. "It's getting interesting." "Stay away from my brother." His expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared. So did the careless smile. "Amelia-" "Don't say his name." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You have already done enough." For several seconds, neither of us moved. Then Damien lowered his gaze to the desk. "I never wanted what happened to Daniel," he said. My heart gave one hard, angry beat. "You expect me to believe that?" "No." He looked at me again. "Not yet." I walked away before he could say anything else. By lunchtime, I had almost convinced myself that the morning hadn't affected me. Almost. I was sitting beneath the old oak tree behind the library, reviewing my scholarship notes, when my phone vibrated. An unknown account had sent me a direct message. There was no profile picture, no name, and no explanation. Just one sentence. YOU SHOULD ASK YOUR BROTHER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TWO YEARS AGO. My stomach tightened. Before I could reply, another message appeared. DAMIEN BLACKWOOD ISN'T THE PERSON WHO BETRAYED HIM. I read it once. Then again. My fingers went cold around the phone. A third message arrived. AND IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO DID, LOOK AT THE PEOPLE YOU TRUST MOST. I stared at the screen until the words blurred. Behind me, students laughed as they crossed the courtyard. Someone shouted across the lawn. The ordinary sounds of school continued as if nothing had changed. But something had. For two years, I had been certain I knew exactly who the villain was in my brother's story. Now a stranger was telling me that I might have spent those two years hating the wrong person. I looked toward the school building. Through the library windows, I could see Damien sitting alone at a table, his head bent over a notebook. As if he felt someone watching him, he lifted his eyes. Our gazes met through the glass. He didn't smile. He simply looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand. Then my phone vibrated again. This time, the message contained a photograph. It showed Damien standing beside my brother on the night everything had fallen apart. And in the background, half-hidden by a doorway, was someone I recognized immediately. Someone who had been standing beside me that very morning. Someone I had trusted for years. Serena Whitmore. I stopped breathing. Because suddenly, the boy I had sworn to hate wasn't the only person at Westbridge hiding a secret. And I had a terrible feeling that my entire world was about to fall apart.

I didn't sleep that night. Not because I was afraid of the dark, or because I had suddenly developed a talent for overthinking things that didn't concern me. I didn't sleep because I had spent the last six hours staring at a photograph that had no business existing. Damien Blackwood stood beside my brother in the picture. They looked younger, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, and neither of them appeared particularly happy. Daniel had one hand shoved into his pocket, his expression unusually serious. But it wasn't Damien who kept me awake. It was Serena. She stood in the background, half-hidden behind a doorway, watching them. I had known Serena Whitmore since our first year at Westbridge High. She was the girl who saved me a seat during lunch, lent me her notes when I missed a class, and stayed on the phone with me the night Daniel's scholarship was withdrawn. She had held my hand while I cried. She had told me everything would be okay. And now an anonymous stranger was suggesting she had something to do with the worst thing that had ever happened to my family. I wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence. Photographs could be misleading. People could appear in the background of places they had no connection to. But the message had been too specific. Look at the people you trust most. My phone lay beside my pillow. I picked it up for what must have been the hundredth time and opened the anonymous account. No new messages. I typed a reply. WHO ARE YOU? I waited. Nothing. I tried again. HOW DID YOU GET THIS PHOTO? Still nothing. With a frustrated groan, I dropped my phone onto the mattress and covered my face with both hands. This was ridiculous. I was Amelia Hart. I planned things. I organized things. I didn't allow mysterious strangers on the internet to dictate how I felt about my best friend. Most importantly, I did not allow Damien Blackwood to occupy this much space in my head. Yet there I was, at two in the morning, thinking about both of them. Wonderful. Just wonderful. By the time my alarm rang, I had reached a decision. I would confront Serena. And then I would confront Damien. Separately, preferably. Because if I confronted them at the same time, there was a very real possibility that I would do something that could get me suspended. And my mother would never forgive me for getting suspended during my final year. --- Serena was already waiting at the school entrance when I arrived the following morning. She wore her usual perfect smile, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She looked effortlessly beautiful, as if she had never experienced a sleepless night or cried over something she couldn't fix. The sight of her made my stomach twist. "Morning, sunshine!" she greeted me. I stopped in front of her. "We need to talk." Her smile faltered. "That sounds ominous." "Good. Then you'll understand why I didn't put a smiley face in the message I sent you last night." She blinked. "You texted me?" I stared at her. "Serena." "What?" "I didn't text you last night." For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she laughed nervously. "Okay, that was a terrible joke." "Was it?" "Amelia, what's going on?" I studied her face, searching for any sign that she knew what I was about to ask. She looked genuinely confused. Or she was a better actress than I had ever given her credit for. I pulled out my phone and opened the photograph. Her expression changed the instant she saw it. The color drained from her face. "Oh my God," she whispered. I felt something cold settle in my chest. "You recognize it." She looked at me quickly. "Where did you get this?" "That isn't an answer." "Amelia, listen to me-" "Why are you standing behind Damien and my brother?" She glanced around the courtyard. A few students were passing nearby, laughing about something on one of their phones. "Not here," she whispered. I folded my arms. "Then where?" "Can we please talk somewhere private?" "Why? Are you afraid someone might hear the truth?" She flinched. It was small, almost imperceptible. But I saw it. And suddenly, the suspicion I had spent the entire night trying to bury grew teeth. "Tell me what happened," I demanded. Serena swallowed. "I can't." The words hit harder than I expected. "You can't?" "Not here." "Then tell me later." She reached for my hand. I pulled away. "Amelia, please. You have to trust me." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's exactly what I'm trying to figure out." The first bell rang. Students began moving toward the building, and Serena glanced at the entrance as though it offered her an escape. "Please," she said again. "Give me until lunch." I wanted to refuse. I wanted to demand answers until she gave me something that made sense. Instead, I stepped back. "Fine. Lunch." Relief flashed across her face, but it disappeared almost immediately. "And Amelia?" I turned. "Whatever you think you know about Damien, don't let him convince you he's innocent." My heart sank. Because she hadn't denied being in the photograph. She hadn't explained why she was there. She had only warned me about Damien. And somehow, that made everything worse. --- By the time I reached Advanced Literature, my mood had deteriorated beyond repair. Damien was already in his seat, leaning back with a notebook balanced on one knee. He looked irritatingly relaxed. I hated that about him. I hated the way he seemed unaffected by everything around him. I hated his careless posture, his sarcastic remarks, and the fact that he had returned to Westbridge as though the last two years had never happened. Most of all, I hated that I couldn't stop wondering whether he had been telling the truth. He looked up as I approached. "You're late." I checked the clock. "Class starts in three minutes." "Two minutes and forty seconds, actually." "Do you count seconds for fun, or is being unbearable a full-time occupation?" His mouth curved into a smile. "There she is." I dropped my bag onto the desk. "Who?" "The Amelia Hart I remember. I was beginning to worry the summer had made you pleasant." I sat down and opened my notebook with more force than necessary. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not important enough to change my personality." "Interesting. You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about me." I turned toward him so quickly that my hair whipped across my face. "Excuse me?" "You've been glaring at me since you walked in." "Maybe your face is just naturally offensive." He laughed. Actually laughed. It was an irritatingly nice sound, which only made me angrier. "You're welcome to keep telling yourself that," he said. Before I could respond, Mr. Lawson entered the classroom and placed a stack of papers on his desk. "Good morning, everyone. Today, we'll discuss the research proposal and determine the teams for our preliminary academic project." A collective groan rose from the class. Mr. Lawson ignored it. "Since this project will contribute significantly to your scholarship evaluations, I expect your full cooperation." He began reading out names. I barely listened until I heard mine. "Amelia Hart." I raised my hand. "Damien Blackwood." My hand dropped. "No." Mr. Lawson looked up. "Is there a problem, Miss Hart?" "Yes, sir." A few students turned around. Mr. Lawson folded his arms. "Would you care to explain?" I took a deep breath. "I work better independently." "An admirable quality. Unfortunately, this assignment is designed to assess collaboration." "I understand, sir, but-" "Then I'm sure you'll manage." A ripple of laughter moved through the classroom. I sank into my seat. Beside me, Damien leaned closer. "Don't worry, Hart. I'll try not to ruin your perfect academic record." I smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, Blackwood. I'll try not to carry you through the entire project." "How thoughtful of you." "How unfortunate for me." Mr. Lawson cleared his throat. "If the two of you have finished entertaining the class, perhaps you could begin discussing your topic." I looked down at the assignment sheet. Our topic was the influence of social reputation on truth and justice. I stared at the words. Then, very slowly, I turned toward Damien. He was already looking at the paper. His expression had changed. For the first time since he returned, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. "What?" I whispered. He shook his head. "Nothing." "You're a terrible liar." "And you're terrible at minding your own business." I lowered my voice. "Does this topic bother you because of what happened to my brother?" His jaw tightened. "Not everything is about Daniel." "Really? Because you seem to have a lot to say whenever I mention him." He closed the notebook on his knee. "Maybe that's because you keep bringing him up." "Maybe that's because you refuse to explain what happened." His eyes met mine. "Would you listen if I did?" The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Damien watched me for a moment, then looked away. "That's what I thought." Anger rushed through me. "You don't know anything about what I would do." "No?" He turned back toward me. "Then prove it." "Prove what?" "That you're interested in the truth more than you are in being right." I stared at him. He stood, collected his books, and walked to Mr. Lawson's desk to ask a question about the project. I remained in my seat, furious. Not because he had challenged me. But because some small, unwanted part of me wondered whether he had a point. --- At lunch, I found Serena waiting behind the library. She was sitting on the low stone wall beneath the oak tree, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The moment she saw me, she stood. "Thank you for coming." "I didn't come because I wanted to." "I know." I remained several feet away from her. "Start talking." She looked down at her hands. "Two years ago, Daniel was helping Damien with something." I felt my pulse quicken. "What kind of something?" "An academic project. They were investigating irregularities in the school's examination system." I stared at her. "Daniel never told me that." "Because he didn't want you involved." "Go on." Serena took a shaky breath. "They discovered that someone had been accessing confidential examination materials before the tests. Daniel wanted to report it. Damien wanted to find proof first." "And you?" "I knew about the investigation." The world seemed to tilt slightly. "Why?" "Because I was there when they discussed it." I looked at her, trying to reconcile the girl in front of me with the friend I thought I knew. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Her eyes filled with tears. "I was scared." "Of what?" She shook her head. "I can't explain everything yet." A bitter laugh escaped me. "Of course you can't." "Amelia, please. I know how this sounds." "It sounds like you knew my brother was investigating something serious, watched his life fall apart, and then said absolutely nothing." "I didn't know it would happen like that!" "Then what did you know?" She pressed her lips together. For several seconds, she seemed to struggle with the answer. Finally, she whispered, "I saw who took the documents." My entire body went still. "Who?" She opened her mouth. A sharp voice interrupted us. "That's enough, Serena." We both turned. Damien stood at the edge of the path, his expression darker than I had ever seen it. Serena stepped back. "Damien-" "I said enough." I moved between them. "Don't you dare tell her what she can and cannot say." His gaze shifted to mine. "You don't understand what's happening." "Then explain it!" "I can't." "Of course you can't!" I threw my hands up. "Is that the only sentence you know?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Someone is watching you, Amelia." For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. "What?" His eyes flicked toward Serena before returning to me. "Someone knows you're asking questions. Someone who doesn't want you to find the answers." I forced myself to laugh. "Is that supposed to scare me?" "No." His voice softened. "It's supposed to keep you safe." I hated the way those words made my heart stumble. I hated that, for the first time, he didn't sound arrogant. He sounded afraid. And I hated most of all that I couldn't tell whether he was afraid for me or for himself. I lifted my chin. "I don't need you to protect me, Damien." "I know." "Then stop acting like you care." Something flickered across his face. Pain, perhaps. It vanished before I could be sure. "Believe me, Amelia," he said quietly. "I've been trying not to for two years." My heart seemed to stop. Before I could ask what he meant, he turned and walked away. Serena remained beside the wall, staring after him. I turned toward her. "What did he mean?" She wiped at her eyes. "I think you should go home today." I stared at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?" "Please, Amelia. Just this once, listen to me." I stepped closer. "No. You don't get to tell me what to do after keeping secrets from me for two years. You owe me the truth." She looked at me with an expression I had never seen before. Not guilt. Not fear. Something worse. Shame. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Then she walked away. I stood beneath the oak tree, surrounded by the ordinary noise of a school day that suddenly felt unfamiliar. My best friend had admitted she knew something about my brother's scandal. Damien had warned me that someone was watching me. And neither of them was willing to tell me everything. I should have been furious. I was furious. But beneath the anger, something else had begun to grow. Curiosity. Because for the first time, I was no longer certain that Damien Blackwood was the enemy. And that frightened me far more than hating him ever had. --- That evening, I returned home determined to get answers from the one person who couldn't avoid me. My brother. Daniel was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in, his laptop open and a half-finished cup of coffee beside him. At twenty-two, he looked older than he should have. The scandal had taken something from him that no amount of time seemed capable of returning. But when he saw me, he smiled. "Hey, trouble." I dropped my bag onto the chair opposite him. "We need to talk." His smile faded. "That sounds serious." "It is." I pulled out my phone and placed the photograph on the table. Daniel looked at it. For one long moment, he didn't move. Then he closed his laptop. "Where did you get this?" "That's what everyone keeps asking me." His face tightened. "Amelia, listen to me carefully. Whatever you think you know about Damien Blackwood, leave it alone." I stared at him. "You're the second person to tell me that today." His eyes snapped to mine. "Who was the first?" "Damien." Daniel stood so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor. "What did he say to you?" "Nothing useful. He just keeps insisting that everyone is lying." My brother ran a hand through his hair. For the first time in years, he looked genuinely frightened. "Amelia, promise me you won't investigate this." I shook my head. "I can't promise that." "Please." "No. You don't get to ask me to ignore something that destroyed your future." His expression softened. "My future isn't destroyed." "Then why do you look like you're still waiting for someone to apologize?" The question silenced him. I swallowed. "Daniel, what really happened two years ago?" He looked at the photograph again. Then, in a voice so quiet I almost missed it, he said, "Damien wasn't the one who betrayed me." My heart pounded. "Then who was?" Daniel looked toward the window. For several seconds, I thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he turned back to me. "Someone who had access to everything. Someone who knew what I was investigating. Someone who knew exactly how to make me look guilty." "Who?" He met my eyes. "I never found out." I stared at him. "You're lying." His face crumpled slightly. "I'm trying to protect you." "From what?" He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up my phone and looked at the photograph one last time. Then he handed it back. "If Damien has returned, it means he hasn't given up." "Given up on what?" Daniel's voice dropped to a whisper. "Finding the person who destroyed both our lives." I stood motionless. Both their lives. Not just Daniel's. Damien's, too. Before I could ask another question, my phone vibrated. An unknown number. A new message. STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, AMELIA. A second message appeared immediately. THE NEXT SECRET WE EXPOSE WILL BE YOURS. I looked up at my brother. He had seen the messages. And judging by the expression on his face, he knew exactly what they meant. For the first time in my life, Daniel Hart looked at me as though he was afraid of what might happen next. And somewhere across the city, Damien Blackwood was keeping a secret that could change everything I thought I knew about him. I had spent two years believing he was my worst enemy. Now I was beginning to wonder whether hating him had been the easiest lie of all. Because the truth was coming. And whoever was behind those messages was willing to do anything to keep it buried.

By Wednesday morning, I had developed three new habits. The first was checking my phone every five minutes for messages from an anonymous stranger. The second was watching Serena Whitmore from across the classroom, trying to determine whether guilt made a person blink more often. The third was avoiding Damien Blackwood. Unfortunately, only the first two were remotely successful. Damien seemed to have made it his personal mission to appear wherever I went. He was in the library when I arrived to return a book. He was outside the cafeteria when I went to buy breakfast. He was even standing beside my locker on Wednesday morning, looking as though he had every right to occupy the space. I stopped several feet away from him. "Move." He glanced at the locker behind him. "Good morning to you, too." "I wasn't aware we were exchanging pleasantries." "We aren't. I'm simply fascinated by how you manage to sound angry before eight in the morning." "And I'm fascinated by how you manage to be irritating without even trying." His mouth twitched. "Practice." I sighed and stepped forward, expecting him to move. He didn't. "Damien." "Amelia." "Move." "Ask nicely." I stared at him. He stared back. For one dangerous second, I considered hitting him with my schoolbag. Then I remembered that suspension would make me ineligible for certain scholarship activities. I took a slow breath. "Please move before I forget that I'm a civilized person." He stepped aside with an exaggerated gesture. "See? Was that so difficult?" I opened my locker. "I hope your next meal gives you food poisoning." "That's a terrible thing to wish on someone." "Then stop giving me reasons." I grabbed my books and slammed the locker shut. When I turned, he was watching me with an expression that made my stomach feel strangely unsettled. "What?" I demanded. "Nothing." "Then stop looking at me." "Stop being interesting." I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then walked away before I could give him the satisfaction of seeing me speechless. Behind me, I heard him laugh. I hated him. I really, really hated him. At least, that was what I kept telling myself. --- The announcement came during morning assembly. Our headteacher, Mrs. Eleanor Hayes, stood on the stage with a microphone in one hand and a folder in the other. She was a tall woman with sharp eyes and the kind of calm expression that made students confess to crimes they hadn't committed. "Students," she began, "this year marks the twentieth anniversary of the Sterling Academic Scholarship program at Westbridge High." The hall quieted. "The scholarship was established to reward academic excellence, leadership, and integrity. The recipient will receive full financial support for university education, along with an opportunity to attend an international academic conference." Whispers rippled through the room. I straightened in my seat. This was it. The opportunity I had been working toward for years. Mrs. Hayes continued. "Following an initial review of academic records, two students have been shortlisted for the final selection process." I already knew the names. I had known them since Monday. Still, hearing them announced in front of the entire school made my stomach tighten. "Amelia Hart and Damien Blackwood." Applause filled the hall. Some students cheered. Someone behind me whispered that Damien was going to win because he was apparently a genius. I ignored them. Mrs. Hayes waited for the noise to settle. "The final selection will involve a research project, a written examination, and a public academic debate. The candidates will be assessed independently by a panel of judges." I felt a surge of excitement. Then she added, "The debate topic will be announced on Friday. Until then, both candidates are expected to maintain exemplary conduct." My eyes shifted toward Damien. He was sitting three rows ahead, his posture relaxed, his hands folded in his lap. As if he could feel my stare, he turned his head. His eyes met mine. He raised one eyebrow. I looked away immediately. I refused to let him distract me. This scholarship was too important. My mother had spent years stretching every paycheck to make sure I had what I needed. She never complained when she had to postpone buying something for herself because I needed a textbook or examination materials. I wanted to give her something back. I wanted to prove that hard work could still lead somewhere. And I was not going to let Damien Blackwood stand in my way. Not this time. --- After assembly, the school organized a brief meeting for the shortlisted candidates. I arrived at the conference room five minutes early, carrying my notebook, three pens, and a folder containing the research proposal I had already begun preparing. Damien arrived two minutes later. Of course. He dropped into the chair opposite mine. "You look prepared." "I am." "Three pens? That's ambitious." "Some of us come to school to work." "Some of us can work with one pen." "Some of us don't have the luxury of being careless." His expression shifted. For a moment, I wondered whether he had heard the accusation beneath my words. Then he leaned forward. "You really believe I'm careless?" "I believe you don't understand what it means to have something to lose." The words came out before I could stop them. Silence settled between us. Damien's jaw tightened. "You'd be surprised." Before I could respond, Mrs. Hayes entered with Mr. Lawson and two members of the scholarship committee. "Good morning," she said. "Thank you for coming. I want to make one thing clear before we begin. The Sterling Scholarship is not simply a reward for intelligence. We are looking for students who can demonstrate integrity under pressure." I lowered my gaze to my notebook. Integrity. The word had become complicated lately. Mrs. Hayes explained the timeline for the competition, including the research submission deadline and the date of the final debate. Then she handed each of us a document outlining the judging criteria. "Both candidates will be given equal resources and preparation time. Neither student will receive preferential treatment." Damien glanced at the document. "Understood." I nodded. Mrs. Hayes looked between us. "I also expect you to treat each other with respect." "Of course, ma'am," I said. At the same time, Damien said, "Absolutely." We exchanged a look. Mr. Lawson cleared his throat, apparently trying not to laugh. Mrs. Hayes didn't look amused. "Excellent. Then I trust there will be no unnecessary hostility." "None at all," Damien replied. I smiled tightly. "Not from me, ma'am." His shoe nudged mine beneath the table. I kicked him. He didn't even flinch. I was beginning to think the universe had a personal grudge against me. --- The first real challenge arrived during lunch. I was sitting with Serena in the cafeteria, pretending to be interested in the food on my tray, when Ethan Cole appeared beside our table. Ethan had been my friend since our first year at Westbridge. He was easygoing, charming, and one of the few people who could make me laugh even when I was determined to be miserable. He dropped into the seat beside me. "So," he said, "the great academic war has officially begun." I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork. "Please don't call it that." "What should I call it? The Battle of the Brilliant? The Scholarship Showdown?" "Call it none of those things." Ethan grinned. "You're going to win." I looked at him. "You sound very confident." "I've seen you study. You practically inhale textbooks." Serena laughed softly. I tried to smile. Normally, Ethan's encouragement would have made me feel better. Today, however, I couldn't stop thinking about Damien's warning, Serena's hesitation, and the threatening messages that had appeared on my phone. Ethan noticed my expression. "Hey. What's wrong?" "Nothing." "Amelia." I sighed. "It's just a lot." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "You've got this. Don't let Blackwood get inside your head." Across the cafeteria, Damien was standing near the vending machines with two boys from his class. He glanced in our direction. His eyes dropped to Ethan's hand resting over mine. Something changed in his expression. It was quick, but I saw it. He looked away. For reasons I couldn't explain, I felt an absurd flicker of satisfaction. Then I immediately hated myself for noticing. Serena followed my gaze. "Oh," she said quietly. I turned toward her. "Oh what?" "Nothing." I narrowed my eyes. "You're doing that thing again." "What thing?" "The thing where you know something and pretend you don't." Her smile faded. "Amelia, I really think you should be careful about what you say to people." I stared at her. "Is that advice or a threat?" Her face went pale. Before she could answer, the cafeteria doors opened, and Damien walked toward our table. Ethan looked up. "Blackwood." "Cole." They exchanged the kind of greeting that suggested they had never liked each other. Damien's attention shifted to me. "Hart. A word?" "No." His eyebrows rose. "I haven't even said what it's about." "And yet my answer remains the same." Ethan leaned back in his chair. "Whatever you need to tell her, you can say it here." Damien looked at him. "I wasn't asking you." "And I'm not asking you to leave." The air between them tightened. I stood before the situation could get any worse. "Fine. What do you want?" Damien gestured toward the corridor. "Privately." I hesitated. Every instinct told me not to go anywhere alone with him. But refusing would mean letting him think he could intimidate me. I picked up my phone. "If you try anything ridiculous, I'll scream." He looked almost offended. "Your faith in humanity is inspiring." "Your presence has a negative effect on mine." He shook his head and walked toward the doors. I followed. --- The corridor outside the cafeteria was nearly empty. Damien stopped beside a row of lockers and turned toward me. "What?" I asked. He looked at me for a moment before speaking. "Have you received any strange messages lately?" My stomach dropped. I forced my expression to remain neutral. "What kind of messages?" "Anonymous ones." I stared at him. "Why?" "Because someone sent me a message last night." He pulled out his phone and showed me the screen. The message was short. TELL AMELIA TO STOP DIGGING, OR SHE'LL LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO HER BROTHER. My fingers went cold. For several seconds, I couldn't speak. Then I looked up at him. "Who sent it?" "If I knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation." "How do I know you didn't send it yourself?" His expression hardened. "Seriously?" "You've lied to me before." "You've never given me a chance to tell you the truth." "Because you disappeared!" The words echoed down the corridor. Damien went silent. I could feel my pulse pounding in my throat. "You left," I continued, my voice shaking with anger. "You knew what everyone thought about Daniel, and you left without saying a word. Do you have any idea what that did to my family?" He looked away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "I know more than you think." "Then tell me!" "I can't." I laughed bitterly. "Of course you can't." He stepped closer, but not close enough to touch me. "Listen to me. Whoever sent those messages knows something about the scandal. They want us frightened. They want us to stop asking questions." "Us?" "Yes, us." I stared at him. "Since when are we an us?" "Since someone decided we're both worth threatening." The corridor seemed to grow colder. I thought about Daniel's expression the night before. The fear in his eyes. The way he had asked me to stop investigating. I thought about Serena, standing beneath the oak tree, looking as though she was carrying a secret too heavy to bear. And I thought about Damien, who had returned to Westbridge carrying his own history of pain. For the first time, I wondered whether we were fighting the wrong battle. But I wasn't ready to trust him. Not yet. "What do you expect me to do?" I asked. "Be careful." "That's it?" "And stop confronting people in public." I folded my arms. "Excuse me?" "You're angry, and you have every right to be. But whoever is behind this is watching how you react. Don't make it easy for them." I hated that his advice made sense. I hated even more that he seemed genuinely concerned. "Why do you care?" I asked. He looked at me. For a second, the sarcasm disappeared completely. "Because I know what it feels like when everyone decides you're guilty before you get a chance to explain yourself." Then he walked away. I remained beside the lockers, holding my phone so tightly that my fingers hurt. I had come to Westbridge determined to defeat Damien Blackwood. Now I was beginning to suspect that someone else was determined to defeat both of us. --- By the end of the school day, the rumors had begun. Someone had posted a photograph of Damien and me standing in the corridor outside the cafeteria. The caption read: THE ENEMIES ARE GETTING AWFULLY CLOSE. Within an hour, it had been shared across several student group chats. Someone added a poll asking whether Damien and I were secretly dating. The results were humiliating. Forty-three percent said yes. Thirty-one percent said I was using him to win the scholarship. The remaining votes were divided between people who thought Damien was manipulating me and people who simply wanted to watch the drama unfold. I stared at the screen in disbelief. "People need hobbies," I muttered. Serena leaned over my shoulder. "Oh, wow." I locked my phone. "Don't." "I didn't say anything." "You were about to." She sat back. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she said, "Maybe you should stop talking to Damien." I turned toward her. "Why?" "Because people are starting to notice." "Let them notice." "Amelia, I'm serious." "So am I." She looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite understand. "You're changing." I frowned. "What does that mean?" "You used to know exactly what you wanted. You didn't let anyone distract you. Now everything seems to revolve around Damien and this old scandal." I felt the sting of her words. "Maybe because the scandal never went away." She looked down. "I know." "Do you?" She didn't answer. I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked away. I had spent years trusting Serena with everything. Now every conversation felt like a test I didn't know how to pass. --- I was halfway down the front steps when someone called my name. "Amelia!" I turned. Damien was standing near the school gates, holding a folded piece of paper. "What now?" I asked. He walked toward me. "I found this in my locker." He handed it to me. The paper was blank except for a single sentence written in black ink. THE SCHOLARSHIP ISN'T THE ONLY THING YOU'LL LOSE IF YOU KEEP ASKING QUESTIONS. I looked up slowly. "Someone put this in your locker?" "Yes." "When?" "This afternoon." I read the message again. A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "Do you think it's the same person who sent the texts?" "I do." I folded the paper and handed it back. "We should report this." "To whom?" "The headteacher." "And tell her what? That an anonymous person is threatening us because we're investigating a scandal the school insists is ancient history?" I hesitated. He had a point. "If we report it, at least there'll be a record." "Maybe." He slipped the paper into his pocket. "But until we know who we're dealing with, we need to be careful about what we reveal." I studied him. "You sound as though you've done this before." His expression became unreadable. "Maybe I have." Before I could ask another question, a voice called from behind us. "Amelia?" Ethan approached, carrying his backpack over one shoulder. His gaze moved between Damien and me. "Everything okay?" "Fine," I said quickly. Damien gave him a humorless smile. "Your friend and I were just discussing our academic futures." Ethan looked unconvinced. "Right." He turned to me. "Are you ready to go?" I nodded. Then I glanced at Damien. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. For a moment, I thought he might say something. Instead, he stepped back. "Good luck with the scholarship, Hart." I lifted my chin. "You'll need more luck than I will." His smile returned. "We'll see." I walked away with Ethan, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest. Behind me, Damien remained at the school gates. And for the first time since his return, I had the uncomfortable feeling that leaving him behind was the wrong decision. --- That evening, I sat at my desk surrounded by research notes, textbooks, and a half-empty cup of tea. I had promised myself that I would concentrate on the scholarship. I had even written a list of tasks and arranged them by priority. But every few minutes, my attention drifted to the photograph on my phone. Daniel. Damien. Serena. Three people connected by a night no one wanted to discuss. I enlarged the image again. This time, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. A fourth person stood near the edge of the frame. The figure was blurred, almost entirely hidden behind the doorway. But there was something familiar about the person's wrist. A silver bracelet. I had seen that bracelet before. Not once. Hundreds of times. My heart began to pound. Because I knew exactly who wore it. And it wasn't Serena. It was someone who had been present in my life long before Damien Blackwood returned to Westbridge. Someone who had been helping me prepare for the Sterling Scholarship. Someone who had promised to stand by me no matter what happened. Ethan Cole. My phone vibrated. Another message from the anonymous account. NOW YOU'RE BEGINNING TO SEE. A second message appeared. BUT IF YOU THINK ETHAN IS THE WORST OF IT, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOUR BROTHER HAS BEEN HIDING. I sat perfectly still. The room seemed to shrink around me. Ethan? Daniel? What had any of them done? I wanted to call my brother. I wanted to demand answers from Ethan. I wanted to march into school the next morning and force every person involved to tell me the truth. But beneath the fear and confusion, another feeling began to emerge. Determination. Whoever was behind the messages had made one mistake. They had assumed that threatening me would make me stop. Instead, they had given me a reason to continue. I closed the photograph and opened my research document. The Sterling Scholarship was still mine to win. The truth was still mine to discover. And Damien Blackwood? I still didn't trust him. I still found him infuriating. I still wanted to win every argument we ever had. But as I stared at the threatening messages, I realized something that frightened me more than any secret could. If Damien was telling the truth, then the boy I had spent two years hating might be the only person who understood what I was going through. And if he wasn't telling the truth, I would make certain he regretted ever underestimating me. Either way, I wasn't backing down. Not now. Not ever. Because the scholarship was only the beginning. The real competition had already started. And someone was determined to make sure I lost before I even reached the finish line.