(First-Person POV — Crystal Whitman)
Eight years.
Eight years of quiet observation. Eight years of learning. Eight years of sharpening myself into something… sharper, colder, stronger.
By the time Mrs. Olivia decided it was safe for us to leave the city that had become a cage of memories, I was sixteen and fully aware that the world didn't care about anyone's pain. Not even mine.
When we packed and left, I felt something I hadn't in years—freedom. But it wasn't freedom in the way normal people imagined it. This was freedom with purpose. Freedom to rebuild. Freedom to become.
I couldn't bear the name Reed anymore. It belonged to the man who killed my mother and the world that had allowed it. I needed something cleaner, sharper, a name that couldn't be traced back to my past.
"Whitman," I told Mrs. Olivia one evening, as we drove through the sleepy suburbs of our new city. It had been her late husband's name. A name that carried weight without question. A name that belonged to someone who had once been honorable, at least in her memory. I liked that it sounded strong, untouchable.
She smiled and didn't question it. She never questioned me. That was the thing about her—she understood darkness, even if she didn't know its full extent.
"Crystal Whitman," she said softly, as if tasting the name. "It suits you."
And it did.
Transferring schools in your final year isn't easy. Everyone already knows their cliques, their social dynamics, their allies and enemies. Entering that world as a newcomer is like walking into a shark tank in a silk dress. But I had learned to swim in shark-infested waters long ago.
The school was large, clean, intimidating. I walked past the iron gates and felt the same pulse I always did when I entered new territory: opportunity.
Opportunity to test. Opportunity to charm. Opportunity to conquer.
I chose my uniform with care that morning. Not too revealing, not too plain. Every movement, every choice, a subtle message.
My first encounter with anyone new would set the tone. I had learned this lesson from years of watching people.
Hallways were crowded with teenagers who thought they were invincible. Boys with overconfident smirks. Girls who whispered behind hands like tiny conspiracies. I observed, I calculated, I smiled.
"New girl?" a voice asked. I turned.
He was tall, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, a slight smirk playing across his lips. "I'm Liam," he said. "Need someone to show you around?"
I tilted my head slightly, feigning a polite smile. "Crystal. Crystal Whitman. And no, I think I'll manage."
The way he blinked at me—surprise, curiosity, subtle admiration—told me everything I needed to know. First impressions mattered. He was pliable.
I had been shaping people my whole life, training myself in silence and observation. Now, it was time to test my skills in a new environment, with a new identity.
This city, this school, would be my canvas.
No one could know my past. No one could glimpse the girl who had once been ten, watching her mother die in the river. No one could suspect that beneath the polite, slightly enigmatic exterior of Crystal Whitman lurked a strategist, a predator, a girl who had been practicing manipulation since she was eleven.
I smiled to myself in the mirror that evening. The reflection staring back wasn't just a girl who had survived—it was a girl who had already decided: she would bend this school to her will, charm anyone she needed, and leave behind a trail of subtle victories.
Because eight years of preparation had taught me one undeniable truth:
Power came from observation. Power came from control. Power came from knowing how to make someone believe they chose you when, in reality, you had chosen them.
The next day, I walked through the cafeteria. Patterns emerged immediately—the alpha boys, the queen bees, the invisible ones. I noticed Liam first, the boy who had tried to act indifferent yesterday. He was already looking for me. Already curious. Already intrigued.
Good.
I had learned to recognize the ones who could be manipulated, the ones who were dangerous, and the ones who could be useful. Liam would be my first challenge here. Not the only one. But the first.
I smiled to myself. My hands twitched slightly with excitement—a thrill I hadn't felt in years.
Because for the first time since the river, since the betrayal, since the quiet nights planning revenge, I felt… the game begin.
Crystal Whitman was here.
Crystal Whitman was ready.
And Crystal Whitman would never be the girl who was ignored or powerless again.