Alicia's POV
Xavier thinks he's still choosing.
That's the mistake men like him always make when they start caring.
They confuse control with consent.
I don't interrupt him the night Aylia leaves his house.
I don't text. I don't call. I don't even acknowledge what he's just done—because the fastest way to make someone defensive is to show them you're watching too closely.
Instead, I wait.
Power never rushes.
By Monday morning, the shift is visible to anyone who knows what to look for.
Aylia arrives earlier than usual. Sits closer to the front in science. Doesn't make eye contact when Xavier enters—but her posture changes anyway. Tightens. Aligns. Like her body knows the rules before her mind does.
Kindness always leaves residue.
Xavier takes his seat beside her. Doesn't speak. Doesn't lean in.
He's restraining himself.
That's new.
That's dangerous.
Marcus notices too. He always does. He's watching Xavier, not Aylia—tracking micro-movements like he's waiting for something to snap.
I smile into my coffee.
Not yet.
After last period, I intercept Xavier before Marcus can.
Not dramatically. Not publicly.
I walk beside him down the hall like it's habit.
"You brought her home," I say casually.
He doesn't look at me. "It was practical."
"Of course," I reply. "And your father liked her."
That makes him glance over.
"Did he tell you that?" he asks.
"No," I say lightly. "I have eyes."
He stops walking.
I don't.
He falls back into step after a beat.
"You're overstepping," he says coolly.
"No," I correct. "I'm formalizing."
He exhales through his nose. Controlled irritation.
"Whatever you're planning," he says, "leave me out of it."
I laugh quietly. "That stopped being an option the moment you softened."
We reach the parking lot.
I turn to face him fully now.
"This is what's going to happen," I say. "And I'm telling you because I'm generous."
His eyes harden. "You don't get to dictate—"
"I do," I interrupt, still smiling. "Because you're compromised. And I'm not."
Silence stretches.
"You want her," I continue. "Not sexually—yet. Not fully. You want response. Validation. Proof that the gravity you feel is real."
"That's not—"
"—a judgment," I finish. "It's a diagnosis."
He doesn't deny it.
I reach into my bag and pull out my phone.
"I made a wager," I say.
That gets his attention.
"With whom?" he asks.
"With the only people who matter," I reply. "Those who already assume you're untouchable."
His jaw tightens. "Undo it."
"I can't."
"Then you shouldn't have made it."
I tilt my head. "I made it because you were going to cross the line anyway."
He steps closer. "What are the terms?"
Finally.
"Simple," I say. "You get her to choose you. Publicly. Voluntarily. No coercion that can be proven."
"And if I don't?" he asks.
"Then I collect," I say. "And I decide how the narrative ends."
He stares at me. "You're playing with a person."
"So are you," I reply softly. "I'm just honest about it."
He turns away sharply. "I'm not interested."
"Too late," I say. "The bet is live."
Aylia feels it that same day.
She doesn't know why.
She just knows the air around her has thickened.
People look longer when she speaks. Teachers pause before redirecting her. Whispers follow—not cruel, not admiring. Curious.
Ownership-adjacent.
Xavier doesn't approach her at lunch.
That's deliberate.
Absence sharpens impact better than presence ever could.
Marcus corners her near the lockers.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
She hesitates.
"I think so," she says. "Why?"
"Because something's moving," he replies. "And you're in the middle of it."
Her pulse spikes. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he says carefully, "that Xavier isn't acting alone anymore."
She stiffens. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"I know," Marcus says. "That's what scares me."
She swallows. "Can you make it stop?"
Marcus looks away.
That's answer enough.
By Wednesday, the rules have been rewritten.
Xavier doesn't walk beside her anymore.
He lets others notice when he isn't there.
He lets space do the work.
In class, he speaks for her less—but when he does, it's precise. Affirming. Protective enough to feel like alliance, not dominance.
It's almost convincing.
After school, Alicia calls him.
"Progress?" she asks sweetly.
"You're enjoying this," he replies flatly.
"I'm monitoring outcomes."
"You don't get to control how this ends."
"I already am," she says. "You're following the terms perfectly."
"What if I refuse?" he asks.
"Then you lose," Alicia replies. "And so does she."
That lands.
Hard.
Thursday evening, Aylia almost texts him.
Almost.
She deletes the message.
That's the moment Alicia wins.
Not because Aylia reaches out.
But because she wants to.
Desire doesn't need to be acted on to be effective. It just needs to exist.
By Friday, the rumor mill is active.
Not accusations.
Assumptions.
"You heard?"
"They're close."
"He wouldn't bother otherwise."
"She must be special."
Aylia hears them all.
She sits alone in the library, staring at nothing.
Xavier finds her there.
He doesn't sit.
"I didn't ask for this," she says without looking up.
"I know," he replies.
"Then stop."
He hesitates.
Just long enough.
"I can't," he says.
Her chest tightens. "Why not?"
Because he made a promise he didn't realize was binding.
Because Alicia already set the stakes.
Because kindness was never neutral.
"I won't hurt you," he says instead.
She looks up at him.
Studies his face.
"I believe you," she says quietly.
That's when the bet locks.
Not with signatures.
Not with witnesses.
With belief.
From across the room, Alicia watches.
Satisfied.
The board is set.
The pieces are moving.
And Xavier—whether he admits it or not—
Is no longer playing to win.
He's playing because stopping would cost too much.