Xavier's POV
I don't sleep.
That's the first sign I've miscalculated.
My room is dark, door locked, the house quiet in the way it only gets when everyone thinks the danger has passed. I lie on my back staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening in fragments that refuse to arrange themselves neatly.
Aylia at the table, hands folded in her lap like she was afraid of taking up space.My father leaning forward, listening to her like she mattered.My mother's eyes—sharp, appraising, dismissive in a single glance.
And then the worst part.
The way Aylia didn't flinch when I moved closer upstairs.
She should have.
That's the problem.
Kindness isn't supposed to work this quickly.
I roll onto my side, jaw tight. The instinct to control has always been clean, surgical. Pressure here. Silence there. People respond predictably when you understand their fault lines.
Aylia Zehir does not respond predictably.
She responds like someone who's learned to endure.
That makes her dangerous.
By morning, the house is already awake.
I hear my mother's heels before I see her. The clipped rhythm of irritation, echoing down the hallway like she's already decided the day has offended her.
She doesn't knock.
"Do you have any idea," she says, arms crossed in the doorway, "what kind of girl you brought into this house?"
I sit up slowly. "She's my lab partner."
"Don't insult me," she snaps. "Girls like that don't end up here by accident."
"There's nothing wrong with her."
My mother laughs once, sharp and humorless. "She works two jobs. Comes from nothing. Thinks effort makes her equal."
"That's enough."
Her eyes narrow. "You're defending her."
I stand. The movement is deliberate. Controlled.
"I'm stating facts."
"She's a liability," my mother continues. "People will talk. They already are. I won't have you associated with—"
"With what?" I cut in. "Someone who actually works for what they have?"
Silence drops hard between us.
My mother's lips thin. "You're emotional."
"I'm observant."
"You're distracted."
That lands closer than it should.
She steps forward. "You're not like your father. Don't make his mistakes."
I don't respond.
Because if I open my mouth, I will say something irreversible.
She leaves with a satisfied nod, like she's planted something and expects it to grow.
She's wrong.
I don't let things grow out of control.
School sharpens everything.
By third period, I can feel it—the way Aylia's awareness hums just beneath the surface of her skin. She's quieter today. More careful. Like she's waiting for something to fall.
I sit beside her in science without comment.
Mr. Halvorsen drones on about variables and reactions, but Aylia's attention fractures every time I move. I keep my hands visible. Open. Nonthreatening.
"You okay?" I murmur, just low enough that only she hears.
She stiffens. "Fine."
Lie.
I slide the notebook toward her, already filled with notes. Calculations. Structure.
"I started our outline," I say. "You don't have to stay late tonight."
Her eyes flick to the page, then back to me. Suspicion flickers there, quick and sharp.
"Why?" she asks.
"Because you looked exhausted yesterday."
The answer is too honest.
She doesn't thank me. She just nods once, like she's accepting a truce she doesn't trust.
Good.
Trust comes later.
Marcus corners me after lunch.
He doesn't bother with subtlety anymore.
"You're walking her through this," he says flatly. "Slowly. Carefully. Like you're afraid of spooking her."
I arch a brow. "Observation noted."
"That's not a denial."
"I'm not obligated to deny anything."
Marcus exhales through his nose. "This isn't you, X."
"That's where you're wrong."
He steps closer. "You don't soften. You don't accommodate. You don't adjust your behavior around someone unless—"
"Unless what?" I snap.
He hesitates.
Unless you care.
He doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't have to.
"I'm managing variables," I say coldly. "Nothing more."
"Then why does Alicia look pleased?" he asks quietly.
That stops me.
I find her an hour later.
Alicia is seated on the low wall near the east wing, legs crossed, phone in hand like she's been waiting. She looks up as I approach, smile already in place.
"There you are," she says. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
"What did you do?" I ask.
She laughs softly. "Straight to the point. I admire that."
"Alicia."
She stands, smoothing her skirt. "Relax. I didn't touch her."
"Then why does it feel like something's moved?"
"Because it has," she replies pleasantly. "You've been circling long enough. People were starting to wonder if you'd lost your edge."
"And?"
"And now they won't."
I step closer, lowering my voice. "You don't get to make moves without me."
Her smile sharpens. "I didn't make a move. I formalized inevitability."
She opens her phone and tilts it toward me.
A message thread. Names I recognize. Stakes implied, not stated.
My jaw tightens.
"You locked it," I say.
"I secured it," she corrects. "No timeline. No public spectacle. Just confirmation."
"You promised—"
"I promised not to rush you," she cuts in. "Not to stop."
The realization settles heavy and unwelcome.
The bet isn't loud. It isn't cruel yet.
It's waiting.
"And if I walk away?" I ask.
Alicia tilts her head. "You won't."
She steps closer, voice dropping. "You're already too far in. You let her into your house. You let your father see her. You let your mother react."
"That wasn't part of—"
"It's always part of it," she says gently. "You don't destroy people you don't understand first."
I stare at her.
"You're enjoying this," I say.
She doesn't deny it.
"I'm protecting you," she says instead. "From pretending this is something it's not."
She turns to leave, then pauses. "Be careful, Xavier. Gentleness works better than force—until it doesn't."
That night, my father knocks.
Once.
Twice.
"Xavier," he says through the door. "Open up."
I don't.
The silence stretches.
"She's a good girl," he says finally. "You can tell a lot about someone by how they carry responsibility."
I close my eyes.
"She reminded me of myself," he continues. "Before I learned how easy it was to lose that."
My hands curl into fists.
"I don't know what's going on with you," he says. "But don't turn kindness into something ugly."
The words lodge deep.
After he leaves, I sit in the dark and let the truth surface, ugly and undeniable.
Aylia doesn't need to be broken.
She needs to be convinced.
And that realization—more than the bet, more than Alicia's interference—is what finally removes the last restraint.
Because if she almost believes me now…
Then soon, she will.
And when she does, she won't even see the blade.