𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Let Him Think He's Won

"Smol dick ahh, tell me, is my face looking pretty enough right now?" I think, rolling my eyes internally. I sneak a glance at the mirrored glass of the window. Yep, flawless.

"If I confess my undying love for the villain... will he think of himself as the luckiest man alive and become a regular human? Hah, why am I even asking? No matter what skin my soul wears, I'm always the most charismatic one here. Obviously, I'm stunning. I don't need to be like Cinderella's stepmom asking for approval. And whoever says otherwise can go get their eyes gouged out by the bride of Kill Bill."

The hallway light flickers for a second as I take a step forward, the sound of my boots clicking against the linoleum floor echoing through the empty corridor. My hand brushes against my skirt, smoothing out a wrinkle in the fabric. It's pleated, black, and hits just above the knee-one of those pieces that screams "I don't care," but you know, I totally do.

I stride up to the legendary villain, closing the distance between us. Ugh, why do all these bad boys have the same permanently frozen expression? If this was real life, they'd be canceled for having a resting bitch face. I mean, he's just standing there, all tall and brooding, his school blazer hanging loosely on his shoulders like he doesn't give a damn about dress codes. Does he think he's Kanye? Actually... come to think of it, there are some similarities, but nah, I shouldn't go there. Too controversial. Even for my brain.

The system bee buzzes in my ear, trying to get my attention, but I tune it out. It's been making that weird opening-and-closing-mouth motion for a while, like it's unsure of what to say. Whatever. I'm already inches from Wilde now, so close that our bodies are practically brushing against each other. He's taller than I remembered, the clean scent of his cologne-something with hints of cedar and, weirdly, sea salt-lingers in the air between us. I want him to step back, just a little, so I can slam my hand against the wall and pull off that classic kabedon move. But no, of course this stubborn brick wall of a man refuses to budge.

I want to flip a table.

"What are you doing?" His voice cuts through the tension, low and smooth. I swear it vibrates through my bones. I stop myself from flinching, but internally, I'm screaming. It's a good voice.

"Oooh, eyecandy can speak!?" Oh, SHIT. Did I say that out loud? Smooth, real smooth. I try to play it off, keeping my face neutral. If I just act like I meant to say it, maybe I can salvage this. Why the hell is my face getting hot? No, no, no. My body needs to chill out. I know his voice is deep enough to give me earwax babies, but get it together!

And wait-did he just... smirk? No way. Must be my imagination.

"Wilde," I say, trying to channel that sultry, seductive vibe I've only ever read about, "we're in high school now. I guess I can't keep up this whole middle school act of bullying the person I like anymore." I say it slowly, each word dripping with fake vulnerability. I search his face, trying to catch a flicker of something. Anything. But he's like stone-unreadable.

"You like me?" His voice is flat, but his eyebrow quirks up, amused. Before I can even answer, he continues. "So you're telling me all those years of tripping me in the halls, locking me in the bathrooms, and, oh, when your thugs beat me until I was unconscious-that was your way of showing affection?"

Hold up. "WHAT?! Someone hurt you?" I snap back, cutting through his monologue. "That's why you missed midterms, huh? Are you still hurt? Any long-term effects?" My concern comes out genuine, and it throws him off. Good. Even the original Faye -the immature brat-wasn't that much of a monster. No way did I ever order anyone to beat him half to death. But these questions... these questions help me sell the whole "I care about you" narrative I'm trying to spin. I'm multitasking like a pro.