The glow of the screen lit his face like a low-burning flame.
Tyler Jameson—his second skin, his lie—refreshed the feed for the hundredth time.
There it was again: Maya, leaning in against Damien at a rooftop restaurant, candlelight flickering between them. Her smile soft. Her hand grazing Damien's in a way that made Eddie's stomach twist. The caption read:
"Dinner with the only man who sees me."
Heart emoji. A goddamn heart emoji.
He stared at the photo like it owed him an apology.
Swipe.
Next story—her laughing, head thrown back, wearing a wine-red dress he'd never seen before. Damien was mid-toast. Her eyes glinted in the light. She looked… happy.
He paused the story and just stared at her face. His fingers hovered over the screen like he could reach in and pull her back.
Then:
"He gets me."
White text. Simple. Soft. Personal.
A fucking gut punch.
Eddie flinched like she'd slapped him.
His breathing turned shallow. His thumb clenched so hard around the phone it let out a small creak. But he didn't throw it—no, lesson learned. Phones were becoming casualties in this war, and he'd already lost enough ground.
Instead, he stood. Silent. Calculating. Then he grabbed his keys and stormed out.
His father didn't even look up when he entered the study.
"You said you weren't coming back," Mr. Thompson muttered, flipping a page in his ledger. "Last time you swore you were done."
"I need to return," Eddie said.
"You need?" His father's voice cut the air like a knife. "You burned bridges last time, boy. Do you have any idea what I had to do to contain the damage?"
Eddie stood stiff. "I didn't come to beg. I came to ask for a second chance."
"No," Mr. Thompson said flatly, still not looking up. "Not for a girl."
"It's not just a girl," Eddie growled. "It's Maya."
That name finally made his father raise his eyes.
"The same girl you threw everything away for?"
Eddie swallowed. His voice dropped. "She's mine."
There was silence. Heavy. Ugly.
"You sound like a man about to lose again," his father said. "Fine. Go. But don't call me when it all explodes again. This time, you clean up your own mess."
The next morning, Crostwood High didn't know what hit it.
A sleek black car pulled up like it belonged on a mafia movie set. Doors opened. Out stepped someone unrecognizable—until the students realized: that's Eddie Thompson .
Slicked-back hair. Clean-shaven jawline. Expensive monochrome outfit. Dark shades. A cologne trail that whispered danger. He moved through the courtyard like a storm cloud in human form.
Zeke blinked. "Yo… he looks like he just walked off the cover of GQ: Dangerously Deranged Edition."
Eddie smirked and leaned on the lockers, casual, cold, coiled like a spring. His eyes scanned the crowd like he was hunting prey.
But he didn't need to look hard.
He felt her before he saw her.
Maya.
Her heels clicked against the tiles. Her hair was pulled back. Sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. Designer bag on her shoulder. She looked like money, like heat, like every reason he lost his goddamn mind.
Then her eyes found him.
She froze. Just for a second.
The moment hit her like a slap.
Her expression? Not shock. Not even rage.
Just… disgust.
She turned her head away like he was something sticky she stepped on. Pivoted on her heel and walked the other way.
Eddie's chest clenched.
He pushed off the lockers.
He caught up to her by the lockers near the back wing.
"Maya," he called out, voice low. Controlled.
She didn't stop.
"Maya."
She turned around so fast he almost ran into her. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer. He stared. "I saw everything."
Her lip twitched. "Good. Now you can finally let it go."
"You think that smug CEO wannabe actually gives a shit about you?"
"Don't talk about him," she snapped. "He's been there. You left."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"I never stopped watching."
She laughed, bitter. "Yeah, I noticed. 'Tyler Jameson'? Really?"
His jaw ticked. He reached for her wrist, but she yanked away.
"You lost the right to touch me the day you made me your fucking target."
That one cut deep. He didn't flinch, but something inside him cracked.
"You still love me," he whispered. "You think he can erase me?"
She pulled out her phone. Pressed a button.
"Hey," she said calmly, loudly, "you were right. He's back."
The silence on the other end of the line lasted only a second.
"I'm coming."
She stormed off toward the parking lot, but Eddie wasn't done.
He followed. She tried to unlock her red car—he slammed the door shut with one arm and boxed her in.
"Move," she said.
"No."
He leaned in, one hand against the car, the other by her waist. Their faces inches apart. She could smell his cologne—spiced, rich, infuriatingly familiar.
"You think he loves you like I do?"
Her eyes glistened. But her voice stayed cold.
"He doesn't hurt me like you did."
That landed like a brick to the ribs.
He stared at her, lips parted, stunned into silence. There was something burning in her eyes—not fear, not hate. Just closure.
And that was worse.
He leaned in like he was about to kiss her—
A sharp honk cut through the tension.
Damien's car pulled up like a weapon. Door flew open. He stormed over—tailored coat, sharp eyes, pure steel in motion.
He didn't hesitate.
He yanked Eddie by the collar and slammed him back.
"Get your fucking hands off her."
Maya slipped behind him, hands trembling. She didn't even look at Eddie. Just pressed her face to Damien's shoulder like she finally felt safe.
Eddie stood there, seething, heart racing, fists clenched.
And for the first time, he saw it.
The fear in her.
The closure.
The man she leaned on wasn't a rebound. He was a replacement.
Damien's arm snaked around her waist. Protective. Claiming.
Eddie's world tilted sideways.
Later, Eddie stood alone in the courtyard, watching their car disappear down the road.
Zeke found him. Looked him up and down.
"You okay, man?"
Eddie didn't answer for a long time.
Then, with a voice like ice melting on fire, he said,
"She thinks it's over."
And smiled.