THE

PHEONI
X
PROTOCO
L
CHAPTER 1: RAYA MATHERS
& THE ART OF INVISIBILITY
CHAPTER 2: WHISPER WARS
CHAPTER 3: BLOOD IN THE
WATER
CHAPTER 4: HEARTS &
HURRICANES
CHAPTER 5: THE RECKONING
CHAPTER 6: THE HOUSE OF
CARDS
CHAPTER 7: SCORCHED
EARTH
CHAPTER 8: PHOENIX
CHAPTER 9: VENDETTA
CHAPTER 10: CHECKMATE
CHAPTER 1: RAYA MATHERS
& THE ART OF INVISIBILITY
The alarm blared at 6:30 AM, and Raya Mathers groaned, slapping
it silent before her little brother, Eli, could yell at her for waking
him up again. Her room was small—just big enough for a twin
bed, a secondhand dresser, and a dream catcher with frayed
strings that her mom had given her for her sixteenth birthday. "To
catch the good vibes," she’d said, even though Raya was pretty
sure vibes didn’t work like that.
She tugged on her usual uniform—oversized hoodie, ripped jeans,
and the one pair of white sneakers she’d managed to keep clean
for three months. No designer labels, no trendy crop tops. Just
Raya—low-key, easy to miss, and perfectly fine with it.
Mostly.
________________________________________
Heaven High was not, in fact, heavenly.
The name was some rich donor’s idea of irony, probably. The halls
were a battlefield of designer backpacks, varsity jackets, and the
kind of confidence that came from never worrying about lunch
money. Raya kept her head down, weaving through the crowd like
a ghost.
Until she saw him.
Trevor Johnson.
Six-foot-two, golden-brown skin, and a smile that could melt
Antarctica. He was leaning against his locker, laughing at
something his teammate said, his football jersey hugging his
shoulders in a way that should be illegal.
Raya’s stomach did a backflip.
She’d had a crush on him since freshman year, when he’d held
the door open for her in the rain and said, "You’re gonna drown if
you don’t move faster." (Poetic? No. Effective? Absolutely.)
Now, three years later, she was still just Raya from English class—
the quiet girl who got A’s on essays but never raised her hand.
"Earth to Raya." A sharp elbow jabbed her ribs.
She blinked. Her best (and only) friend, Lila, smirked. "You’re
staring again."
"I’m not—"
"At Trevor? Yeah, you are." Lila twirled a strand of her neon-blue
hair. "You know, if you actually talked to him, you might—"
"Die of embarrassment?" Raya muttered.
"Or he might fall madly in love with you. Just saying."
Raya rolled her eyes, but her pulse betrayed her.
________________________________________
Lunch was a peanut butter sandwich and a side of humiliation.
Raya and Lila sat at their usual table—the one near the trash
cans, where the cafeteria staff sometimes forgot to wipe down the
sticky spots. She was mid-bite when a shadow fell over her tray.
"Hey."
Oh no.
Trevor stood there, tray in hand, looking unfairly good in daylight.
His cologne—something woodsy and expensive—hit her like a
truck.
"Uh." Raya’s brain short-circuited. "Hi?"
"You’re in Ms. Parker’s English, right?"
She nodded, too stunned to speak.
"Cool. You’re, like, really good at the analysis stuff." He scratched
the back of his neck. "Think you could help me? The midterm’s
killing me."
Raya’s heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Trevor Johnson
needed her help.
Lila kicked her under the table. Say something!
"Y-yeah," Raya managed. "Sure."
Trevor grinned. "Awesome. Library after school?"
She nodded again, and then he was gone, leaving behind a wake
of whispers and wide-eyed stares from the nearby tables.
Lila squealed. "OH. MY. GOD."
Raya buried her face in her hands. "I’m gonna throw up."
"No, you’re not. You’re gonna flirt."
"I don’t know how to flirt!"
"Just be yourself. But, like, with more eyeliner."
Raya groaned.
________________________________________
After school, Raya stood outside the library, mentally rehearsing
normal human conversation.
Trevor was already inside, sprawled at a table, highlighting a
crumpled copy of The Great Gatsby. He looked up when she
approached.
"Hey. You came."
"Yep." Brilliant.
He chuckled. "You nervous?"
"Terrified." The honesty slipped out before she could stop it.
Trevor’s smile softened. "Don’t be. I don’t bite." Pause. "Unless
you’re into that."
Raya choked on air.
And just like that—the most popular guy in school and the girl
who barely spoke were flirting.
Until the library doors slammed open.
"There you are."
A blonde in a crop top and a scowl marched toward them.
Mackenzie Cole. Trevor’s on-again, off-again girlfriend.
Raya’s stomach dropped.
Mackenzie’s gaze flicked between them. "What’s this?"
Trevor sighed. "Study group."
"Looks cozy." Mackenzie crossed her arms. "Since when do you
study?"
Raya stood abruptly, her chair screeching. "I should go."
Trevor reached for her wrist. "Raya, wait—"
But she was already halfway to the door, heart pounding, the
ghost of his touch burning her skin.
This was why she stayed invisible.
Because crushes hurt.
And hope?
Hope was the most dangerous thing of all.
Raya didn’t sleep that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it—Trevor’s fingers
brushing her wrist, Mackenzie’s glare, the way the entire library
had gone silent like some cheesy high school drama show. Oh
wait. That’s exactly what this was.

The next morning, Heaven High was a warzone.

Whispers followed Raya the second she stepped off the bus.
“That’s her.”

“Trevor Johnson? Seriously?”

“Mackenzie’s gonna eat her alive.”

Lila materialized beside her, gripping her arm. “Okay. Damage

control. Now.”

“What did I do?” Raya hissed.

“Exist near someone’s boyfriend, apparently.”

“He’s not her—”

“Tell her that.”

Mackenzie and her squad were camped out near the lockers,
staring right at her. One of them—Alyssa, the human equivalent
of a poodle with a vendetta—flipped her hair and fake-coughed,
“Homewrecker.”

Raya’s stomach twisted.

CHAPTER 2: "WHISPER
WARS"
Third period: Chemistry.

AKA Torture by Trevor Proximity.

He was already at their shared lab table, drumming his fingers.

When he saw her, he straightened. “Raya.”

She froze. “...Hey.”

“You just left yesterday.”

“Yeah. I had… a thing.” A thing called avoiding your girlfriend’s

death glare.

Trevor leaned in, voice low. “Mackenzie and I broke up. Weeks
ago.”

Raya’s pulse stuttered. “Oh.”

“So whatever she’s saying—”

“Johnson.” Mr. Hale’s voice cut through. “Eyes on your own
paper.”

Trevor sighed, but his knee bumped Raya’s under the table. On
purpose.

She forgot how to breathe.

Raya was mid-sip of her sad chocolate milk when Mackenzie slid
into the seat across from her.

“So.” Mackenzie smiled, all venom. “You and Trevor, huh?”

Lila kicked Raya’s shin under the table. Abort. ABORT.

“We’re lab partners,” Raya said carefully.

“Funny. He’s never needed ‘help’ before.” Mackenzie’s nails

tapped the table. “But suddenly, he’s all over you.”

Raya’s face burned. “It’s not like that.”

“It better not be.” Mackenzie leaned in. “Because guys like Trevor
don’t go for girls like you. They get bored.”

The words hit like a slap.

Then—

“Back off, Mack.”

Trevor stood there, tray in hand, jaw tight. The cafeteria went
dead silent.

Mackenzie blinked. “You’re defending her?”

“I’m telling you to stop being a bitch.”

Gasps. Actual gasps.

Mackenzie’s face flushed red. “You’re choosing her?”

Trevor didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.”

Raya’s heart stopped.

Then—

CRACK.

Mackenzie hurled her Diet Coke at Raya. Ice and sticky soda
exploded across her hoodie.

The cafeteria erupted.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

Trevor stepped between them, but the damage was done.

Mackenzie stormed off, and Raya?

She was officially not invisible anymore.

After school: The Fallout.

Raya scrubbed at her hoodie in the bathroom, hands shaking.

The door swung open.

Trevor.

In the girls’ bathroom.

“What are you—?”

“Looking for you.” His voice was rough. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” She laughed, borderline hysterical. “Now the whole
school thinks I’m some pathetic loser who—”

“Who what?” He stepped closer. “Who I like?”

Raya’s breath caught.

Trevor cupped her face, soda-sticky hoodie and all. “Mackenzie’s

wrong. I don’t get bored. And I see you, Raya. I always have.”

And then—

THEY KISSED.

(Or did they? Dun dun DUN!

The glow of Raya’s phone screen was the only light in the room,
casting long shadows over the peeling band posters on her walls.
Three unanswered texts to Lila:

Raya: He touched my wrist.

Raya: Mackenzie looked at me like I drowned her goldfish.
Raya: I think I’m gonna throw up or cry or both.

Eli banged on the wall from his room. “Go to sleep, weirdo.”

Raya flopped onto her back, pressing her palms into her eyes
until colors burst behind her lids. Trevor’s voice played on loop:
“Raya, wait—”

Why did he stop her? Why did she run?

Her phone buzzed.

Lila (2:22 AM): UR LIFE IS A WATTPAD FIC. Also, Mack posted

shady stuff. Check Snap.

Raya’s thumb hovered over the app. Don’t do it. Don’t—

She tapped.

Mackenzie’s Story: A boomerang of her and Alyssa flipping off the

camera, captioned: “When basic bitches try to level up.”

The next slide: A screenshot of a text thread—blurred, but Raya

recognized Trevor’s contact name. One line visible: “I told you,
it’s over.”

Raya’s stomach dropped.

Lila pounced before Raya’s foot hit the pavement. “We have
problems.”

“Define ‘problems.’”

“Mackenzie told the cheer squad you ‘manipulated’ Trevor with

‘fake shyness.’” Lila shoved her phone in Raya’s face. A GroupMe
thread exploded with:

“Raya’s such a pick-me.”

“Trevor’s just pitying her.”
“Her mom’s the nurse who gave me a flu shot. Awkward.”

Raya’s throat tightened. “I hate this.”

“Too late.” Lila nodded toward the school doors. “They’re

waiting.”

Alyssa and two other girls leaned against the entrance, eyes
locked on Raya like sharks scenting blood.

Alyssa (loudly): “Oh look, it’s Cinderella.”

Lila flipped her off. Raya grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”

“Why? They’re literally—”

“Just go.”

They ducked inside, but the whispers slithered after them.

Trevor was already there, spinning a pen between his fingers. He

stilled when Raya sat.

Trevor: “You ignored my texts.”

Raya (focusing on her notebook): “Busy.”

Trevor (leaning in): “Bullshit.”

The scent of his cologne—cedar and something sweet—wrapped

around her. She gripped her pencil. “Why did Mackenzie post your
texts?”

He stiffened. “What?”

Raya showed him the Snap. Trevor’s jaw clenched. “That’s

private.”

“Yeah, well. Now it’s a meme.”

The bell rang. Mr. Hale droned about titration, but the air between
them crackled.

Trevor (under his breath): “I broke up with her because she

cheated.”

Raya’s head snapped up. “What?”

Trevor: “Homecoming. With Bryce Lawson.”

Bryce—Trevor’s ex-best friend, now at military school.

Raya: “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Trevor (bitter laugh): “Pride’s a bitch.”

Their fingers brushed reaching for the same beaker. A spark. A
glance.

Then—

Alyssa (from the next table, stage-whispering): “Ew, does he have

to touch her?”

Trevor stood so fast his chair screeched. “Got something to say,

Cole?”

Silence.

Mr. Hale sighed. “Detention, Johnson.”

Raya wanted to melt into the floor.

Raya pushed her tray toward Lila. “I’m not hungry.”

Lila: “You need fuel to survive this telenovela.”

Then—Mackenzie’s perfume—cloying vanilla. She loomed over

their table.

Mackenzie: “Cute hoodie. Is it from the lost and found?”

Laughter from her squad. Raya’s hoodie was thrifted, but damn if
she’d admit it.

Raya (quietly): “What do you want?”

Mackenzie (smirking): “To warn you. Trevor’s into challenges.

Once he wins, he’s done.”

Lila: “Sounds like your experience.”

Mackenzie’s smile died.

Trevor (suddenly there, tray in hand): “Problem?”

Mackenzie turned sweet. “Just girl talk.” She trailed a finger down
his arm. “Remember? Like we used to.”

Trevor stepped back. “We’re done.”

Mackenzie (eyes glinting): “Are we?”

Then—the soda toss.

Diet Coke arced through the air. Raya flinched—

But Trevor blocked it.

Sticky liquid splattered his jersey. The cafeteria erupted.

Mackenzie (yelling): “You’re choosing HER?”

Trevor (cold): “Yeah. I am.”

Raya’s heart stopped.

Mackenzie stormed off, but the damage was done. Every phone
was out. Every eye on them.

Raya scrubbed her hoodie under scalding water in the girls

bathroom. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The door creaked open. Lila?

No.

Trevor.

Raya: “This is the girls’—”

Trevor (locking the door): “I don’t care.”

He stepped closer. Soda dripped from his sleeves.

Raya (backing up): “You shouldn’t be here.”

Trevor: “Neither should this.” He gestured between them. “But it

is.”

Her breath hitched. “What is this?”

Trevor (softly): “You know.”

Then—

THE ALMOST-KISS.

Their lips a hair apart when—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Alyssa (outside): “EW, ARE THEY MAKING OUT IN THERE?”

They jerked apart.

Trevor (growling): “I hate this school.”

Raya burst out laughing. Or maybe crying.

Mom (exhausted, scrubbing a pan): “You’re quiet.”

Raya (poking her mac ‘n’ cheese): “Long day.”

Eli (grinning): “Is it about Trevor Johnson?”

Raya choked. “What?”

Eli (showing his phone): “You’re trending.”

A TikTok: “Heaven High Love Triangle – Who’s the REAL Victim??”

Clips of Mackenzie crying, Trevor scowling, and Raya—blurry in

the background, soda dripping off her hoodie.

Top Comment: “The quiet ones are always sneaky.”

Raya shoved her chair back. “I’m going to bed.”

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Back off, or everyone finds out about your

mom’s debt.

Raya’s blood ran cold.

CHAPTER 3: "BLOOD IN THE

WATER"
The text glared back at her, bright and venomous in the dark:

Unknown Number: Back off, or everyone finds out about your

mom’s debt.

Raya’s fingers trembled as she typed: Who is this?

The reply was instant: Doesn’t matter. You’ve got 24 hours to
stop talking to Trevor.

A knock at her door. Raya nearly threw her phone.

Mom (leaning in, scrubs wrinkled): “You’re awake?”

Raya flipped her screen facedown. “Just… homework.”

Mom’s eyes—exhausted, always exhausted—narrowed. “At 3

AM?”

A beat. Then, softer: “Is this about the soda thing? Eli showed me
the video.”

Raya’s stomach dropped. “What video?”

Mom sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The one where that
boy shields you like some knight in a football jersey.” A pause.
“He’s cute.”

“Mom.”

“What? I’m allowed to notice.” She tucked a strand of Raya’s hair

behind her ear. “But if he’s trouble—”

“He’s not.” I am.

Mom stood. “Well. If anyone gives you hell, tell them your
mother’s a nurse who knows where to hide bodies.”

Raya snorted. But when the door closed, the text still burned in
her palm.

Unknown Number: Tick-tock, Raya.

Lila intercepted her at the bike racks, gripping her shoulders.

“We’re under siege.”
Raya groaned. “What now?”

Lila shoved her phone forward. A new TikTok:

Mackenzie (fake tearful): “I just want honesty… but some people

lie to get attention.”

Comments:
“Raya’s mom is broke AF. Why would Trevor want that?”
“She’s probably faking her grades too.”

Raya’s vision blurred. “They’re digging—”

“Worse.” Lila swiped to a screenshot. Alyssa’s private finsta post:

“Wait till they find out her mom’s getting evicted. LOL.”

The blackmailer was Alyssa.

Raya’s knees buckled. Lila caught her. “Breathe. We’re fighting

back.”

“How?”

Lila’s grin was feral. “By playing their game.”

Trevor cornered her between the shelves, his body blocking the
aisle. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Raya gripped a copy of Wuthering Heights like a shield. “I’ve been

busy.”

He plucked the book from her hands. “Bullshit.” His thumb

brushed the cover. “You only read angst when you’re stressed.”

He noticed that?

Raya exhaled. “Alyssa’s blackmailing me.”

Trevor’s expression darkened. “Show me.”

She handed over her phone. His jaw ticked as he read. “This ends
now.”

“No—wait—”

But he was already texting: Meet me. Auditorium. 3 PM.

Unknown Number (Alyssa): Finally scared?

Trevor: Bring Mackenzie.

Raya’s stomach lurched. “What are you doing?”

Trevor pocketed her phone. “What they deserve.”

Mackenzie perched on a prop table, swinging her legs. “This

better be good, Johnson.”

Alyssa smirked beside her. “Yeah. Apology flowers would’ve been

cheaper.”

Trevor crossed his arms. “You’re blackmailing Raya.”

Mackenzie’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

Alyssa paled. “That’s crazy—”

Raya stepped forward, heart hammering. “You texted me about

my mom’s debt.”

Mackenzie laughed. “Oh my God. Alyssa, you didn’t.”

Alyssa’s eyes darted. “It’s just fun—”

Trevor (cold): “Fun’s over.” He pulled out his phone—playing a
recording of Alyssa’s finsta rant.

Alyssa’s Voice (from the speakers): “Wait till they find out her
mom’s getting evicted. LOL.”

Mackenzie lunged at Alyssa. “You idiot! You used my drama to—”

“Enough.”

Principal Vance stood in the doorway.

Silence.

Principal Vance: “My office. Now.”

Alyssa burst into tears. Mackenzie stormed out.

Trevor grabbed Raya’s hand. “You okay?”

She wasn’t. But his fingers were warm.

Raya hugged her knees. “They’ll all know now.”

Trevor sat beside her. “Know what?”

“That we’re… this.” She gestured between them.

“And what’s this?”

She met his eyes. “A distraction for you. A death sentence for
me.”

Trevor flinched. “You think I’d risk that for a distraction?”

“I don’t know what you want!”

“YOU!”
The word echoed.

Trevor’s voice dropped. “I’ve wanted you since you tripped over
my shoes sophomore year and called them ‘ugly as hell.’”

Raya gaped. “That was you?”

He laughed, rough. “Yeah. And you never noticed me.”

Her chest ached. “I always noticed you.”

Then—

THE KISS.

Real this time.

His lips were soft, his hands firm on her waist. Raya melted—

Until her phone buzzed.

Mom: We need to talk. Come home.

Attached: an eviction notice.

CHAPTER 4: "HEARTS &

HURRICANES"
The eviction notice crinkled in Raya's grip as she stood frozen in
the middle of their tiny kitchen. The words "FINAL WARNING"
glared up at her in angry red ink that seemed to pulse with every
beat of her racing heart.

"Mom?" Her voice cracked.

Her mother rubbed her temples, the fluorescent kitchen light

highlighting the new streaks of gray in her dark hair. "I've applied
for emergency assistance, but—"

"But what?" Raya pressed the notice against the chipped

countertop, as if she could physically stop their lives from
unraveling.

"We might need to stay with Aunt Dina for a while."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Aunt Dina lived two states
away in a town so small it didn't even have a proper movie
theater.

"I can't leave now," Raya whispered.

Her mom's tired eyes flicked to Raya's phone, still lit up with the
photo Lila had sent of her and Trevor on the rooftop. "Because of
him?"

"Because of everything!" Raya's voice broke as the doorbell rang.

Eli's shout came from his bedroom: "If it's another bill collector,
I'm setting the sprinklers on them!"

But when Raya wrenched the door open, Trevor stood there in his
football jersey, his chest heaving like he'd run the entire way.
Raindrops glistened in his dark curls from the storm that had just
started outside.

"How did you—?"

"Lila." Of course.

Behind her, Mom cleared her throat. "Well, don't just hover in the
doorway."

Trevor stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the

eviction notice still clutched in Raya's hand. His jaw tightened
visibly.

"It's fine," Raya said quickly, folding the paper in half.

Trevor's voice dropped low. "No. It's not." Then, turning to her
mom: "What if I could help?"

Raya's stomach twisted as her mom crossed her arms. "Let me

get this straight. You want to pay our rent?"

"My dad owns half the luxury condos downtown. He's got pull with
landlords."

"No!" Raya's chair screeched as she stood so fast it nearly toppled

over. "We're not your charity case!"

The words hung between them, sharp as broken glass.

"Raya," her mom said softly.

Tears burned Raya's eyes. "I won't be the girl who got bought."

Trevor stood, stepping into her space until she could see the gold
flecks in his brown eyes. "You think that's what this is?"

"Isn't it?"

His warm hands framed her face, calloused thumbs brushing

away the tears she hadn't realized had fallen. "Listen. I like you.
Not your pride, not some game—you. And if I can help, let me."
Raya's breath hitched as her mom suddenly found the ceiling
fascinating. "I'll, uh... check on Eli."

The moment the kitchen door swung shut, Raya grabbed Trevor's
wrist and dragged him down the hall to her bedroom, shoving him
inside so hard his back hit the door with a thud.

"You can't just say things like that," she whispered fiercely.

Trevor's lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "Why not?"

"Because—"

His mouth crashed into hers before she could finish.

This kiss wasn't like the tentative one on the rooftop. This was fire
—all tongue and teeth and desperate hands. Trevor's fingers
tangled in her hair while hers gripped his jersey like a lifeline.
When he bit down gently on her lower lip, she gasped, and he
took advantage to deepen the kiss.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her lips.

Raya pulled him closer. "Never."

The bed creaked alarmingly as they fell onto it—

"DINNER'S READY, WEIRDOS!" Eli's shout came with a series of

deafening knocks on the door.

They broke apart, both breathing hard. Trevor's hair was

deliciously mussed from her fingers.

"We're so screwed," he said hoarsely.

Raya laughed, giddy and terrified all at once.

Dinner was a special kind of torture. Eli grinned like the little
demon he was as he asked, "So, Trevor. You rich rich?"
Mom nearly choked on her water. "Eli!"

Trevor just smirked. "Depends. You need a sugar daddy?"

Raya kicked him under the table. "Oh my God."

The doorbell rang again.

Mom sighed. "If it's the Jehovah's Witnesses again—"

But when she opened the door, Mackenzie stood on their worn
welcome mat, her mascara streaked from crying, clutching a
burner phone.

"We need to talk," she said to Raya, her voice trembling with
barely contained fury. "Now."

Raya followed her out to the porch, the humid night air sticking to
her skin. Without a word, Mackenzie shoved the phone at her. A
video played:

Trevor's voice, slightly distorted but unmistakable: "It's just a

dumb bet, okay? Bryce dared me to get the quiet girl to fall for
me."

Raya's blood turned to ice.

Mackenzie's smile was vicious. "He played you."

"When was this?" Raya's voice sounded distant to her own ears.

"Homecoming night. Right after he dumped me."

The timeline clicked into place with horrible clarity. Trevor had
broken up with Mackenzie after catching her with Bryce. Then
he'd made a bet to get with Raya.

Her vision whited out with rage.

Back in her bedroom, Trevor burst in moments later. "Raya—"

She hurled the phone at him with all her strength. "Explain this!"

The video kept playing as Trevor's face drained of color. "That's—

out of context—"

"Did you make a bet about me? Yes or no!"

A beat. Then, quietly: "Yes. But—"

The slap echoed through the room.

Trevor didn't flinch. "I deserve that."

"Get out."

When the door clicked shut behind him, Raya collapsed onto her
bed, the sobs wracking her body.

Hours later, a persistent tapping at her window roused her. She

yanked the curtains open to find Trevor standing in the pouring
rain, completely drenched, holding a soggy notebook.

"Go away!" she yelled through the glass.

He flipped the notebook open.

Sketches. Dozens of them. All of her.

Raya reading under the bleachers, sunlight catching her hair just
so. Raya laughing with Lila, her nose scrunched in that way she
hated. Raya asleep in Chemistry class, her cheek smushed
against her textbook.

"The bet was to ask you out," Trevor shouted over the storm. Rain
streamed down his face like tears. "I refused. But Bryce recorded
me lying to save face."
Raya's chest ached.

"I've been in love with you since forever," he said, voice raw. "The
bet was bullshit."

The rain pounded around them as Raya hesitated, then slowly,

slowly pushed the window open.
CHAPTER 5: "THE
RECKONING"
The rain soaked through Raya's sweater as she leaned out the
window, the cold October wind biting at her cheeks. Trevor stood
below, his football jersey plastered to his skin, holding the ruined
sketchbook like a peace offering.

"Please," he said, voice raw. "Just let me explain."

Raya hesitated, her fingers tightening on the windowsill. The

sketches stared up at her—proof of something she wasn't ready
to believe.

A car door slammed outside.

"Raya Marie Mathers!" Her mother's voice cut through the storm.
"What in God's name are you doing?"

Raya jerked back, but it was too late. Mom stood in the driveway,
her nurse's scrubs soaked through, staring between her daughter
hanging out the window and the star quarterback in their bushes.

Trevor swallowed hard. "Mrs. Mathers, I—"

"Inside." Mom pointed to their front door. "Now."

---

The kitchen clock ticked loudly as Mom set three mugs of tea on
the table with deliberate calm. Trevor sat stiffly in his chair,
rainwater pooling around his sneakers.

"Start talking," Mom said.

Trevor's hands clenched around his mug. "The bet was real. But
not like—"

"Not like what?" Raya snapped. "Not like you were just using me
for some stupid game?"

"I lied about taking the bet!" Trevor's voice cracked. "Bryce
recorded me saying I'd do it, but I never—"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted him.

Eli, who'd been lurking in the hallway, yanked it open. "Oh crap."

Mackenzie stood on their porch, her designer coat buttoned

against the rain. Behind her, a sleek black town car idled at the
curb.

"I need to speak to Trevor," she said, her gaze flicking past Eli to
the kitchen. "It's urgent."

Mom sighed. "Lord give me strength."

---

The living room had never felt so small. Mackenzie perched on the
edge of their worn couch, her manicured fingers twisting in her
lap.

"My father's lawyers just called," she said without preamble. "The
school board is pressing charges for the recording Alyssa leaked."

Trevor went pale. "What?"

"Invasion of privacy. Cyberbullying." Mackenzie's voice trembled.

"They're making an example out of this."

Raya's stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Mackenzie said, finally meeting her eyes, "if Trevor
doesn't testify that he was the victim too, they're expelling
Alyssa. And me."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Mom set her tea down with a sharp clink. "You're asking him to
lie."

"I'm asking him to choose." Mackenzie stood, her composure

cracking. "His new girlfriend, or his old friends."

Trevor shot to his feet. "That's not—"

The front door burst open again.

Lila stood there, her blue hair plastered to her face, clutching her
phone. "You all need to see this."

On the screen, a new post from @HeavenHighGossip:

"BREAKING: Football Star's Scholarship at Risk After Secret

Dealings with School Board Member. Full Story at 11."

A tagged photo showed Trevor's father shaking hands with

Principal Vance.

Trevor's face went slack with horror. "No... no, that's from last
year's fundraiser—"

Mackenzie's laugh was bitter. "Timing's convenient, don't you

think?"

Raya's hands shook as she scrolled through the comments:

"Knew he was a fraud."

"Daddy's money can't buy real talent."
"Guess we know why Raya's suddenly interested."
The room spun.

Trevor reached for her. "Raya—"

She stepped back.

The hurt in his eyes nearly broke her.

"I need air," she whispered, and fled.

---

The park swing creaked under Raya's weight as she kicked

listlessly at the wet mulch. The rain had slowed to a drizzle,
leaving the playground deserted.

Footsteps approached.

"Go away, Lila," Raya said without looking up.

"Not Lila."

Mackenzie sat gingerly on the next swing, her designer shoes

sinking into the mud. For once, she looked as exhausted as Raya
felt.

"I didn't know about the post," she said quietly.

Raya scoffed. "Convenient."

"Believe what you want." Mackenzie twisted her gold bracelet

around her wrist. "But Trevor's telling the truth about the bet."

Raya's head snapped up.

"I heard the whole thing that night." Mackenzie's voice was
hollow. "Bryce dared him to ask you out. Trevor said no. Then
Bryce called him pathetic for pining after some nobody—"
Raya flinched.

"—and that's when Trevor punched him." Mackenzie finally met

her eyes. "The recording cuts off right before that part."

The world tilted.

"Why are you telling me this?" Raya whispered.

Mackenzie stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her coat. "Because

I may be a bitch, but I'm not a liar." She took a few steps before
pausing. "And because he looks at you the way I always wanted
him to look at me."

---

The Mathers' porch light flickered as Raya trudged up the steps.

Through the window, she could see Mom and Eli at the kitchen
table, but no sign of—

"Hey."

Trevor stepped out of the shadows, his hoodie soaked through.

He'd been waiting.

Raya's chest ached. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"Worth it." His smile was tired. "Listen, about my dad—"

"I don't care about your dad." Raya crossed her arms against the
chill. "I care that you didn't tell me."

Trevor ran a hand through his damp curls. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"That you'd look at me like everyone else does now." His voice
broke. "Like I'm just my father's son."
The raw pain in his eyes undid her.

Raya closed the distance between them, pressing her forehead to

his chest. His arms came around her instantly, holding her like
she might vanish.

"We're a mess," she mumbled into his hoodie.

Trevor's laugh rumbled under her cheek. "Yeah."

She tilted her head up. "What happens now?"

He brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. "We fight back."

And when his lips met hers, it tasted like rain and redemption.

---
CHAPTER 6: "THE
HOUSE OF CARDS"
---

Midnight Confessions

The rain had stopped, but the air still hummed with electricity as
Raya pulled back from Trevor’s kiss. His hands lingered at her
waist, his breathing uneven.

"We fight back," he’d said.

But how?

The answer came in the form of headlights cutting through the

dark. A black SUV rolled to a stop at the curb, and the window slid
down to reveal Principal Vance’s grim face.

"Trevor. Your father’s been trying to reach you."

Trevor’s grip on Raya tightened. "Tell him I’m busy."

"It’s not a request." Vance’s gaze flicked to Raya. "Your mother’s

already been notified."

Raya’s blood ran cold. "What’s going on?"

The principal’s mouth thinned. "The board is holding an
emergency meeting. Your little stunt tonight went viral."

Trevor stepped forward. "What stunt?"

Vance tossed a phone onto the driveway. The screen played a

TikTok livestream—filmed from Raya’s own bedroom window—
showing their heated argument, Trevor’s confession about the
bet, and...

"Oh my God," Raya whispered.

The video cut abruptly to a blurry shot of Trevor’s father handing

Principal Vance an envelope at last year’s fundraiser. The caption
screamed:

"SCHOOL BOARD BRIBERY? Star QB’s Daddy Paid for His Spot!"

Comments rolled in live:

"Knew he didn’t earn that scholarship!"
"Raya’s just his alibi."
"This school is CORRUPT."

Trevor’s face drained of color. "That’s not— That video’s edited!

My dad donated to the STEM lab—"

"Save it for the board." Vance’s door unlocked with a click. "Get
in."

Raya grabbed Trevor’s wrist. "Don’t go."

He turned to her, eyes blazing. "I have to." A quick, desperate

kiss. "Stay off social media. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll fix this."

Then he was gone, the SUV taillights vanishing into the night.

Raya’s knees buckled.

She barely registered her mom rushing out, Eli swearing, or the
dozens of phones suddenly pointed at her from the shadows of
the street.

The first news notification popped up as she stumbled inside:

"BREAKING: Heaven High’s Golden Boy Implicated in Admissions

Scandal. Full Story at 11."

---

Lila arrived at 1 AM, her Docs kicking Raya’s door open as she
barged in with a laptop. "We’ve been hacked."

Raya sat up, tear tracks stiff on her face. "What?"

"That livestream wasn’t from your phone." Lila’s fingers flew

across the keyboard. "Someone accessed your cloud from a
device logged in at..." She spun the screen. "The Johnson’s home
IP address."

Raya’s breath caught. "Trevor wouldn’t—"

"Not him." Lila pulled up a security cam screenshot from Trevor’s

gated community. "Look."

There, blurred but unmistakable in the passenger seat of a silver

Mercedes: Alyssa Cole, grinning at the camera.

"She was there tonight," Lila hissed. "While you two were fighting,
she was in his house."

Raya’s stomach twisted. "But how?"

"Mackenzie."

The voice came from the doorway. Eli stood there, clutching his
iPad. "I dug through Mack’s finsta. She tagged Alyssa last week at
some country club... owned by Trevor’s dad."
He flipped the screen around. A deleted post showed Alyssa and
Mackenzie at a pool, captioned:

"Thanks Mr. J for the spa day! FamilyFriends"

"They’ve been planning this," Raya whispered.

Lila’s eyes gleamed. "Time to wreck them."

---

The school parking lot was a warzone at 7 AM. News vans

clustered at the gates, students whispered behind their hands,
and Mackenzie’s squad held court by the senior lockers, shooting
Raya smug looks.

Then the announcement crackled overhead:

"All students to the auditorium immediately."

The room buzzed as Principal Vance took the stage, flanked by

the school board. Trevor stood off to the side, jaw clenched, his
father conspicuously absent.

"This assembly," Vance began, "is to address the false allegations

—"

"They’re not false."

Every head swiveled. Alyssa stood in the front row, phone raised.
"I have proof Trevor’s scholarship was paid for."

A video played on the overhead screen:

Trevor’s father, clear as day, handing Vance an envelope. "For

your discretion regarding my son’s... academic shortcomings."
The room erupted.

Trevor lunged forward. "That’s doctored! Dad would never—"

"Enough!" Vance slammed his gavel. "Trevor Johnson, you’re

suspended pending investigation. As for the student who leaked
private footage—"

"It was me."

Mackenzie rose gracefully, tears shimmering. "I couldn’t stay

silent anymore."

The audience gasped. Reporters surged forward.

And Raya—

Raya finally saw the trap.

Mackenzie had sacrificed Alyssa to look like a whistleblower. The

scandal would destroy Trevor’s reputation, get him kicked off the
team, and revoke his scholarship...

Leaving him stuck in Heaven High—with her.

Raya stood, chair screeching. "She’s lying."

The room froze.

"The real footage," Raya said, loud and clear, "shows Principal
Vance returning that envelope."

A beat. Then—

"Prove it," Alyssa sneered.

Raya smiled. "Gladly."

She nodded to Lila, who hacked the projector.

The full, unedited video played:

Vance pushing the envelope back. "Your donation is for the STEM
lab only, Mr. Johnson. Your son earned his place."

Silence.

Then chaos.

Reporters swarmed Mackenzie. Vance shouted for order. And

Trevor—

Trevor was already moving, shoving through the crowd toward

Raya.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, she knew:

This was far from over.

---

Raya expected relief. Celebration. Not...

"You ruined me!"

Mackenzie cornered her in the empty hallway after, mascara

streaked, her perfect hair disheveled. "Do you have any idea what
you’ve done?"

Raya stood her ground. "Exposed the truth."

"The truth?" Mackenzie laughed, jagged and broken. "My father

invested in Trevor’s future. Our families had an agreement."

Raya went cold. "What agreement?"

"That Trevor would end up with me." Mackenzie’s voice dropped
to a whisper. "His dad owes mine. And now..."

She pulled out her phone. A text thread with a single outgoing
message:

"Release the file on Patricia Mathers."

Raya’s breath caught. "My mom?"

Mackenzie smiled. "Did you really think your eviction was bad
luck?"

Then she was gone, leaving Raya with one horrifying realization:

This wasn’t just about Trevor.

It was about her family.

And the secret about to destroy them all.

CHAPTER 7:
"SCORCHED EARTH"
The text burned in Raya’s palm:
"Release the file on Patricia Mathers."

She sprinted through the emptying school halls, sneakers

squeaking against the linoleum, Lila’s shouts fading behind her.
The parking lot was a circus—news vans, students filming on their
phones, Principal Vance barking into his cell—but Raya only saw
Mom’s car still idling at the curb, her face pale behind the
windshield.

"Mom?" Raya wrenched the door open. "What’s going—"

"Get in." Mom’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"Now."

The car peeled away before Raya could buckle in.

---

The apartment was a warzone.

Eli stood frozen in the living room, a thick manila folder at his
feet. Eviction notices, medical bills—and a black-and-white photo
of Mom in scrubs, standing beside a younger, sharper-faced Mr.
Johnson outside a hospital.
"What is this?" Raya whispered.

Mom sank onto the couch. "I used to work for the Johnsons."

"As a nurse?"

"As his nurse." Mom’s voice cracked. "When his wife was dying."

The room tilted.

"He promised me a recommendation... if I falsified her medication

records." Mom’s nails dug into her knees. "I refused. Next day, I
was fired. Blacklisted."

Eli made a wounded noise. "So this—our whole lives—"

"Is because I wouldn’t break the law." Mom looked up, tears
streaking her face. "And now he’s using you to punish me."

Raya’s phone buzzed. Trevor: "Where are you? My dad’s freaking

out—"

She threw it against the wall.

---

Trevor found her at the abandoned quarry outside town, the same
place they’d skipped school last spring.

"Raya—"

"Did you know?" Her voice was raw. "About your dad and my
mom?"

His face went slack. "What?"

She hurled the photo at him. "Your father ruined her!"

Trevor staggered back. "No— That’s not—"

"She lost everything because she wouldn’t help him kill his wife!"

"MY MOTHER DIED OF CANCER!" Trevor’s roar echoed off the

cliffs. "SHE—" He choked. "She asked to stop treatment. Dad
couldn’t accept it."

Raya froze.

Trevor sank to his knees. "He’s been punishing anyone who

‘failed’ her ever since." His hands shook. "Including me."

The confession hung between them:

"That’s why he let Mack’s family get close. To control me."

Raya’s knees gave out.

They sat in the dirt, two broken pieces of the same tragedy, as
the sun bled out over the water.

---

The Johnson estate loomed like a tomb.

Trevor’s keycard still worked—a mistake he’d regret. They found

Mr. Johnson in his study, pouring bourbon over ice.

"Ah." He didn’t look up. "The traitor and the trash."

Raya lunged—Trevor caught her.

"You knew," Trevor gritted out. "About Patricia."

"Of course." Mr. Johnson sipped his drink. "I made sure no hospital
would touch her after that stunt."

Raya saw red.

"Here’s what happens now." Mr. Johnson set down his glass. "You,
boy, will apologize to Mackenzie. Marry her, eventually. And you
—" He smirked at Raya. "Will disappear."

"Or what?" Raya hissed.

He slid a USB drive across the desk. "Or I release this to every
medical board in the state."

The screen flickered to life: Security footage from the hospital.

Mom, younger and terrified, holding a syringe near Mrs. Johnson’s

IV.

"A forgery," Trevor said instantly.

"Does it matter?" His father smiled. "The Cole family owns the
network that’ll air it."

---

Midnight. The quarry again.

Trevor gripped Raya’s hands. "We run. Tonight."

"With what money?" She laughed bitterly. "My mom can’t even
get a job at Walmart!"

"Then we fight." His eyes burned. "I’ll testify. Expose him—"

"And lose your scholarship? Your future?" Raya pulled away. "I
won’t let you burn for me."
A car engine growled in the dark.

Mackenzie’s Mercedes rolled to a stop, headlights blinding them.

She stepped out, holding a checkbook.

"$200,000." She tossed it at Raya’s feet. "Enough to relocate.

Start over."

Raya stared at it. "What’s the catch?"

"You leave. Tonight. And never speak to him again."

Trevor snarled. "You’re disgusting—"

"No." Raya bent, picking up the check. "She’s desperate."

Mackenzie flinched.

"You know he’ll never love you," Raya whispered. "Not like this."

For a heartbeat, Mackenzie’s mask slipped—revealing something

shattered underneath.

Then it was gone.

"Your train leaves at dawn." She turned away. "Be on it."

---

Trevor pressed his forehead to hers, both of them crying.

"This isn’t over," he choked out.

She kissed him—slow, sweet, and final.

"Yes," she lied. "It is."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Outside, Mom loaded their suitcases into a borrowed truck. Eli

clutched his backpack like a lifeline.

Raya took one last look at her room—and dropped the unsigned
check on the bed.

---

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner TV buzzed with the news:

"Prominent developer Charles Johnson arrested for bribery,

fraud... and attempted murder?"

Raya froze, coffee pot in hand.

The screen cut to footage of Trevor, taller now, jaw set, testifying
before a grand jury.

"He conspired to falsify medical records," Trevor said, voice

steady. "And harassed the nurse who refused—Patricia Mathers."

The camera panned to Mackenzie in the gallery, her face hollow.

Then—a familiar blue-haired girl in the front row.

Lila.

Raya’s boss snatched the remote. "Enough drama. Table 3 needs

refills."

She turned—and dropped the pot.

There, in a booth by the window, sat Trevor, a single sketchbook

open between his hands.
Their eyes met.

He smiled.

"Hey, stranger."

CHAPTER 8:
"PHOENIX"
The coffee pot slipped from Raya's fingers, shattering against the
checkered diner floor in an explosion of glass and dark liquid. For
three heartbeats, the entire world froze—the truckers at the
counter mid-bite, the elderly couple in booth three with their forks
suspended, even the fry cook's angry rant about the Eagles game
cut off abruptly.

Then chaos erupted.

"Oh my God, it's him!" Lila vaulted over the counter with the
grace of a feral cat, her blue braids flying as she nearly tackled
the figure standing in the doorway. "You absolute motherfu—"

Raya couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The familiar broad

shoulders filled out a leather jacket instead of his old varsity
letterman, and a new scar cut through his left eyebrow, but those
whiskey-brown eyes were unmistakable.

"Ray?" His voice cracked on the nickname, rough like he hadn't

used it in years.

The sound shattered her paralysis.

In three strides she crossed the diner, her hand connecting with
his cheek in a slap that echoed off the chrome fixtures. "You let
me think you abandoned us!"

Trevor staggered back into a display of syrup bottles, sending

them crashing to the floor in sticky waves. His mouth opened—
then his eyes rolled back as he collapsed like a marionette with
cut strings.

The fluorescent lights of Mercy General's ER buzzed like angry

hornets as Raya paced the waiting room. Lila had somehow
procured a family-sized bag of Cheetos from the vending machine
and was crunching loudly enough to drown out the medical
dramas playing on the waiting room TV.

"Stop looking at me like that," Raya snapped, her sneakers

squeaking against the linoleum as she pivoted for the hundredth
time.

Lila held up orange-dusted hands. "I'm just saying. Of all the ways
this reunion could've gone—"

"Ms. Mathers?"

They both turned as a weary-looking doctor approached, his

scrubs dotted with what Raya desperately hoped was coffee. The
badge clipped to his pocket read Dr. Alvarez, but the dark circles
under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept since the Clinton
administration.

"He's stable," Dr. Alvarez said, then hesitated in a way that made
Raya's stomach drop. "But there appear to be... cognitive
complications."

"What kind of complications?" Raya's voice sounded distant to her

own ears.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "The patient has no memory of

the past three years."
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and the wilting bouquet
someone had left for the previous occupant. Trevor—her Trevor,
the boy who'd memorized her coffee order and kissed her like she
was oxygen—blinked up at her with absolutely no recognition.

"Who are you?"

The heart monitor beeped steadily, a cruel counterpoint to the

way Raya's world tilted on its axis. Behind her, Lila made a sound
like a deflating balloon.

"You don't..." Raya's voice cracked. She cleared her throat, willing
it steady. "You don't remember me?"

Trevor studied her face with clinical detachment, his gaze flicking
over her features like he was memorizing a textbook diagram.
"Should I?"

Lila grabbed the bedside chart with her cleanest hand. "Okay,
let's break this down. Do you remember the championship game
sophomore year? The time we TP'd Principal Vance's house? That
thing with the goat and the—"

"I remember high school," Trevor interrupted. "But not..." He

gestured vaguely at Raya, his brow furrowing. "You."

The heart monitor suddenly shrieked into a flatline.

Chaos erupted as nurses rushed in, shouting medical jargon that

blurred together into white noise. Raya found herself shoved
unceremoniously into the hallway, where she promptly collided
with a solid chest.

"Ow, what the—" She looked up, and her breath caught. "Trevor?"

The living, breathing, completely alert version of her ex stood

before her, gripping her shoulders to steady them both. His hands
were warm. Very much not-dead.
"Raya, listen carefully," he whispered urgently, his breath
ghosting over her ear as he pulled her into an alcove. "That's not
me in there."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My twin brother. Tristan."

Somewhere in the distance, a janitor dropped a mop bucket with

a spectacular crash.

The supply closet smelled of bleach and betrayal as Trevor laid

out the truth in hushed tones:

"After Mom died, Dad couldn't handle looking at Tristan—he was

her spitting image. Had him shipped off to boarding school in
Switzerland when we were twelve."

Raya's mind reeled. The implications crashed over her like waves
—all the times Trevor had seemed distant, the unexplained
absences, the subtle changes in behavior she'd chalked up to
stress. "So the guy in there—"

"Has been impersonating me for six months to gather evidence

against Dad," Trevor confirmed, running a hand through his hair—
a nervous tick she remembered. "The amnesia? Probably faked so
the Coles would lower their guard."

As if summoned by the mention, gunfire erupted down the hall.

Bullets pinged against the linoleum as black-suited figures

stormed the ward. Raya found herself yanked into an elevator by
Trevor as a bullet embedded itself in the closing doors with a
terrifying thunk.

"Cole family enforcers," he panted, jamming the close-door button

repeatedly. "They've been after Tristan since he started digging
into Mom's death."
The elevator lurched upward. Raya's stomach did the same. "Your
mom was murdered?"

Trevor's jaw tightened. "And we're about to crash the wedding

where they planned to expose it."

The chapel looked like a billionaire's fever dream—crystal

chandeliers, real gold leaf on the pews, and enough white roses to
choke a small country's floral industry. Mackenzie stood
resplendent in a Vera Wang gown that probably cost more than
Raya's entire childhood home, her smile razor-sharp as "Trevor"
(actually Tristan) limped down the aisle with his arm in a sling.

From their hiding spot in the choir loft, real Trevor adjusted his
stolen waiter's uniform. "Remember the plan—"

Raya was already moving toward the fire alarm. "I know, I know.
Create a distraction."

She yanked the lever with both hands.

As pandemonium erupted below, Trevor swung in on a rope from

the crumbling chandelier, knocking over three bridesmaids and a
five-tiered cake that had likely required a second mortgage.

"I OBJECT!"

Mackenzie's shriek could shatter glass. "WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—"

Then the real shooting started.

Amidst the chaos, Tristan had his father pinned against the pulpit,
the older man's custom tuxedo tearing at the seams. "You
switched her medication! You killed her!"

Mr. Johnson spat blood onto the marble floor. "She wanted to
leave me!"
A single gunshot rang out.

Everyone turned to see Mackenzie holding a pearl-handled

revolver, smoke curling from the barrel. "That was for my
mother," she whispered, her voice carrying in the sudden silence.
"Who you also drowned when she found out."

The stillness that followed was deafening.

Then the police swarmed in, their shouts and radios flooding the
chapel with noise.

One month later, the diner TV buzzed with news of the Johnson
and Cole empires crumbling. Raya flipped pancakes with
practiced ease as Tristan (now working the grill under strict
supervision) argued with Lila about proper burger technique.

The bell jingled.

Trevor stood in the doorway, holding two plane tickets aloft. "First
stop on our escape from rich people problems."

Raya tossed her apron aside without hesitation. "Let's blow this
taco stand."

As they ran into the sunset, a helicopter swooped low over the
parking lot.

"I'M STILL RICH, BITCHES!" Mackenzie yelled over the rotor noise,
flipping them off with one hand while sipping champagne with the
other, her new wife—a professional MMA fighter named Tank—
grinning beside her.

The future stretched before them, unpredictable as ever, but

finally—finally—their own.
CHAPTER 9:
"VENDETTA"
The Parisian rain fell in relentless silver sheets as Raya pressed
her forehead against the café window, watching droplets race
crooked paths down the smudged glass. Three weeks in Europe
and she still couldn't shake the crawling sensation between her
shoulder blades—the unshakable certainty that unseen eyes
tracked their every move. The croissant on her plate had gone
cold, its buttery layers stiffening into something inedible.

"Stop fidgeting." Trevor slid a steaming cappuccino toward her,

his fingers brushing hers in a fleeting contact that still sent
electricity skittering up her arm even after all this time. The scar
through his left eyebrow—a souvenir from their explosive reunion
—twitched as he frowned. "The fake passports worked. We're
ghosts now."

Across the wrought-iron table, Lila snorted into her espresso loud
enough to draw glares from nearby patrons. "Famous last words
right before the assassin strikes," she muttered, not looking up
from the three laptops she had spread across the tiny table. Her
blue braids were tucked under a black beret—a pathetic attempt
at a disguise that somehow worked in Paris.

Raya's phone buzzed against the metal tabletop.

Unknown caller.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. They'd changed numbers

twice since arriving in France. Only five people in the world had
this one.

The image loaded in jagged pixels: grainy security footage of her

mother's apartment door being kicked in, the reinforced frame
splintering like balsa wood. Then a second message:

"Come home, little moth. The flame misses you."

Trevor's cup slipped through his fingers, shattering against the

cobblestones in an explosion of porcelain and dark liquid. Around
them, the café's patrons gasped and murmured, but Raya
couldn't tear her eyes from the timestamp on the video—6:04 AM.
Less than two hours ago. New York time.

Mackenzie appeared at Lila's elbow like a well-dressed phantom,

her new wife Tank looming behind her like a protective shadow.
"Problem?"

Raya turned the phone slowly. Mackenzie's perfectly contoured

face went sheet-white beneath her designer sunglasses.

"We need to move," Trevor said, already throwing euros on the

table. "Now."

---

The private jet smelled of expensive leather and lies.

Mackenzie Cole-Striker (née Cole, now legally wed to her MMA

champion wife) paced the narrow aisle like a caged panther, her
stilettoes leaving permanent dents in the plush carpet. "I told you
not to trust that FBI bitch," she hissed, throwing a glare toward
Lila who was typing furiously on her laptop.

Lila didn't look up. "I'm literally right here, Mack."

"You planted evidence in my father's study!"

"Only the fake documents!" Lila snapped back. "The real files
about your dad drowning my aunt? Those were one hundred
percent legit and you know it."

Raya pressed her throbbing temples. Twelve hours ago they'd

been drinking vin rouge by the Seine, pretending to be normal
college students on holiday. Now they were barreling toward what
might very well be a trap—because someone had broken into her
mother's supposedly secure apartment and left a single calling
card on the kitchen table: the queen of hearts with Patricia
Mathers' face crudely photoshopped onto it.

Trevor's warm hand closed over her knee. "We'll find her," he
promised, his voice low and rough with barely contained rage.

The plane hit sudden turbulence. Or maybe it was just the way
Raya's stomach dropped at the thought of what—and who—they'd
left behind.

---

Heaven High looked smaller through the rain-streaked taxi

window.

Raya stood across the street, hood pulled low over her face as
students streamed out for lunch period. Same red brick walls.
Same cracked sidewalks where she'd once dropped her textbooks
and a younger, less scarred Trevor Johnson had helped gather
them. The memory burned like acid in her chest.

A hand grabbed her elbow hard enough to bruise.

"Took you long enough."

Principal Vance looked like he'd aged a decade in three months.

His rumpled suit hung loose on his frame, his tie was crooked, and
dark circles bruised his eyes as he shoved a thick manila folder
into her hands. "They're watching my office," he muttered, eyes
darting to the security cameras above the school entrance. "Take
this and run. Don't look back."

Raya flipped the folder open with numb fingers. Autopsy photos.
Mrs. Johnson's pale, lifeless body on a steel table. And stamped
across the top in ominous red ink: "TOXICOLOGY REPORT -
CLASSIFIED."

"Your mother found these," Vance whispered, his breath reeking

of stale coffee and fear. "That's why they took her."

A black SUV with tinted windows rounded the corner slowly.

Vance shoved her toward a nearby alley with surprising strength
for a man his age. "Go! And whatever you do, don't trust—"

The rest was lost as Raya stumbled into the alley's shadows, the
folder clutched to her chest like a bomb.

---

The abandoned Johnson estate groaned like a living thing as they

slipped through the broken French doors. Dust sheets covered the
furniture in ghostly shrouds, but the grand piano still stood
sentinel in the foyer—the one Eleanor Johnson had played every
Sunday morning.

Lila's laptop cast eerie blue shadows across her face as she
hacked into the estate's security system. "Okay, creepy question
of the day—why would your dad keep your mom's autopsy files in
a panic room instead of, you know, destroying them?"
Trevor's jaw worked silently for a moment before he answered.
"Because he loved her."

"Or because he killed her," Mackenzie muttered, checking the

chamber of the pearl-handled revolver she'd somehow smuggled
through airport security. Tank stood at her shoulder, her massive
arms crossed over her chest.

A noise from upstairs. A cough. A shuffle of feet.

Raya moved first, taking the curved staircase two at a time with
Trevor close behind. The master bedroom door stood slightly ajar,
a sliver of dim light cutting through the darkness. Inside, bound to
an ornate chair—

"Mom!"

Patricia Mathers looked up, her nurse's scrubs torn and dirty, one
eye swollen shut, but alive. So gloriously alive. Her split lips
curved into a painful-looking smile. "Took you long enough, baby
girl."

Behind her, a figure stepped from the shadows.

"Well," said Charles Johnson, pressing a gun to Patricia's temple

with steady hands. "Look what the cat dragged in."

---

The gunshot echoed through the empty house like a thunderclap.

Raya screamed—but it wasn't her mother who fell.

Charles Johnson collapsed, a crimson bloom spreading across his

custom dress shirt. Behind him stood a woman none of them
recognized—mid-forties, dark hair streaked with silver, holding a
smoking pistol with practiced ease.
"Hello, children." She smiled, revealing a chipped front tooth. "I'm
Agent Lila's mother."

Lila made a sound like a deflating balloon. "Mom?! What the

actual—"

Maria Sanchez stepped over Johnson's twitching body, her boots

leaving bloody prints on the Persian rug. "And I believe you have
some questions about who really killed Eleanor Johnson."

---

The truth came in jagged fragments, like shards of a broken

mirror:

Agent Maria Sanchez had been deep undercover in the Cole

organization for fifteen years. She'd watched from the shadows as
Richard Cole drowned his own wife in their swimming pool after
she discovered the Johnsons' medication scheme. She'd planted
the evidence Lila later found as a teenager.

"And the queen of hearts?" Raya asked, clutching her mother's

shaking hands.

Maria's smile was all teeth. "My calling card. Left it at every scene
where I eliminated one of Cole's men."

Mackenzie looked ready to vomit, her perfect manicure digging

into Tank's muscular arm. "So my dad... he really did..."

"Kill your mother in cold blood?" Maria nodded, holstering her

weapon. "And framed Charles for it. Poetic, really."

Trevor hadn't moved from his father's still body, his face carved
from stone. "Then who—"

"Your mother was murdered by the same man who ordered this
hit." Maria tossed another file onto the grand piano, sending up a
cloud of dust. "Senator Robert Cole. Mackenzie's uncle."
The room spun dangerously.

Because Senator Robert Cole was scheduled to announce his

presidential bid tomorrow morning. On every major network.

---

The press conference was a sea of flags and flashing cameras.

Senator Cole beamed at the podium, his perfect teeth gleaming

under the klieg lights. "And so, with great humility and profound
respect for the office—"

The massive screens behind him flickered.

Then played the security footage Maria had risked her life to
obtain: Senator Cole handing a briefcase full of cash to the doctor
who'd administered Eleanor Johnson's fatal overdose.

Chaos erupted.

In the pandemonium that followed—reporters shouting, security

scrambling, the Senator's face purpling with rage—no one noticed
five figures slipping out the service entrance. A former
quarterback with blood on his hands. A nurse's daughter with
vengeance in her heart. A hacker who'd just learned her mother
was a spy. An heiress reeling from betrayal. And the woman
who'd started it all.

As their helicopter lifted off from a nearby rooftop, Raya leaned

into Trevor's side, watching the chaos shrink below them. "Now
what?"

Lila grinned, her fingers flying across a new laptop. "Now we ruin
a senator."

Mackenzie popped the cork on a bottle of champagne with violent

precision. "I love this dysfunctional little family."
And for the first time in years, with her mother safe at her side
and Trevor's arm solid around her shoulders, Raya believed they
might actually win.

CHAPTER 10: "CHECKMATE"

The safehouse smelled like burnt coffee and paranoia, the acrid
scent mixing with the metallic tang of drying blood on Trevor's
knuckles. Rain lashed against the warehouse's grimy windows in
relentless sheets, the storm outside mirroring the tempest
brewing within their fractured group. The single overhead bulb
flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows across Lila's face as
she stared at her laptop screen, her fingers flying across the
keyboard with desperate precision.

Raya's hands clenched into fists on the rusted metal table, her
short nails biting into her palms hard enough to leave crescent-
shaped indents. The cold seeped through her thin sweater, but
she barely registered the chill. "Let me get this straight," she said
slowly, each word measured and dangerous. "You've been
married. To Robert Cole's son. For how long exactly?"

"Three years, seven months, and fourteen days." Lila didn't flinch,
didn't even look up from her screen. Her fingers continued their
relentless dance across the keyboard, pulling up classified files
they had no business accessing. "Julian's been feeding us intel
from inside his father's campaign since before we even met at
Heaven High."

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the

rhythmic dripping of a leaky pipe somewhere in the warehouse's
bowels.

Mackenzie's champagne flute shattered against the concrete wall,

the explosion of crystal sending shards skittering across the floor.
"You let my uncle destroy our families while playing house with
his fucking spawn?" Her voice climbed to a shriek, the veins in her
neck standing out in sharp relief.

Tank placed a restraining hand on her wife's shoulder, but even

the normally unflappable MMA champion looked shaken, her dark
eyes wide with betrayal.

Lila finally looked up, her blue-tipped braids swinging as she

leveled Mack with a glare that could melt steel. "Julian's mother
was Eleanor Johnson's younger sister. The Senator had her
committed to a psychiatric facility when she tried to expose him.
We've been building this case longer than you've owned those
hideous Louboutins, Mack."

The room temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. Raya

could see her breath fogging in the suddenly frigid air.

Trevor stepped between them, the dried blood under his nails a
grim reminder of what they'd just survived at the Johnson estate.
His broad shoulders blocked Raya's view of Lila, his voice low and
dangerous when he spoke. "Enough. Where's Julian now?"

As if summoned, the bank of monitors behind them flickered to

life with a burst of static.

---

The Bunker
The thermal imaging scans painted a ghostly picture of the
underground complex beneath the Senator's Hamptons yacht
club. Fifteen heat signatures moved through the labyrinthine
corridors like fireflies in a jar. But it was the center room that held
Raya's attention—a single flickering pulse, weak but steady.
Patricia Mathers, strapped to a metal chair, her head lolling
against her chest.

Maria Sanchez checked her SIG Sauer with practiced ease, the
slide clicking as she chambered a round. "We go in quiet," she
said, her dark eyes scanning the blueprints Lila had pulled up.
"Extract Patricia, plant the evidence, get out. No fireworks, no
heroics."

But when they blew the service entrance with carefully placed
charges, the bunker was empty.

Too empty.

Holographic projectors glitched around the single chair where

Patricia's image flickered like a bad transmission. A recorded
voice boomed through hidden speakers, the bass vibrating in
Raya's chest:

"Did you really think I'd keep her in the same facility as my
servers? You're smarter than that, Lila."

Lila paled, her fingers freezing above her keyboard. "That's

Julian's voice modulation, but the syntax is all wrong—"

The floor gave way beneath them with a groan of protesting

metal.

---

The Impostor
Raya came to with chemical burns stinging her wrists, the acrid
taste of chloroform still clinging to the back of her throat. The
concrete room reeked of antiseptic and something darker—
copper and decay, the unmistakable scent of old blood.

Across the dim space, illuminated by a single swinging bulb, a

man who looked exactly like the photos of Julian Cole adjusted his
father's presidential cufflinks. The resemblance was uncanny—the
same sharp cheekbones, the same aristocratic nose. But the eyes
were all wrong. Julian's were supposed to be warm hazel, Lila had
said. These were the flat black of a shark's.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens." His smile didn't reach those dead
eyes. "I've wanted to meet you since Trevor's first Instagram post.
That dreadful diner uniform truly did you no justice."

She tested her restraints. Military-grade polymer, if the bite into

her wrists was any indication. "Where's my mother?"

"Alive. For now." He held up a syringe filled with murky fluid,

rolling it between his fingers like a magician with a coin trick.
"This? Neurotoxin VX-7. Undetectable in standard autopsies.
Mimics cardiac arrest in otherwise healthy young adults." The
needle traced her jugular, the point dimpling the skin. "Imagine
the headlines: 'Star-Crossed Lover Dies of Broken Heart After
Father's Scandal.' Poetic, no?"

The steel door burst open with a crash that reverberated through
the chamber. Trevor stood silhouetted in the doorway, gun raised
—but froze when the needle pressed deeper into Raya's throat, a
single bead of blood welling up.

"Ah, the prodigal quarterback!" The impostor chuckled, the sound

devoid of any real amusement. "Dad always said you'd choose
the girl over the play. Sentimental to the end."

---

The Real Julian

Lila's scream echoed through the ventilation shafts, distorted but
unmistakable: "HE'S NOT JULIAN!"
The real Julian Cole staggered into the room, his face a mess of
bruises, wrists raw from restraints. His left eye was swollen shut,
but the right locked onto the impostor with venom. "He's been
posing as me for months! He's one of my father's—"

CRACK.

The gunshot echoed off the concrete walls. The real Julian
collapsed, a bloom of red spreading across his already ruined
shirt.

The impostor didn't even blink. "Boring." He turned back to

Trevor, the syringe still poised at Raya's throat. "Now. The files
you stole from my father's study. Or Raya dies screaming. Your
choice."

Trevor's hand shook on his Glock, the barrel wavering slightly.

"They're gone. Burned them after we copied—"

"Liar." The needle broke skin, a sharp sting that made Raya gasp.

She didn't think. Just lunged—not away from the needle, but
toward it. The syringe jammed into the impostor's thigh as she
drove her forehead into his nose with a sickening crunch.

"YOU CRAZY BITCH!" He stumbled back, clawing at the plunger.

Trevor's bullet took him between the eyes before he could

depress it.

---

Project Phoenix
The files Lila recovered from the bunker's hidden servers weren't
just about Eleanor Johnson's murder.

Page after page detailed "Project Phoenix"—a decades-long plan

to destabilize the U.S. healthcare system by introducing tailored
neurotoxins through "natural causes." Patricia Mathers' name
appeared beside a $2.5 million bribe offer dated six months
before her firing. Her refusal was circled in red ink so violent it
had torn the paper: "Asset Terminated."

But the real horror came on page 387.

"Subject T.J. (Football Prodigy) shows 93% genetic compatibility

with VX-7. Proceed with Phase 3: Emotional Breakdown Protocol
via R.M. (see Annex B)."

Trevor staggered back from the screen, crashing into the server
bank before doubling over to vomit. "He made me fall for you... to
test a fucking bioweapon?" His voice broke on the last word.

Raya's blood turned to ice in her veins. Annex B showed candid

photos of them laughing at Heaven High games—photos taken
from angles that suggested hidden cameras. Trevor's complete
medical records, down to his childhood vaccinations. Her mother's
shift schedules from three different hospitals. All timestamped
years before they'd met.

Maria's hands shook as she turned another page, the paper

whispering like a death rattle. "You were never the target, Trevor.
Raya was the catalyst. Her 'ordinary' genetics were the control
group."

---

The Senator's Fall

Senator Cole's motorcade was five miles from the Capitol, the
armored limousine gliding through D.C. traffic like a shark through
dark water, when Tank drove the stolen garbage truck through its
flank.

The impact sent the lead SUV spinning into a light pole in a
shower of sparks. While Cole's security detail spilled out, firing at
Tank's armored cab, Mackenzie—disguised in a blonde wig and
Fox News lanyard—shoved a microphone in the Senator's face as
he emerged from the limo.

"Senator Cole, is it true you weaponized teenage love to perfect a

bioweapon?" Her voice carried over the chaos, perfectly
modulated for the cameras.

As Cole's face twisted in dawning recognition, Mackenzie ripped

off her wig with a flourish. Every major network captured the
moment—his eyes widening, his mouth forming her name—before
she tasered him live on camera, the prongs embedding in his
custom suit.

"That's for my mother, you soulless monster."

---

Epilogue: Six Months Later

The courtroom erupted as the judge slammed the gavel,
sentencing Robert Cole to seventeen consecutive life terms
without parole. The sound was nearly drowned out by the
cacophony of reporters and spectators.

Outside, snow blanketed the D.C. streets, turning the city into a
monochrome postcard. Raya stared at the embossed Harvard
Medical School acceptance letter in her hands, the heavy paper
trembling slightly.

"Still think we're cursed?" Trevor murmured, wrapping his arms

around her from behind, his chin resting on her head.

She turned in his embrace, showing him the parchment with its
crimson seal. "Nope. Now we're just dangerously overqualified."

Behind them in the courthouse lobby, Lila and the recovered

Julian slow-danced to music only they could hear, her head
resting on his shoulder despite the lingering bruises. Mackenzie
live-streamed Tank's UFC title match on her iPad while heckling
her wife's opponent with creative profanity. Maria had somehow
procured a Glock and was teaching Patricia how to field-strip it
using office supplies from the clerk's desk.

Somewhere in the chaos, a chess piece clattered on a board, the

sound crisp and final.

CHECKMATE .

[TO BE CONTINUED IN THE SEQUEL: "ENDGAME"]