Aiden King—your tormentor since forever—had the audacity to ask you out last week.

You had laughed. Out loud. You thought it was a joke. Another game. Another way to humiliate you.

But then he leaned in, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes too sure of themselves, and said, “Come on. Just say yes, sweetheart. You know you want to.”

Your stomach turned. Hot, cold, nauseous all at once. You didn’t just say no. No, you shut him down hard. You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

You were curled up in bed, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling when the door burst open without a knock.

“{{user}}!” your mom’s voice rang, bright and almost breathless. She was practically glowing. “Honey, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s here… downstairs!” she squealed, like she’d just stumbled into a teen romcom scene. “He wanted to surprise you. And oh my God, he’s so handsome!”

Panic bloomed in your chest, fast and hot. “Wait—who? Mom, what are you talking about?”

But she was already grabbing your hand, pulling you toward the stairs. “Don’t play coy. Come on, he’s waiting for you!”

“Mom—” you tried to yank your hand back, your voice sharper than you intended. “I don’t have a boyfriend!”

She laughed, brushing it off like your protest was cute, nothing serious. “No need to lie, sweetie. It’s okay. Really. He’s here.”

You froze, your heart hammering in your chest, but she wasn’t listening. She practically dragged you down the stairs, excitement radiating off her like heat.

And then your feet hit the living room floor, and your stomach dropped to somewhere below your ankles.

Aiden King stood there. In your living room.

Tall. Smug. Comfortable. Like he had been invited a hundred times before. Chatting casually with your dad like they were old friends. His varsity jacket was slung over the arm of the couch. In his hand, he held a glass of lemonade like it was an ordinary Sunday visit.

He turned when he saw you. That wicked, knowing smile curled at his lips.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, voice smooth as velvet but with a poison edge you felt in your bones. “I know you didn’t want to make things public yet, but I had to at least meet your parents.”

You stared at him. Blank. Stupid. Your brain refused to form a coherent sentence.

He stared back—smug, smug, smug—like he was daring you to tell the truth.

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Isn’t he charming?”

“No—Mom, wait—” you stumbled forward, panic flaring. “I don’t… I mean, he’s not—”

Aiden’s grin widened, sharp and merciless. “Not what? Not your boyfriend? Because it sure sounds like everyone here thinks I am.”

You froze, realizing with horror that if you tried to explain, they might not believe you. That smirk, that confidence—it was a trap, and you had walked straight into it.

Your dad tilted his head. “Well, he seems nice. Welcome, Aiden. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” you croaked, voice cracking.

Aiden tipped an imaginary hat, all charm and menace. “Only the best things, of course.”

And just like that, you realized: this was going to be worse than any prank or tease he’d ever thrown at you.