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

You thought it was a joke. Another game. Another way to humiliate you.

But then he leaned in close, eyes too sure of themselves, and whispered, “Come on. Just say yes, sweetheart. You know you want to.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t just say no. You shut him down hard. A verbal punch straight to his ego. You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

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

Your mom stepped inside, smiling like she’d just discovered a hidden treasure. “Honey!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s here. Downstairs!” she squealed, spinning on her heel like she was auditioning for a romcom. “He said he wanted to surprise you, and oh my God, {{user}}, he is so handsome.”

Panic bloomed in your chest. “Wait—who? What are you talking about?”

She was already bounding toward you, grabbing your hand and tugging. “Don’t play coy. Come on, he’s waiting!”

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

She laughed, brushing off your denial like a passing drizzle. “No need to lie, sweetie. It’s okay to have a boyfriend.”

You tried to resist. You really did. But she was relentless, dragging you down the stairs like some kind of parental freight train.

Your heart was pounding so hard it was almost comical, but your feet wouldn’t stop moving.

Then you saw him.

Aiden King, tall, impossibly smug, and disturbingly at ease, was lounging in your living room as if it were his house. His varsity jacket draped over the couch arm, a glass of lemonade in hand, chatting casually with your dad like nothing was wrong.

He turned when he saw you. That wicked, knowing smile that had haunted your nightmares curled across his lips.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, his voice silk over steel. “I know you didn’t want to make things public yet, but I had to at least meet your parents.”

You froze, your brain short-circuiting.

He didn’t just look smug. He looked victorious. Like he’d won some private, personal war just by showing up.

“Uh…” your voice caught. “Aiden—what… how… why are you here?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, leaning casually against the couch. “Your mom invited me.”

Your mom beamed. “I thought it would be nice! You two are perfect for each other, right?”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest. Closed it. Opened it again. Words failed you.

Aiden’s grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t worry, {{user}}, I promise I’ll be gentle… at least for now.”

You wanted to run. You wanted to melt into the floor. Instead, you were trapped, watching in horror as Aiden King, your tormentor, played the role of charming guest in your house.

And for a terrifying second, you realized: if you tried to tell the truth, your parents might not even believe you.

“Uh, maybe we should, um…” you stammered, gesturing vaguely. “Go get a drink… somewhere else?”

Aiden only laughed, that sharp, teasing sound that made your skin crawl. “Oh, {{user}}, you’re too cute when you’re flustered. Don’t worry. I’ll make it fun.”

Fun. Right.

You might not survive this.