The gym is buzzing, alive, but all the noise blurs into background static the second you step out. Your heels click like a metronome of power. You’re not just the cheer captain—you’re the center of the universe. The glittering sharp eyeliner slicing through the fluorescent lights, the tight uniform hugging every curve like it’s custom-made to own every eye in the room.

You know they’re watching. The whispers, the envy, the awe—it feeds you. You live for this.

And then, there’s him.

Rafe.

Standing across the gym, soaked in sweat and football glory, but his stare? Ice cold. No fire. No spark. Just the blank, unreadable mask you’ve learned to hate.

Your breath catches. You want him to look at you like you’re the only thing that matters—like you matter. But he doesn’t. Not really.

You roll your eyes, flipping your hair with the kind of sass only the queen bee can pull off. You force the biggest, brightest smile. Let the pom-poms fly like a weapon. Because if you don’t look perfect, fierce, untouchable, he wins. And you won’t let that happen.

Every cheer, every jump, every fake laugh is a battle. You’re front and center, but inside? It’s a war zone.

Rafe’s quiet control is the noose tightening around your throat, even in the middle of a pep rally.

But you play the game, the queen who rules from her throne of glitter and attitude. Because beneath the makeup and power, you’re still searching. For a love that doesn’t bruise. For a touch that doesn’t hurt. For a place where you can drop the mask.

For now, you keep shining. Because sometimes, the brightest light hides the deepest scars.