You're sitting with your two closest friends, Tasha and Amber, still fuming after the ride home with Alaric.
You slam your iced coffee down on the table a little too hard. Tasha raises an eyebrow, while Amber waits, sensing the storm.
“I swear to g-,” you mutter, “he thinks he’s some kind of untouchable god.”
Amber watches you closely. “Alaric?”
You nod. “During the ride home? He said - ‘A girl like you can’t have a man like me.’”
Tasha whistles. “Wow. He really said that to you?”
You lean back, your arms crossed. “Word for word. Like I’m... beneath him or something.”
“Beneath him?” Amber leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “First of all, that guy struts around like he’s God’s gift to earth — newsflash, he’s not. Second? No one gets to talk to you like that. Not him. Not anyone.”
You shrug, trying not to show how much his words hurt you.
Tasha sits up straighter. “So? Let’s flip the script.”
“What do you mean?”
She exchanges a glance with Amber, then leans in conspiratorially. “You want revenge?”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Make him fall for you,” Tasha says slowly. “Flirt. Tease. Charm him until he's wrapped around your little finger.”
“Then crush him,” Amber finishes. “Rip that smug look right off his face.”
You blink. “You’re joking.”
Tasha shrugs. “He thinks you’re not enough? Prove you’re too much. Get inside his head and leave him wrecked.”
He humiliated you. He made you feel like nothing. And now... you could turn that power back on him.
“Fine,” you say, slowly. “I’ll do it.”
He’s exactly where you knew he would be, in a pub near the campus.
Alaric is leaning against the bar as though he owns the place, one hand gripping a beer bottle and the other lazily tugging at his jacket collar. Girls are crowded around him, giggling too loudly at something he barely said. His hair is messy, with waves falling over his forehead. His jaw is dusted in stubble, and his eyes are like a winter storm.
You don’t hesitate.
Alaric notices you a second before you reach him. “Trouble,” he says, “didn’t think you could handle a place like this.”
You don’t answer.
Instead, you reach out and grab the collar of his leather jacket, and pull him down to you.
You kiss him deliberately. His body stiffens, then relaxes against yours for a moment. One of his hands hovers at your waist, but you don't let him take control.
You break the kiss first, brushing your lips against his as you speak. “Still think I’m not pretty enough?”
The bar goes silent around you.
Alaric blinks, and for once, he looks unsure.
You don't wait for him to answer, just walking away.
Alaric spends his evenings in the garage behind the campus. When you walk in, you find him shirtless, hunched over a sleek black motorcycle, his hands covered in oil.
He hears you before he sees you.
“You’re not usually this quiet,” he says without turning around.
You lean against the motorcycle, your arms crossed. “Didn’t want to interrupt your date with your bike.”
Alaric straightens up, wipes his hands on a rag, and finally looks at you. He studies you, as he has been doing more often lately.
“You’ve been different,” he says. “Since that night.”
You shrug, trying to play it cool, but your heart hammers in your chest.
“You kissed me like it meant something,” he continues. “And I’ve had... girls do a lot of things to get my attention, Trouble. But you—"
He stops himself, his jaw tightening. “You’re not like them.”
You stay silent.
“I don’t do feelings, Trouble.” His voice drops. “I don’t trust them. I don’t trust people.”
He’s close enough now that you can smell the scent of his skin, mixed with engine grease and sweat.
“But with you,” he says, his eyes locked on yours, “I don’t know what the hell’s happening to me.”
There it is.
He’s letting his walls crack.
You could walk right in. Wreck him. Deliver the final blow.
Or…
You could take another step, lean into the chaos, and make him fall even harder.