It started in the hallway — you, backed up against a locker, and your least favorite person at school closing in.

He’d been picking on you for weeks, sneering at your clothes, your friends, your grades. You were used to keeping your head down, letting it pass. But that day, before you could mumble another nervous comeback, a sharp voice cut through the noise.

“Hey.”

Everyone froze. Lydia Martin was standing there — arms crossed, eyes cold, the kind of glare that could melt steel.

“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping between you and your bully like she owned the place.

“N-Nothing,” he stammered, shrinking instantly.

Lydia smiled — sweet, dangerous. “Good. Because if I see you talking to my boyfriend again, it won’t be.”

Your heart stopped. Boyfriend?

The guy blinked, confused, then backed off. When he was gone, you whispered, “Uh… Lydia? I’m not—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it worked, didn’t it?”