It all started one late afternoon in the student lounge, the place where Ajax and his closest friends lounged like kings among peasants, tossing around bored jokes and exaggerated boasts. One of them, a wiry, quick-tongued guy named Liam, had smirked across the table, a mischievous glint in his eye, and tossed out the challenge almost on a dare.

“I bet you a hundred bucks you couldn’t make that quiet loser in our class fall for you… and then break their heart.”

Ajax had taken the bet with a smirk, the kind that made people around him instinctively lean in, curious, captivated, or wary. A simple hundred-dollar challenge, supposedly meaningless, but to him, it wasn’t about money, it never was. It was the thrill, the delicious manipulation of emotions, the way he could bend people to his will, twist them into longing for him, and then watch them crumble.

He had scoped you out weeks ago, watched you shuffle through the hallways, unnoticed, overlooked, someone who never drew attention but had a quiet aura he found… intriguing, in a way. That kind of hidden vulnerability was his playground. His plan was simple: charm you, make you lean into him, make your heart thump whenever he glanced your way, then break it in a perfect, controlled spiral.

He approached it like a performance. A carefully calculated smile, a teasing glance across the cafeteria, a casual brush of hands in the library, everything was intentional. He imagined the moment you would finally melt, the moment your defenses cracked, when you would cling to him, desperate for his attention.

But it never came. You didn’t swoon. You didn’t blush. You didn’t throw yourself into his orbit like he had anticipated. Instead, you rejected him… flat, immediate, like a knife twisting in his gut.

Ajax’s initial shock shifted quickly to disbelief, then to a sharp, burning anger. How dare you? You, the quiet, unnoticed one, the one he had pegged as easy prey, dare to turn him down? He had expected tears, whispered pleas, maybe even a shy confession of your desire for him.

But instead, you met his flirtation with… nothing. Indifference. The nerve of you. His ego, always massive and untouchable, flared like a flame being smothered. The sting of rejection made him grind his teeth; the idea that someone like you could resist him was intolerable.

And he couldn’t allow that.

So, the narrative shifted. You were not the one who rejected him, no. You were the one obsessed with him. You were the shadow always lurking, the quiet nobody desperate for scraps of his attention, crossing boundaries, twisting every glance into meaning. Ajax spun the tale with a silk tongue, painting himself as the unwilling target of your fixation. His friends believed him, of course. Others did, too. Who wouldn’t believe Ajax? He was charming, convincing, and his lies dripped like honey.

Now, weeks later, he leaned against the weathered brick wall behind the school, where the smell of cigarettes clung to the air and his friends clustered around him like satellites. His voice carried easily, rich with that same smooth confidence.

“Honestly,” he drawled, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeve. “I swear, I can’t step three feet without them turning up again. Like clockwork. It’s almost cute, if you don’t mind the whole creepy stalker angle.” His friends laughed on cue, the sound bouncing between the buildings.

And then, his eyes caught you. You stood there, watching him. Silent. Unmoving. Angry.

His lips curled into a lazy, mocking smile, voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Look who’s stalking me again,” Ajax announced, tilting his head toward you with feigned amusement. “A little creep who just can’t take a hint.”

Around him, his friends chuckled.

“What do you want now? Will you cry again? Beg for attention like a needy little bitch you are?” Each word dripped with amusement and venom.