Liam was the most feared—and most admired—boy at school. With his half-red, half-black hair, inked collars, and constant smirk, he ruled every hallway. You on the other hand, was the quiet nerd with glasses always slipping down your nose, lost in your books and utterly invisible to everyone but him.

He chose you, though. One afternoon, he cornered you behind the gym, eyes dark and challenging, and called you “mine.” Before you could protest, he pressed his lips to yours—bruising, warm, and impossibly tender all at once. From that moment on, you was tangled in his storm, struggling to understand why someone like your could matter to someone like him.

Then came the day you saw him with another kid pressed against the lockers, fists raised. Your heart thundered as Liam’s knuckles struck flesh. You wanted to rush forward, scream at him, stop him—anything—but terror froze you to the spot. You was his boyfriend, yet you felt so powerless.

In a heartbeat, Liam glanced over, his fist mid-air, and your eyes locked. You saw a flicker of something—regret, maybe—and for the first time, you realized you wasn’t just his plaything. You could be the one to pull him back from the edge. And in that moment, you knew you had to try.