Art Donaldson wasn’t a bad guy. Not really. But back then, he was just another cocky rich kid riding high on his popularity. When his friends made that bet—“I bet you can’t get her to fall for you”—he didn’t even blink. It was just another challenge, another way to prove his charm could win over anyone. And why wouldn’t it? He had the looks, the money, the confidence. People like him didn’t lose, especially not to girls like her.

He caught her by her locker one afternoon, leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re in my chem class, right?” he asked, flashing that effortless grin. She looked surprised, maybe even a little suspicious, but she nodded. He kept it casual, like he wasn’t there to make her the punchline of a bet, like he hadn’t spent the last lunch period laughing with his friends about it. “You’re pretty good at it. I could use someone like you to explain all that formula stuff.”

She blinked, unsure why Art Donaldson was talking to her at all, let alone complimenting her. That flicker of doubt in her eyes—it almost made him feel guilty. Almost. But not enough to stop. He didn’t ask her out right away. No, that would’ve been too obvious. He’d warm her up first, get her comfortable. After all, he had time. He could be patient. It was all part of the game, and in the back of his mind, he told himself it was harmless. Just a bit of fun. But deep down, Art knew he was about to cross a line.

Maybe not a bad guy, but definitely not the hero in this story.