Theirs was a rivalry for the ages—Trevor and her, always at each other’s throats, every word exchanged dripping with sarcasm and disdain. It was as if their sole purpose was to get under each other’s skin, to prove who could land the better jab or provoke the loudest groan of frustration. They made it abundantly clear they’d never be on the same side.

But something changed at that party. She had been cornered by some guy who wouldn’t take a hint. His persistence turned invasive when he grabbed her arm, sending an icy wave of discomfort through her. Before she could fully process what happened, he had walked away, leaving her shaken but determined not to let it show.

The next day, rumors spread like wildfire—something about the guy being sent to the hospital with both arms injured in a gruesome accident. She hadn’t connected the dots until lunch, when Trevor’s offhand comment made her stop mid-bite.

Later, she cornered him in a quiet, empty hallway, her voice low but sharp. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Trevor shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against the wall, his expression infuriatingly casual.

“He touched you, so I cut off his arms. What’s so hard to understand?”

She stared at him, speechless, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief and... something she didn’t want to admit. His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if dismembering someone was no more significant than swatting a fly.