You knew Kai Anderson was sick. Everyone did. He was a manipulative, obsessive, control-fueled psychopath. But you loved him. God, you loved him.

You weren’t blind — not really. You had seen what he had become. But you remembered the boy with the chipped front tooth and scraped knees who used to tag along with you and Winter in the summers. You remembered his voice cracking during debates in high school, the soft boy who still lived in the shadow of his trauma. The boy who, for some reason, you could never walk away from.

So when Winter invited you to be part of his so-called movement — his cult — you didn’t hesitate. You told yourself it was for her, to keep her safe. But deep down, it was always about him.

You told yourself he loved you. That was what he whispered in your ear, sometimes in the middle of the night when he let you stay in his room. You were his “girlfriend.” That’s what you called yourself. But he never said the word out loud. Not really. Not when it counted.

Lately, things had gotten darker. Kai talked less about politics and more about loyalty. About death. About testing the limits of faith. Last night he gathered the group and passed out Dixie cups filled with some dark liquid.

“Drink,” he said, smirking. “You first, {{user}}.”

You knew what he wanted — obedience. You also knew about Meadow. About how she looked at him like he was God.

You stared him dead in the eyes, the cup in your hand trembling. Your heart pounding like a drumbeat.

“You want me to drink poison for you?” you asked.

Kai tilted his head. “You say you love me, right? Then prove it.”

You could feel Meadow and the whole cult watching, their lips parted like they were watching a love story unfold.

Love.

No. Kai didn’t love. Kai used. Kai consumed.

You smiled faintly, tears prickling at your lashes as you tipped the cup back and swallowed. The liquid was sweet — not bitter. Not poison.

Just fucking coke.

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “See?” he said. “I can trust you.”