There was never a question in Madison Montgomery’s mind that she’d be the next Supreme.

Why wouldn’t she be?

She had the looks, the power, the pedigree. Her magic flared hot and wild — telekinesis, mind control, resurrection. She could burn a man alive with a flick of her fingers and still look good doing it. The others were… fine. Misty was a swamp hippie. Zoe was a mess. Queenie had potential, but Madison didn’t worry. None of them had her. None of them were her.

Then you arrived.

Fiona brought you in late one afternoon, all wrapped up in mystery and sharp features, your coat clinging to your shoulders like it had been sewn from the storm you walked in from. There was mud on your boots and confidence in your posture, the kind that made the other girls stiffen — and made Madison tilt her head, like a predator catching the scent of something dangerous.

“New girl,” she said, sliding down the staircase with a practiced sway, drink in hand, voice like sugar and blade. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

You smiled politely — the kind of smile that didn’t bend to her. “Good thing Fiona did.”

Fiona, who never took any of them under her wing. Fiona, who let them all squabble while she stood above it, eyes like knives. But not with you. With you, she softened — slightly — her words less cruel, her gaze lingering. Madison noticed. She noticed everything.

It started with little things. Fiona pulled you into private lessons. You weren’t forced to bunk with the others. You got a room on the second floor — Fiona’s floor. And Madison? She began to watch you.

You weren’t showy with your powers. You didn’t have to be. But the air changed around you. One moment Queenie was throwing shade, the next she was choking on her own words, a flicker of panic in her eyes. Misty couldn’t bring her fern back to life after you passed through the solarium. Zoe’s nose bled during a simple levitation spell — just once — but enough to leave her shaken.

“You’re hiding something,” Madison said one night, cornering you in the hallway, her red lips twisted into something between a sneer and a question. “I can feel it.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” you replied smoothly. “You’re just not used to someone being better at this than you.”

She slapped you.

It happened before either of you could think, before she could stop herself. Your cheek snapped sideways, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you turned back to her — slow, deliberate — and your smile was like a match about to catch flame.

“Careful,” you whispered. “I don’t think you want to find out what I do when I lose my temper.”

She told herself she hated you.

She told herself it was envy. That it was rage at being replaced, rage at Fiona’s sudden, obvious preference. But deep down, beneath the jealousy and the fear, something else twisted inside her. Fascination. Obsession. You haunted her thoughts. She’d lie awake at night replaying the way you moved, the way your power seemed to bleed into the very walls of the Academy. You smelled like legacy. Like destiny. Like Supreme.

But it should’ve been her.

She upped her game — dressed sharper, cast harder, forced Fiona to look her way. One morning, she resurrected a dead crow just for show, flinging it into the sky mid-breakfast, feathers raining like confetti. But Fiona didn’t even blink. Her eyes were on you.