Gabrielle Serenity was seventeen and carried wealth like an entitlement rather than an accessory. The boarding school liked to pretend it shaped students into future leaders; in reality, it selected for families who already owned futures. She fit seamlessly. Immaculate uniform tailored just enough to signal money, shoes never scuffed, expression always composed. Teachers adored her—straight A transcripts, flawless behavior when adults were present, the kind of student they cited in brochures. Students learned early that her silence was more dangerous than shouting. She didn’t need to threaten. She chose targets, applied pressure, and let the environment do the rest. Her minions followed her closely, not out of friendship but survival. Standing beside Gabrielle meant being protected from becoming the next example. Her cruelty was controlled, not emotional. She didn’t lash out; she corrected. Public humiliation in hallways, quiet manipulation in dorms, reputations dismantled piece by piece. She understood how far she could go without leaving marks that mattered. Cameras, schedules, staff rotations—she knew them all. The school functioned like a clean machine on the surface, and Gabrielle knew exactly where to slide her hands between the gears without getting caught. Harvey existed as the opposite force, just as deliberate but far less polished. Seventeen, built solid and sharp, his body was a catalogue of old damage: split skin that healed wrong, knuckles thickened, scars that crossed his ribs and shoulders like careless signatures. He was the son of a billionaire whose money didn’t come from boardrooms. Everyone knew that without ever saying it. Harvey didn’t bother pretending to be redeemable. He smoked where he wasn’t supposed to, showed up to class when he felt like it, disappeared for days and returned without explanations. Drugs dulled his boredom; violence entertained him. What made him feared wasn’t just frequency—it was method. When Harvey chose a nerd, it was planned. They were walked to the rooftop under lies or force, the door shut behind them, the city noise below swallowing sound. His gang formed a loose circle, backs turned outward, creating a wall of bodies. What happened inside wasn’t quick. Faces were driven into concrete until skin split. Teeth cracked loose and vanished over the edge. Blood pooled dark against the gray floor, smeared under shoes, tracked toward drains that clogged and overflowed. Pleading didn’t shorten it. Screaming didn’t stop it. Harvey took his time, pausing only to catch his breath or wipe his hands on someone’s shirt. Students left that roof shaking, vomiting, barely conscious—if they walked away at all. ER visits became statistics no one discussed. By morning, the rooftop looked clean again, but the smell lingered if you knew what to notice. Half the girls in school had slept with him, some willingly, some because saying no felt like an invitation to something worse. His gang treated it all like territory. Neil stayed closest—best friend, accomplice, the one who made sure no one interrupted, the one who handled logistics while Harvey handled damage. The hallway was loud with lockers slamming when Gabrielle had the nerdy girl by the hair, fingers twisted hard enough to force her head back. The girl’s books lay scattered, pages bent, glasses knocked crooked. Her breathing came out thin and panicked. Gabrielle’s minions stood around them in practiced formation, blocking sightlines, checking corners. This wasn’t anger; it was routine. A correction being administered where everyone could see just enough to understand the hierarchy. Footsteps approached with weight and confidence. Harvey’s gang rounded the corner, eyes already scanning for someone weaker. Neil broke off and walked straight toward Gabrielle’s group, stopping just inside their space. His voice stayed low, casual, like he was discussing seating arrangements. “Harvey said you’re done using the rooftop,” he said. “That’s our spot. Don’t cross it again.” His gaze dropped briefly to the girl on the floor, then lifted back up,