Chapter 2

Tuesday's cafeteria reeked of cheap pizza grease and ear-splitting chatter.

I was eating when Carter slammed his tray down on my table. He didn't ask if he could sit. He never asked.

The first thing he did was scrape his plate of boiled carrots onto mine, the cheap plastic scratching out a grating sound.

"Where the hell were you last night?" He didn't even look at me, stabbing aggressively at a piece of chicken. "Sent you four texts. Left me standing around at Tyler's like a total idiot."

Yesterday, my heart would've skipped a beat.

I would've stammered out apologies, made up some excuse about a migraine or a family emergency, anything to smooth out that crease between his eyebrows.

But today, I just watched him chew. That pathetic filter of infatuation had shattered. Without it, he was just a caveman with a fork.

"What, you mute now?" His greasy fingers snapped impatiently in front of my face. "AP Gov paper. Hand it over. Don't make me ask twice. Coach said if I don't turn it in by three, I'm riding the bench."

He held out his palm, flat and expectant, waiting for me to do what I always did—immediately fish the completed essay from my bag and present it like an offering.

I glanced down at his empty hand, then back up to meet his irritated gaze.

"Didn't write it."

Quiet, but steady. Not a single stutter.

Carter froze, fork suspended mid-air. For a split second, genuine confusion crossed his face, as if a chair had suddenly started speaking.

"Say that again?" His voice dropped into that threatening undertone. The one he used whenever he wanted to remind me "who was in charge."

A few guys nearby stopped talking, ready for a show.

Before I could respond, a wave of vanilla perfume overwhelmed the pizza smell.

Chloe materialized out of nowhere, sliding into Carter's lap as she plucked a fry from my plate.

"Oh Carter, don't be so harsh." She looked at me like I was something stuck to her shoe. "Look at her little brain short-circuiting. 'S-s-sorry Carter, I'll g-g-get it for you right away.'"

She exaggerated facial twitches, mimicking my old stutter. Laughter erupted around us. Even the next table turned to watch the spectacle.

Carter didn't stop her. Instead, he smirked and squeezed her waist playfully.

"That's what makes her so entertaining." Carter looked down at me like I was a pet, reaching out to pat my cheek. "Alright, Eve, drop the hard-to-get act."

"Now, hand over the paper and apologize to Chloe. Then maybe I'll let you keep sitting with me at lunch."

He expected what he'd always gotten—me, red-eyed and broken, crushing my dignity underfoot to beg for his forgiveness.

I looked at his approaching hand and felt nothing but revulsion.

I leaned back in my chair, dodging his touch.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I met his eyes directly, voice flat and cold. "Your paper? Not my problem. We're done."

Before he could react, I grabbed my tray and stood, walking calmly toward the dish return.

Carter followed, furious, trying to grab my arm. I simply let go of my tray.

SPLASH—

Half a plate of salad-dressed boiled carrots landed perfectly in the garbage bin, dirty water spattering onto his two-thousand-dollar limited-edition sneakers.

"Bitch! Are you insane?!" Behind me, Carter's enraged cursing exploded, followed by the crash of a kicked chair.

For the first time, I didn't even grant him a backward glance.

Publicly humiliated like that, Carter clearly couldn't swallow his pride.

Hours later in the parking lot, he was already leaning against his Ford pickup, waiting.

Spotting me approaching, he deliberately stepped forward, using his height to block my path while loudly joking to Chloe beside him:

"Weekend at the lake house? Sure, just us—we'll have a blast."

He was waiting for me to stop, waiting for jealousy to break me, waiting for me to clutch at his sleeve and beg him to take me along.

But just before his shadow could fall over me, I pulled out my earbuds and popped them in right in front of him, cranking the volume to maximum.

I didn't even look at him. Didn't break stride. Just slipped past him through the narrow gap, treating him, his truck, and Chloe like they were invisible.

"Eve! Stop!"

Even with my music blasting, I could hear him losing it behind me, apparently slamming his fist against the car door.

I didn't even blink. Just kept walking toward the bus stop.

He thought no one else would want me. Time for him to learn—I was done taking out the trash.

Back at my host family's house, I locked my bedroom door and dragged out a black garbage bag from under the bed.

The cheap crystal necklace Carter had given me, the revealing bodycon dress he'd forced me to wear, those manipulative cards that only said "what would you do without me"...

I swept them all into the bag. With each discarded item, the chains around my heart loosened a little more.

Opening my laptop, I found emails from Columbia and Yale quietly sitting in my inbox—application confirmation receipts.

I'd been holding a 4.2 GPA the entire time. If I hadn't pandered to his pathetic ego, voluntarily giving up early admission to Cornell to follow him, I'd already belong there.

Ding—

My phone screen lit up.

Carter had posted a photo in the group chat. Him and Chloe eating burgers at a fast-food joint, captioned: [Some people don't appreciate a good thing. At least I know quality when I see it.]

Below it, a string of egging-on comments. He was trying to force me to surrender.

I smirked coldly and left the group chat.

He thought I was still under his control, still suffering in his cold war.

In reality, I'd already deleted the state universities from my application list and fed that stupid sketch of "our future lake house apartment" through the shredder.

As the shredder's harsh grinding echoed, a new email notification popped up in the corner of my screen.

Sender: Columbia University Admissions Office.

I held my breath and clicked. It wasn't an auto-reply—it was an Ivy League Alumni In-Person Interview Invitation.

Before I could read the specific interview details, my phone—abandoned at the foot of the bed—lit up again.

Carter.

Being shut down twice had obviously enraged him, but his oversized ego made even his attempts at reconciliation sound like orders:

[Meet me in the main hallway tomorrow morning. About prom—enough with the attitude. Time to talk.]

I looked at the Ivy League interview invitation on my screen, then at this text that read like a summons to a pet.

Prom.

That was the final stage of his locker room bet to "completely break me in."

He wanted to play the hero in front of the entire school? Grant me the "honor" of being his prom date like some kind of charity case?

A cold smile twisted my lips as I slapped the phone face-down on the desk.

Since he wanted the whole school's attention so badly, I didn't mind helping him tear down the stage myself.