Three Days Before Graduation, They Poisoned Me

Five years into living with my stepbrother Gideon, the scholarship girl he sponsored moved into our house.

To repay his "generosity," she made a habit of slipping into his bed at night. By day, she took it upon herself to "fix" my antisocial, withdrawn personality.

Three days before St. George Prep's graduation ceremony, she brought me a glass of juice wearing that nauseating sugar-sweet smile.

"You know, Charlotte, your peanut allergy is probably psychosomatic. You just need some exposure therapy. Let me help you get over it."

That night, my throat closed completely. She'd deliberately laced my drink with concentrated peanut extract.

I convulsed on the cold hardwood floor, vision tunneling as oxygen fled my lungs.

In the last second before darkness swallowed me whole, I clawed desperately toward the half-open door.

Standing in the hallway were my boyfriend Dylan and my stepbrother Gideon.

They simply watched me suffocate. Then Gideon calmly reached out and shut the door.

I died from anaphylactic shock.

Three months later, as a ghost tethered to this world, I watched her stride onto Stanford's campus. Wearing my clothes. Carrying my acceptance letter. Burning through my trust fund.

Through the crowd, I saw Gideon—my ice-cold, unreachable stepbrother—gently cradle her face and press his lips to hers.

Then I gasped awake.

I was back. Three days before graduation.

"Charlotte? Charlotte, wake up!"

Someone shook my shoulder hard. I jerked upright, gulping air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. No swelling. No rash. My throat worked perfectly.

I sat there shaking and drenched in sweat. Natalie stood beside my bed in her St. George uniform, holding a tray with bright juice and artisan cookies.

"Charlotte, nightmare? You're soaked." Natalie's wide eyes radiated concern.

I locked onto her face as the ringing in my ears faded. The digital calendar glowed on the wall: May 15th.

Three days until the graduation ball.

Three days until hell opened its doors.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" My intensity made her shift back half a step before she recovered that placating smile.

"I made you a fresh blend—strawberry, your favorite. Look, about yesterday's fight over the thesis, that was on me. Drink this and we're good?"

Fresh blend.

In my previous life, this "test dose" of peanut extract landed me in the nurse's office. Three days later at graduation, they administered the killing amount.

I buried the murderous rage and managed a trembling smile.

"Thanks, Natalie." I reached for the glass, my fingers brushing her hand—ice-cold enough to make her flinch. "I just had the worst dream."

"Then this'll help." Her eyes tracked the glass like a hawk watching prey, glinting with barely contained anticipation.

I raised it to my lips. Under the strawberry sweetness lurked that telltale nutty undertone.

Just as the rim touched my mouth, I jerked my hand.

"Shit—"

The red liquid arced perfectly onto Natalie's silk blouse. The glass hit the white carpet with a dull thud.

"What the hell!" Her sweet mask shattered. Natalie shrieked, yanking at her soaked shirt.

"God, I'm so sorry! My hand just—I can barely hold anything." I snatched tissues, dabbing at her frantically. "It slipped, I swear. Please don't be mad."

She forced her jaw to unclench, face tight but smile plastered back on. "It's... fine. I'll just grab another shirt."

The door flew open. Gideon and Dylan pushed through.

Gideon wore his usual tailored suit, sharp gaze dissecting me from behind gold-rimmed glasses.

Dylan—who supposedly "stopped by to give us a ride" but had clearly been downstairs sweet-talking Natalie—scowled at the mess and rushed to her side.

"You okay?" Dylan's arm went around her shoulders automatically, worry naked on his face. How the hell had I missed it before?

"I'm fine. Charlotte just had an accident..." Natalie's lower lip trembled, tears gathering.

Gideon stepped closer, scanning the stained carpet before his cold stare pinned me in place.

"Charlotte, if you're going to keep acting like a basket case, maybe I should hold onto those trust fund documents a while longer." His voice could freeze blood. "Mom's money isn't for funding your meltdowns."

Same controlling bullshit. In my past life, he'd wielded it like a scalpel, carving away my confidence piece by piece.

I dropped my gaze, wringing my hands—the perfect picture of a broken girl. "It's just graduation stress. I'm sorry, Gideon. I'll do better."

"See that you do." He turned dismissively. "Dylan, help Natalie clean up. You—stay in your room and try not to destroy anything else."

Three sets of footsteps retreated. The lock clicked into place.

The second they left, every ounce of weakness evaporated from my face.

I walked to the bathroom and splashed ice water on my face. The girl staring back was pale as death, but her eyes burned cold and sharp.

Want to play? Fine. Let's play.

I pulled the hidden drawer under my desk and retrieved a burner phone.

Fifteen minutes later, through an underground tech forum, I'd ordered military-grade micro cameras and audio bugs, expedited delivery to the abandoned storage room behind the kitchen.

In this house of wolves, there were no innocent victims.

The only way out of hell was to fight my way through.