Chapter 2

The next morning, I threw on Leo's prep school blazer and walked through the gates of St. Jude's Academy.

As I entered the homeroom, the entire class stopped. They stared at me with smirks and mocking grins.

I knew Leo’s class, but I didn't know his exact seat. I walked up to a random guy near the front. "Where do I sit?"

The guy blinked, then burst into a loud laugh. "Did you finally get your brain scrambled yesterday? You don’t even know your own seat? The trash sits in the trash corner, obviously."

A wave of snickers rippled through the room.

I walked over to the desk in the far back corner. It was covered in graffiti, dirt, and garbage.

I picked up Leo's backpack. When I opened it, a pile of torn, defaced textbooks and ruined homework fell out.

My face remained blank, but inside, a monster was waking up.

The more I saw, the more I realized what a living hell my brother’s life had been.

I calmly scooped up all the trash from my desk and stuffed it into the classroom wastebasket. Then, under the bewildered stares of my classmates, I walked over to the guy who had just mocked me and dumped the entire bin right onto his desk.

"What the fuck! You want to die, Vance?!"

He roared, jumping up and swinging a fist at my face.

I dodged it effortlessly. With one smooth motion, I slammed the plastic trash can over his head, kicked his knees out, and sent him crashing back into his chair.

He ripped the bin off his head, cursing, trying to stand up again.

I slapped him. Hard. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Before he could recover, I grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face flat against the wooden desk.

A pampered school kid was nothing against my military training.

I squeezed a pressure point on his neck, and he let out a pathetic shriek.

"Who messed with my desk?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, but cold enough to freeze water. I pressed harder.

"I—I don't know!"

I dug my thumb deeper into his nerve ending.

He screamed like a slaughtered pig, his legs flailing. "Stop! Stop! It was Jared! Chloe and Mia too! They dumped the trash on your desk! Nobody else did it, I swear!"

His limbs were shaking. I let go. He slumped over the desk, sobbing like a baby.

The entire classroom was dead silent. No one could believe their eyes.

"Holy shit, Vance. You think you’re tough now? You're dead after school, you freak."

A big, muscular guy—the classic varsity football type—stood up, pointing a finger at me.

I smiled, walking slowly toward him. "Why wait until after school? Let’s talk right now."

The guy, Brandon, looked surprised. He glanced around at his friends. Realizing he had an audience, he decided he couldn't back down.

He lunged forward and tried to slap me.

To the rest of the class, Brandon was a tank. But to me, his movements were in slow motion. Before his hand could even reach me, my fingers clamped onto the soft muscle group under his armpit like steel pliers.

He froze, his face contorting in pure agony. "Let... Let go!"

He screamed. I didn't. Instead, I twisted his arm behind his back, locking his elbow joint. The more he struggled, the closer his bone came to snapping.

Tears streamed down his face. "Stop! Please! It hurts! Please, stop!"

Making a varsity athlete cry in front of his peers required a level of pain most normal people couldn't even comprehend.

I leaned in. "Jared, Chloe, and Mia ruined my desk. What are you going to do about it, Brandon?"

"I'll fix it! I'll beat the shit out of them for you!" he cried out, his face turning purple as he trembled.

I released him. He collapsed into his chair, his shirt drenched in sweat, gasping for air.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Brandon took a few deep breaths, then got up, marched over to Jared, and kicked him right out of his chair.

"You idiot! Why the fuck did you mess with his desk and get me dragged into this?!"

Brandon unleashed all his humiliation and rage onto Jared, kicking him repeatedly. Jared curled into a ball under his desk, howling for mercy.

Chloe and Mia turned pale. They scrambled backward, looking for an exit.

"Clean my desk," I said, pointing to the corner. "Put it back where it belongs, and I won't hold a grudge."

The two girls ran to the back of the room, grabbed paper towels and disinfectant, and began scrubbing my desk like their lives depended on it. One of them ran to the bathroom to fetch fresh water.

Just as they were finishing, the classroom door swung open. Two guys and a girl walked in.

"Chloe? Mia? Are you out of your minds?"

The guy in the lead was handsome, wearing a tailored designer jacket over his uniform. He frowned, looking at me sitting casually on the edge of a desk. "Why are you cleaning up for this loser, Leo?"

I pulled out my phone and checked the photos.

Tristan Sterling. The golden boy. The billionaire’s son. My brother’s phone logs showed that Tristan was the mastermind behind almost all of his torment.