Chapter 2: Scars of Maple Heights

He’d text me at midnight in the middle of a snowstorm to buy him a compact umbrella.

When I showed up, hair a mess, delivering stuff to him and some influencer,

he’d even complain,

"It’s not even strawberry-flavored?"

After my sister died, I learned what happened after her failed confession.

Endless pranks from female classmates, constant snickering and pointing from the boys, day after day of slut-shaming.

Every time she walked into class, she was met with malicious laughter.

Her desk and chair were carved full of insults.

Her gym clothes always mysteriously disappeared.

The worst was during swim class, when a group of Tyler’s admirers held her under in the water and cut her swimsuit straps.

She was left half-naked, scrambling to cover herself.

They laughed, taking pictures of her humiliation.

"A toad wants to date a prince—does she even know what she looks like?"

"Wow, look at her belly, so fat. How does she have the nerve to confess to Tyler Ashcroft?"

"Didn’t you write a love letter?"

"Recite it from memory—if you finish, we won’t send out the video."

How could fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds be so cruel?

I still ask myself that.

After my sister died, I saw those photos for the first time.

I stared at them for so long my eyes went out of focus.

There’s this strange twin thing.

Her death took half my soul.

I swore to every god I could name—

I’d make them pay.

Hatred really can make you capable of anything.

I managed to stay by Tyler’s side, breaking the record for longest-serving assistant.

I handled his food, wardrobe, housing, every day-to-day.

Worried about his moods.