CHAPTER 4: THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
1131 Words
The hallways of Saint Mary’s were more than just corridors; they were veins through which the school’s reputation flowed. And right now, those veins were constricted.
Evelyn walked toward her locker, her presence creating a silent wake in the crowded hall. She could feel the stares—some sharp with resentment, others heavy with a newfound, trembling curiosity. In her first life, she had tried to buy these people’s friendship with expensive gifts and desperate smiles. She had been the generous one, only to be trampled when Lyra whispered a few sweet lies.
I was an amateur then, she thought, the click of her locker door echoing like a gavel. I bought their time. Now, I will own their silence.
She reached into her locker and pulled out a single, cream-colored envelope. It wasn't for her. It was for the girl standing three lockers down: Sarah Jenkins. Sarah was Lyra’s best friend, the one who usually led the verbal assaults against Evelyn in the cafeteria.
Every clique has a hierarchy based on utility, and Evelyn knew exactly where the cracks were. Sarah provided the muscle and the noise, but she was drowning in her father’s gambling debts. She wasn't loyal to Lyra; she was loyal to the protection Lyra’s innocence provided. If the protection vanished, the predator would become the prey.
Evelyn closed her locker and turned. Sarah was already watching her, a sneer plastered on her face, though her eyes darted nervously toward the faculty lounge where Alistair Vance had vanished earlier.
What are you looking at, Thorne? Sarah spat, though the venom lacked its usual sting. Just because you found some sugar daddy to buy your way back in doesn't mean you belong here.
Evelyn didn't flinch. She stepped closer, her expression as calm as a frozen lake. She held out the envelope.
Sarah, Evelyn said, her voice a low, melodic threat. I believe your father’s investment in the Macau circuits didn't go as planned last night. Five million dollars is a heavy weight for a high school senior to carry, isn't it?
The sneer died on Sarah’s face. The color drained from her lips, leaving them a dull, bruised purple. How... how do you...
I don't just have a benefactor, Sarah. I have eyes. Evelyn leaned in, the scent of cold bergamot invading Sarah’s space. Inside this envelope is a receipt. I’ve purchased the debt. Legally, your father now owes me. Which means, effectively, I own your house. I own your car. And I own your future.
Sarah’s breath hitched. She looked at the envelope as if it were a live grenade. Lyra... Lyra will help me. Lucian will—
Lucian is currently busy explaining to the Board why his personal accounts were used for corporate espionage, Evelyn cut her off, a ghost of a smile appearing. And Lyra? Lyra is a parasite. Parasites don't save their hosts; they find new ones. Do you really think she’ll stay with you when the Thorne name starts to stink of scandal?
Evelyn watched the realization play out on Sarah’s face. At Saint Mary’s, loyalty was a commodity, and Evelyn had just crashed the market.
What do you want? Sarah whispered, her voice cracking.
I want you to keep being Lyra’s best friend, Evelyn said, patting Sarah’s shoulder with a chillingly sisterly touch. I want you to stay close. I want you to hear every whisper, every plan, every sob she shares with you. And every evening at eight, you will send me a summary. If you miss a night, I call in the debt.
Sarah took the envelope, her fingers trembling. She wasn't a friend anymore. She was a double agent, forged in the fires of financial ruin.
Evelyn walked away, her heart rate steady. She felt no guilt. In the previous timeline, Sarah had been the one to film Evelyn being pushed into the school pool, laughing as she struggled to breathe. Karma isn't a goddess, Evelyn thought. Karma is a ledger. And I am the accountant.
She headed toward the administrative wing and stopped in front of a mahogany door. She didn't knock. She stepped inside the office of Alistair Vance.
You're late, he said, not looking up from his desk. Again.
I was securing an asset, Evelyn replied, sitting in the leather chair opposite him. She crossed her legs, the slit in her skirt revealing a sharp, calculated confidence.
Alistair finally looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the lamplight like deep water. Sarah Jenkins? A bit low-level for you, isn't it?
A castle falls because of the termites, Alistair, not just the cannons, Evelyn countered. Lyra’s strength is her social shield. I’m eating it from the inside out.
Alistair leaned back, his gaze lingering on her face. You have a cold mind, Evelyn. It’s almost a pity to see it wasted on schoolgirl grudges.
This isn't a grudge. It's an acquisition, she snapped. The files on Lucian’s backers. Where are they?
Alistair slid a thin black folder across the glass. Be careful. One of these backers is a man named Silas Vane. He doesn't care about reputation. He only cares about blood.
As Evelyn reached for the folder, Alistair’s hand moved faster, pinning the folder—and her fingers—to the desk. His touch was electric, a sudden surge of heat that bypassed her logical defenses.
I don't give things for free, Evelyn, he whispered, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. You’re using my position, my information, and my protection. What is my dividend?
Evelyn didn't pull her hand away. She met his gaze, her amber eyes turning dark.
My dividend is your survival, Alistair, she said softly. Because when I’m done with the Thorne Group, there will be a vacuum. You’re the only one I’m allowing to fill it. Isn't that enough?
Alistair’s grip tightened for a second before he let go, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. You’re a terrifying woman, Miss Thorne.
I'm a woman who died once, she stood up, clutching the folder to her chest. Everything after that is a bonus.
She walked out, the heavy door closing with a thud. At the bottom of the stairs, she saw a lone figure. It was Lyra, crying into her hands.
Crying in the dark, Lyra? Evelyn’s voice echoed in the stairwell. Save your tears. You’re going to need them for the witness stand.
Lyra looked up, her eyes red. Why are you doing this? I never did anything to you!
You existed, Evelyn said simply. And you thrived on my ruin. Now, it’s time to see how well you survive on your own.
Evelyn walked past her, the scent of her perfume lingering like a taunt. The game was no longer just about school. It was about survival.
- Writer
