Chapter Forty-Four: Payback
1030 Words
Marcus's POV
Courtney doesn’t ease into it. She never does.
“She destroyed it.”
The words hit me mid-step, sharp enough that I stop walking. The hallway noise blurs around me—lockers slamming, laughter, the distant echo of shoes on tile—but all I can hear is the tight fury in Courtney’s voice through the phone.
“What do you mean destroyed?” I ask, already knowing I won’t like the answer.
“Jessica,” Courtney says. “She trashed the entire exhibit. Every canvas. Anna found it like that.”
My hand tightens around my phone. “Is Anna okay?”
There’s a pause. Too long.
“She’s… holding it together,” Courtney says carefully. “Which scares me more.”
That lands heavier than anything else.
“I’m coming,” I say immediately.
“She doesn’t want to see anyone yet,” Courtney replies. “She asked me to tell you that.”
Of course she did.
Anna has always been like that—absorbing the damage quietly, like if she contains it well enough, no one else will bleed.
“I’m still coming,” I say.
“I know,” Courtney sighs. “Just—be ready. This wasn’t an accident, Marcus.”
“I know,” I repeat, colder this time.
We hang up, and I head for the parking lot, every step burning with restrained anger. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
Jessica.
The name alone makes my skin crawl. But even she isn’t bold enough to pull something like this alone.
I’m halfway to my car when I hear laughter drifting from behind the hedges near the student lot.
It’s not the harmless kind.
It’s mean.
“…did you see her face when she found out?” one girl giggles.
“Please,” another snorts. “Bella planned it perfectly.”
My blood goes ice-cold. I slow my steps, keeping to the shadow of a nearby tree.
“Jessica was just the wrecking ball,” the first girl continues. “Bella was the architect.”
They laugh again.
“Guess little Miss Artist won’t be running off to Europe now.”
That’s it. I step out from behind the tree. “Say that again.”
They jump, spinning toward me, eyes wide.
“Marcus—” one starts.
“Don’t,” I snap. “You’ve said enough.”
They exchange nervous looks.
“You’re exaggerating,” another says weakly. “It was just… drama.”
I take a step closer, towering over them. “You think destroying months of someone’s work is drama?”
Silence.
“Get away from me,” I say finally. “Before I do something all of us will regret later,”
They don’t need to be told twice.
As they scatter, my hands shake—not with uncertainty, but with the kind of anger that demands precision. Bella.
I pull my phone out again and call Anna. Straight to voicemail. Again. Same result. I exhale slowly, forcing myself not to spiral. She needs space. I can give her that. But Bella? Bella needs consequences. I scroll and hit Damian’s contact.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“Bella crossed a line,” I say. “A big one.”
There’s a pause. Then, “What did she do?”
“She orchestrated the destruction of Anna’s exhibit,” I reply. “Used Jessica to do it.”
The silence on the other end is heavier this time.
“…You’re sure?” Damian asks.
“I heard it myself,” I say. “And Courtney confirmed the damage.”
“Jesus,” Damian mutters. “Bro, how are you not losing it right now?”
“That’s why I’m calling you,” I say. “And Peter.”
I hang up and immediately dial Peter, who answers with his usual easygoing tone that disappears the second I start talking.
“This ends now,” I tell them once they’re both looped in. “Not with fists. Not with threats.”
“Then how?” Peter asks.
I hear an alert on my phone and look at the screen advertising the upcoming gala—the one Bella has been parading around like it’s her personal coronation.
“We take her stage,” I say. “And we expose her.”
Damian lets out a low whistle. “You’re talking about the gala.”
“I am,” I confirm. “She thrives on appearances. On control. On everyone thinking she’s untouchable.”
Peter chuckles darkly. “You’re going to rip the mask off in front of everyone.”
“Yes,” I say. “But I’m not doing it alone.”
“Good,” Damian replies. “Because if this goes wrong—”
“It won’t,” I cut in. “We do this clean. Precise. With proof.”
Silence again.
Then Peter says, “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Damian adds. “For Anna.”
I pocket my phone and lean against my car, staring at nothing while my thoughts lock into place.
Bella has underestimated something fundamental. She thinks power comes from influence. She’s wrong. It comes from truth.
I try Anna again, knowing she won’t answer, but needing her to know I tried. This time, I leave a voicemail.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I know you don’t want to talk right now. That’s okay. Just—know this wasn’t your fault. And you’re not alone. I promise.”
I end the call, chest tight. The gala is in three days. Three days for Bella to smile, to preen, to believe she’s won. I won’t warn her.
I won’t threaten her. I’ll let her walk into that room thinking she owns it.
And then—
I’ll take it away. Not for revenge. For justice. For Anna.
And when it’s over, when the truth is laid bare and Bella’s carefully curated world fractures under the weight of her own cruelty—
I’ll be there, with Anna by my side, and this entire haze within our lives will be wiped clean. For good.
- Writer
