Love Triangle

The cold wind slicing through Ashgrove Academy’s courtyard carried with it more than just autumn leaves, it carried secrets. Secrets buried beneath polished shoes and pressed uniforms, masked behind high walls and locked dormitory doors. Damon West walked among them like a king among mortals, flawless in posture, flawless in image. To the world, he had everything, a last name soaked in political prestige, a girlfriend everyone envied, and a future brighter than the morning sun. But Damon had long since stopped believing in sunshine. His dark brown eyes scanned the path ahead as the students parted to let him and Eliza through. Whispers always followed him like shadows, but he didn’t need to hear them. He knew what they said. “Morning, babe,” Eliza said, looping her arm through his. Her blonde waves were tucked under a navy beret, uniform perfect as always, makeup subtle and polished like a senator’s daughter though she wasn’t one. But she acted like she was born for the spotlight. That’s what Damon liked about her. Or maybe what he needed. Damon smiled automatically. Cameras clicked from afar, students at Ashgrove were always watching, snapping, whispering. “Morning,” he said, brushing a kiss on her cheek. They looked perfect, and they knew it. “You didn’t text last night,” she said with a light tone, though her eyes flickered with something harder. “Studying,” he lied smoothly. “Tomorrow’s History test.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “You never study.” “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” “Don’t go becoming boring on me now, Damon.” He chuckled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. They walked arm in arm across the courtyard, leaves crunching beneath their polished shoes. The towering stone archway of the main building loomed ahead like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole. The school was old, built in the 1800s, and it showed in its cold halls, creaking floors, and stories that never stayed dead. “Assembly’s in ten. You ready for Maxwell’s visit?” Eliza asked, adjusting her beret. His jaw tensed slightly at the mention of his father. “Always ready for the senator,” he muttered. Maxwell West. The name rang through every newspaper and TV headline, champion of conservative values, protector of family honor, and ruthless in politics. At home, he was colder than the marble in his private study. They reached the grand entrance just as the bell rang. Damon’s grip tightened on his satchel as they entered the auditorium. Rows of crimson and navy uniforms filled the seats. Gold chandeliers hung from above, casting light that felt too bright, too revealing. In the front row, as expected, sat Jace Rivers head down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a black bracelet around his wrist that didn’t match the uniform code. Jace wasn’t from this world. His father was a janitor. He didn’t care for cliques or whispers. He sat alone, always scribbling in his worn notebook, a permanent scowl on his face. There was a scar just beneath his left eye, thin but impossible to miss. Damon hated him. No, envied him. No… he wasn’t sure anymore. The headmaster cleared his throat and tapped the mic. The murmurs faded. “Ladies and gentlemen, as part of our Legacy Leadership Week, we welcome Senator Maxwell West to speak to you about excellence, dignity, and public service.” Damon’s stomach twisted. Applause erupted as his father walked onto the stage. He looked like he always did, impeccable suit, silver tie clip, hair combed back like steel wires. His voice cut through the silence like a scalpel. He spoke of honor, tradition, the importance of image. Of suppressing personal weakness for the greater good. Damon felt the weight of every word like a noose tightening around his throat. His classmates applauded. Eliza clutched his hand. Jace didn’t clap. He stared. After the assembly, Damon stepped outside alone for air. That’s when the voice came. "Still pretending?” He turned. Jace stood under the tree near the fountain, arms crossed. His tone was laced with contempt, but there was something else behind it, curiosity? “What did you say?” Damon asked coldly. Jace took a step closer. “You play the perfect son, perfect boyfriend, perfect prince of Ashgrove. But behind those pretty speeches… I bet there’s a storm in you.” Damon stiffened. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” “Maybe,” Jace said, smirking slightly. “But storms recognize storms.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and for the briefest second, Damon’s heart thudded too fast. His gaze dropped to Jace’s hand, bruised knuckles. Faint scars on his neck. And those eyes a shade of gray that seemed to see through people. Damon turned and walked away without another word. But that night, the dreams returned. He stood in the hallway of his home, dark and hollow. A woman screamed from somewhere below. The walls bled. His reflection in the mirror turned to face him and smiled. But Damon hadn’t moved. He gasped awake in his dorm bed, sweat soaking his sheets. He looked around but no one was there. But something had changed. On the mirror above his desk, written in faint red letters, was one word: "Choose." The following day, He tried to forget it. He scrubbed the mirror clean. Buried himself in school. But everywhere he turned, Jace was there always in the corner of his eye. Always watching. Damon told himself it was paranoia. But something wasn’t right. Lights in the hallway flickered when they passed each other. He once found a dead bird on his windowsill, eyes pecked out. Whispers in the library when no one was there. Eliza noticed. “You’re distracted lately,” she said over lunch. “I’m fine." “You’ve barely touched your food.” He looked down. The soup had turned cold. “Just tired.” he said. She leaned forward, brows pinched. “Is it your dad? You know I’m here, right?” He nodded, then looked past her. Jace sat alone in the far corner, sketching something furiously. Damon’s heart pounded. He made a choice that evening. He followed Jace after classes. Down the west wing corridor, past the shuttered classrooms, into a disused chapel converted into storage. Damon pushed open the heavy door. It creaked like a scream. Jace stood in the center of the room, facing away. Candles flickered on the floor, arranged in a circle. “What the hell is this?” Damon demanded. Jace didn’t turn. “You saw the message.” “What are you talking about?” “On your mirror.” Damon froze. “How did you...." “You’re not the only one hiding.” Slowly, Jace turned and then the room groaned, like something old awakening.