Chapter 4 The prey
Chapter 4: The Predator and the Prey (Liam’s POV)
The pounding in my head was a rhythmic reminder of every mistake I’d made the night before. 5:50 AM. The air in the Vance mansion always felt different this early—heavy, silent, and smelling faintly of expensive floor wax and stale secrets. I dragged myself down the grand staircase, my hockey bag slung over my shoulder, feeling like a prisoner heading to his own interrogation.
I walked into the library, expecting to find it empty for at least a few more minutes. I was the one who owned this house; she was the one lucky to be sleeping in a cottage that was basically a glorified shed in my backyard.
But there she was.
Elena was already seated at the massive oak table. She looked like a statue—perfectly still, her back straight, a stack of books organized by height in front of her. She didn't look like a girl who had been tripped, mocked, and humiliated twelve hours ago. She didn't even have the decency to look tired.
"You're late," she said. She didn't look up from her notebook. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, which somehow made it more annoying than if she had screamed at me.
"It’s 5:59, Ghost," I snapped, dropping my bag onto the floor with a loud thud that echoed off the high ceilings. "The sun isn't even fully up. Give it a rest."
"The session starts at 6:00 sharp. If you’re not in your seat with a pen in your hand when the clock strikes, I mark you as a no-show. My report goes to the Principal at noon." She finally looked up, her glasses catching the light of the green desk lamp. "Sit down, Liam. We have work to do, and I don't have time for your ego this morning."
I pulled out the heavy chair, the wood screeching against the marble floor like a dying animal. I did it on purpose, hoping the sound would make her wince. She didn't even blink.
"I don't know who you think you are," I leaned over the table, lowering my voice to a growl. "But let's get one thing straight. You’re here because my father feels sorry for you. You’re a charity case in a thrift-store sweater. Don't act like you have any real power in this room."
Elena slowly closed her book. She leaned forward, mirroring my stance. Up close, I could see the faint yellow bruise forming on her arm where she’d hit the diner floor. For a split second, a tiny spark of something—maybe guilt—flickered in my chest, but I crushed it. I couldn't afford to be soft. Not with her.
"Power is a funny thing, Liam," she whispered. "You think you have it because your name is on the gate. But right now, your entire future—your hockey career, your NHL dreams, your father's approval—it all sits in my hand. I am the only thing standing between you and a permanent seat on the bench. So, if I were you, I’d stop talking about charity and start talking about the Treaty of Versailles."
She slid a piece of paper across the table. It was covered in tiny, cramped handwriting.
"What is this garbage?" I asked, looking at the rows of dates and names.
"A diagnostic test. I need to know exactly how much of your brain has been rotted away by locker room talk and expensive parties," she replied, clicking her pen. "You have twenty minutes. No phone. No staring out the window. Just work."
I stared at the paper. The questions were a blur of names I didn't recognize and dates that felt meaningless. My head throbbed harder. I looked at her, hoping to see a crack in her armor, but she had already gone back to her own reading. She was treating me like an annoying fly she had to tolerate.
"I’m not doing this," I said, shoving the paper back toward her. "Give me the answers. I’ll memorize them before the quiz this afternoon. That’s how this works."
Elena didn't move the paper. She didn't even look up. "Seventeen minutes left, Liam. Every question you don't answer is a point deducted from the 'participation' grade I send to Coach Miller."
"You wouldn't," I breathed.
"Try me."
I grabbed the pen, my knuckles turning white. I hated her. I hated the way she breathed, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and especially the way she made me feel small. I spent the next fifteen minutes scribbling random guesses, my heart racing with a mixture of rage and frustration.
When she finally snatched the paper away, she didn't even wait to grade it quietly. She pulled out a red pen and started slashing lines through my answers. Zip. Zip. Zip. The red ink looked like blood on the page.
"F," she said, tossing the paper back. "A zero, actually. You didn't even get the century right."
"It’s a diagnostic! It doesn't count!" I shouted, standing up.
"It counts to me," she said, standing up to meet me. "It tells me that you’re not just lazy—you’re arrogant enough to think you don't have to try. But here’s the reality, 'King.' Today at school, the entire hockey team is going to be watching you. Chloe is going to be watching you. And when you walk into that History quiz and realize I told the teacher to give you the 'Advanced' version because you're being 'extra-tutored,' you’re going to wish you had listened to me."
My blood ran cold. "You told Mr. Harrison what?"
"I told him you were dedicated to improving your grades," she said, a small, dark smirk appearing on her face. "I told him you wanted a challenge. After all, a Vance shouldn't be taking the easy way out, right?"
I reached across the table, grabbing her wrist before I could stop myself. She was so small, her bones felt fragile under my grip, but she didn't pull away. She just stared at me, her eyes cold and challenging.
"You’re trying to ruin me," I hissed.
"No, Liam. I'm trying to make you earn something for once in your life," she pulled her arm back, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, go to school. Enjoy your little throne. But remember—if you fail that quiz today, you don't play Friday. And if you don't play Friday, the scouts leave town without your name on their list."
She gathered her books and walked toward the door, her head held high.
"Oh, and Liam?" she stopped, her hand on the heavy brass handle. "Tell Chloe I found her earring in the trash at the diner. I’ll be sure to hand it back to her in front of everyone at lunch. I'm sure she’ll love the reminder of how much of a 'mess' she left behind."
She disappeared into the hallway, leaving me in the silence of the library. I was shaking. I wanted to break something, to yell, to prove that I was still the one in charge.
I grabbed my phone and sent a quick, angry text to the group chat with Jax and the rest of the team.
Liam: The Bookworm needs a lesson today. I want her to regret ever moving into my backyard. No one talks to her. No one looks at her. Make her a Ghost for real.
I headed out to my Porsche, the rain starting to fall in a steady, depressing drizzle. As I drove down the long, winding driveway, I saw the school bus pulling away from the gates. Elena was on that bus, sitting in the very back, staring out the window.
I sped past the bus, my tires kicking up a spray of water, but she didn't even flinch. She didn't look at my car. She didn't look at me.
I gripped the steering wheel until my hands hurt. I was the King of Northview High. I was the one who decided who was invisible and who was famous. But as I pulled into the school parking lot and saw Chloe’s car waiting for me—her face twisted in a mask of mean-girl fury—I realized the war had only just begun. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I was going to win.I headed to my car, already planning my revenge. But as I pulled out of the gates, I saw Chloe’s car idling in the shadows across the street. She wasn't waiting for me. She was watching Elena board the bus with a look on her face that meant it was going to be a disaster.