I'm standing under the streetlight outside the bookstore, my phone buzzing in my hand, Morgan's name lighting up the screen. My text, "He's pulling away. We need to do something now," still glows in my mind, and my stomach's churning, tight and sour. Alex locked me out tonight, his eyes dodging mine, his voice cold, and I know it, Jamie's getting to him, turning him against me. My boots scuff the wet pavement, my breath fogging in the chilly air, and I answer, quick, my fingers shaky. "Morgan," I say, low, keeping my voice steady, but my chest's pounding, scared of what's coming.
"You idiot," he snaps, his voice loud, rough, cutting through the quiet street. "What's this about Alex pulling away? You're losing him?" My throat tightens, my hand gripping the phone harder, and I step back, leaning on the light pole, its metal cold against my shoulder. "He's distant," I mutter, my words fast, "not answering me, locked in his office, digging through stuff." Morgan growls, low, and I flinch, my eyes darting around, the town dark, empty, just me and his anger. "Casey's leaks are everywhere," he says, sharp, "my deals, my name, all over the paper. And now Alex? Our window's closing, Riley, you're getting sloppy."
I swallow, my mouth dry, my free hand stuffed in my hoodie pocket, clenching tight. "I've got it under control," I lie, my voice thin, but he cuts me off, fast. "No, you don't. Jamie's still out there, talking, and Alex is sniffing around. You're screwing this up." His words hit hard, my head spinning, and I pace, short steps, the puddle under me splashing soft. Casey's leaks, those financial records, they're tearing Morgan apart, and Jamie's alive, hurt but breathing, showing Alex who knows what. "I almost had him," I say, sharp, "knife in my hand, he ran, I'm handling it." My chest burns, mad, scared, he doesn't get how close I was in my dorm, Jamie bleeding, almost gone.
Morgan's quiet, a second, then his voice drops, cold, hard. "You're getting sloppy. If you don't fix this, I will." My breath stops, my legs locking, the threat sinking in, heavy, real. He's livid, done waiting, and I know him, he'll cut me out, take over, leave me with nothing. "Fix it how?" I ask, low, my voice shaking, and he snorts, rough. "Jamie's got to go, permanent, no more games. You finish what we started, or I'm done with you." The line clicks, dead, and I'm alone, my phone hot in my hand, my heart racing fast, loud in my ears.
I shove the phone in my pocket, my hands trembling, and start walking, fast, back to my dorm. The streets are wet, shining under the lights, and my boots slap the pavement, my hood up, hiding my face. He's right, our window's closing, Alex slipping, Jamie fighting, Casey digging. My chest's tight, my breath short, I'm cornered, boxed in, and Morgan's not playing anymore. I've got to act, big, now, or it's over, Alex gone, Morgan turning on me. My dorm's close, a gray brick building, its windows dark, and I climb the stairs, my legs heavy, my hand gripping the rusted rail, cold and slick under my palm.
Inside, my room's a mess, clothes on the floor, coffee cups stacked on the desk, the cracked mirror leaning against the wall, reflecting my face, pale, eyes wild. I lock the door, the click loud, and slump on my bed, the springs groaning under me. My head's spinning, Morgan's words, "Finish what we started," looping, pushing me. Jamie's the problem, always has been, stealing Alex, fighting back, and now he's hurt, weak, but still alive, still a threat. I've got to end him, for good, no more little frames, no more warnings. My hands clench, my nails digging in, and I feel it, the need to escalate, to win, to keep Alex mine.
I stand, pacing, my boots thudding soft on the carpet, my mind racing, planning fast. The money frame-up worked, got him out, but he's back, tougher now, and Alex is doubting me. I need something bigger, permanent, something he can't crawl out of. My eyes land on my desk, papers scattered, my laptop open, and I sit, quick, my chair creaking, pulling it close. My fingers hover, shaky, then type, slow, searching old files, stuff I've kept, ideas I've had. My breath's fast, my chest tight, I've got to ruin him, break him so bad Alex won't look at him again.
The screen's blue light casts shadows on my face as I scroll through folders, opening one labeled "Insurance." It's all there, everything I've collected, just in case. My journals about Alex, those were personal, stupid to keep, but this, this is calculated. Photos of Jamie from before, when he first moved in with Alex, when I started watching him too. Pictures of him arguing with people in town, losing his temper at the gas station once. Documents I've faked, records I've altered. Some real, some fiction, all damning.
I click through them, my fingers tapping impatiently on the keyboard. It's not enough. Not anymore. Jamie showing up bloody at Alex's door changes everything. Alex isn't just distant now, he's suspicious. The way he looked at me earlier today, like he was trying to see through me, made my skin crawl. He knows something, or suspects something, and I'm running out of time.
My eyes drift to my bedside drawer, and I stand up, moving toward it slowly. Inside, wrapped in an old t-shirt, is the knife I almost used on Jamie. Small, sharp, with a black handle, easy to hide. I take it out, turning it over in my hands, the metal catching the light from my desk lamp. It would be simple, really. Wait for him somewhere, finish what I started. My hands are steady now, calmer with the solid weight of the blade.
But no, that's messy, risky. Too many people already know about our fight, the cut on his arm. If he disappears or turns up dead, I'm the obvious suspect. I need distance, something that keeps me clean while destroying him completely.
I place the knife on my desk and turn back to my laptop. There's another way. Morgan has connections, people who can make problems disappear. But calling in those favors means owing him more, being deeper in his pocket. The thought makes me sick, bitter acid rising in my throat. I've worked too hard to become just another one of his pawns.
My phone buzzes again, a text. I check it, hoping it's Alex, but it's Morgan again: "Tick tock." Two words, but they're enough to make my hands shake again. He's impatient, pressuring me, and I hate it, hate feeling cornered like this.
I throw the phone on my bed and return to my laptop, clicking through more files. And then I see it, an idea forming, something that could work. Jamie's past, before Alex, before this town. He doesn't talk about it much, but I've dug, searched, found scraps. A family that disowned him, trouble with the law, things he's running from. If I can bring that past crashing into his present, fabricate connections to Morgan's business, make it look like Jamie's been the leak all along...
Yes, that could work. Frame him as the one working against Morgan, feeding information to Casey, plotting all along. Morgan would handle Jamie himself then, thinking he was the source of his problems. And Alex, Alex would be devastated, betrayed all over again. He'd turn to me for comfort, like always.
I start typing faster, creating documents, connections, a paper trail that doesn't exist but soon will. My fingers fly over the keys, the plan solidifying with each click. This is it, the final move, the one that ends Jamie for good. My reflection in the cracked mirror shows a small, cold smile forming. I'll win this, keep Alex, save myself from Morgan's anger.
By morning, Jamie won't know what hit him.