CHAPTER 42
The school bell let out its final, jarring scream, cutting through the bickering between Heather and Ray. My stomach did a nervous somersault. I looked at Dayana's empty seat, then back at the door. Something was seriously wrong with her, but I didn't have time to go hunting through the bathrooms.
"I have to go," I said, my voice tighter than I intended. "The Arts Club is starting."
I left Heather and Ray behind and walked toward the older wing of the school. The transition from the crowded, loud hallways to the art corridor was always sharp. Here, the air was heavy with the scent of turpentine and old paper, usually a smell that calmed me. Today, it felt suffocating.
I reached the heavy wooden door of the art room. My hand hovered over the handle for a second. I didn't know the details of why Dayana had spiraled, but I knew Melvin was the center of it. I could feel it in the way she flinched at his name.
I pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in long, orange shadows from the afternoon sun, stretching across the empty easels like bars of a cage. At the very back, silhouetted against the window, was Melvin.
He wasn't wearing his school uniform. He sat there in his basketball jersey, the deep colors making him look even more massive. He was 6'2", a wall of muscle and athletic arrogance that made the small art stool look like a toy beneath him. He was alone, spinning a paintbrush between his fingers with a bored, predatory grace.
He didn't even look up when the door clicked shut behind me.
"You're late, Jane," he said.
His voice was deep, vibrating with a level of confidence that made my skin crawl. He sounded like a man who knew he held all the power, though I couldn't figure out why he seemed so smug. I stayed by the door, my fingers still gripping the handle. Seeing him in person—towering and dominant—it was easy to see why someone like Dayana would feel small around him. He felt dangerous.
"I had things to take care of," I replied. I forced my voice to stay level, trying to hide the fact that his presence alone made me want to turn around and walk out.
Melvin finally looked up. His dark eyes scanned me slowly, from my shoes up to my face, settling into a chilling smirk.
"Is that right?" he asked, leaning back. "Well, since we're the only ones here, maybe we can talk about more than just painting. I heard Class C is looking for friends."
I looked at his broad shoulders and the way he occupied the space, and I realized I wasn't just in a room with a first-year leader. I was in a room with someone who enjoyed the pressure he put on people. I had to get close to him for the alliance, but every instinct I had told me to keep my distance.
"Why did you break up with her?" I asked, my voice cutting through the heavy silence of the art room.
Melvin didn't flinch. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed—a loud, jarring sound that felt completely wrong for the quiet setting. He leaned forward, his massive frame looming over the table, his dark eyes sparkling with a cruel kind of amusement.
"You've got it all wrong, Jane," he said, shaking his head. He looked at me like I was a child who hadn't finished her homework. "I didn't break up with her. She broke up with me."
I felt the air leave my lungs. "What?"
"You heard me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, smooth register. "The 'Princess' decided she was too good for me. She's the one who walked away."
I stared at him, trying to reconcile his words with the version of Dayana I had just seen in the hallway—shaking, terrified, and looking like she was waiting for a blow to land. If she had been the one to end it, why was she the one who looked like a victim?
It doesn't add up, I thought, my mind racing. The way she looked... the way she couldn't even say his name without trembling. That isn't the behavior of someone who held the power to walk away.
A cold realization settled in my chest. In my head, I had been hoping for a simple grudge. If he had dumped her, there was a chance he could be talked into a "forgiveness" angle for the sake of the alliance. Men like Melvin usually liked to feel like they were being the bigger person.
But this was different. If she had dumped him, she had bruised his ego. And for someone as physically and socially dominant as Melvin, a bruised ego wasn't something you forgave—it was something you punished.
"I can see those gears turning, Jane," Melvin said, his smirk returning. He reached out and traced the edge of an empty easel with a long finger. "You're wondering why she's so scared if she's the one who called it off. Maybe you should ask yourself what she's trying to hide from the rest of you. Or maybe you should ask yourself why you're so worried about her when you should be worried about what Class 1-C is going to do to your precious tournament plans."
I froze, my eyes widening. That changed everything. If the stakes weren't just about school pride or some silly trophy, but about actual financial survival, the "game" had just become a war.
"You mean..." I started, the implications sinking in.
Melvin leaned in closer, his shadow completely engulfing my desk. "That's right, Jane. A secret directive for the first-years. The winning team gets a massive reduction in tuition fees. Some might even walk away with a full ride for the rest of high school."
He stood up to his full 6'2" height, looking down at me with a terrifying grin. "Now you tell me—if you were a first-year student struggling to pay for this expensive-ass school, would you really care about some 'senior' alliance? Or would you do whatever it takes to win that perk for yourself?"
Jane's POV
My heart sank. My mind immediately went to the families in Class 3-C who were barely scraping by. If the first-years knew this and we didn't, we weren't just at a disadvantage—we were being set up to be slaughtered. This was why Melvin was so confident. He wasn't just holding a grudge; he was holding a carrot that could turn every student in the first year into a mercenary.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Melvin shrugged, turning back toward the window to watch the rain hit the glass. "Because I like to see people struggle. And because I want you to go back to Luke and Zack and tell them that their little 'loyalty' speeches don't mean a damn thing when money is on the table."
He turned his head just enough to catch my eye. "Dayana understood that. Eventually, everyone does."
I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor. I needed to get out of this room. I needed to find Zack and Luke. The tournament wasn't just about who was the strongest anymore—it was about who was the most desperate. And Melvin was counting on us not being desperate enough.
Melvin stood up, his massive 6'2" frame blotting out the orange sunlight streaming through the window. He leaned over the table, his shadow stretching across my sketchbook like a threat.
"But let's be clear, Jane," he said, his voice dropping into a low, smooth drawl. "I don't hand out information for free. And I definitely don't hand out alliances for nothing. As the leader of my class, I have a condition."
I gripped the edge of my stool, my knuckles turning white. "What condition?"
"It's simple," he smirked, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity. "I need Dayana to be my girlfriend again. Or... if she's too broken to come back, I need someone like you to take her place."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt a surge of pure, unfiltered revulsion. "What?" I breathed, my voice trembling with anger. "How is that even a thought in your head? You're a first-year student, Melvin. You're younger than us. How could you possibly think you can date a senior?"
Melvin didn't look offended. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed off the high ceilings of the art room.
"Age?" he chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "You think I'm some little kid playing dress-up in a jersey? I'm seventeen, Jane."
My heart skipped a beat. My mind raced through the student records I'd seen in passing. First-years were supposed to be fifteen, maybe sixteen at most. Seventeen was the age of the juniors and seniors in Class 3-C.
"How?" I demanded, leaning forward. "How are you seventeen and only in the first year?"
The smirk on his face sharpened, becoming something colder and more secretive. He picked up a palette knife, turning the metal blade over in his large hand so it caught the fading light.
"That," he whispered, "is a story for another time. Let's just say I took a different path to get here. But the fact remains—I'm old enough to know what I want. And right now, I want a prize that matches the throne I'm building."
He stood back, giving me space to breathe, but the air still felt heavy.
"Go back to your class, Jane. Tell them about the fees. Tell them about the stakes. And then decide if you're going to bring Dayana back to me, or if you're going to save her by stepping into her shoes."
Jane's POV
I didn't say another word. I grabbed my bag, my skin crawling as I felt his eyes on my back. Seventeen. If he was seventeen, he wasn't just a talented athlete—he was someone who had been held back, or someone who had been somewhere else entirely.
I burst out of the art room and into the hallway, my chest heaving. I had to find Zack and Luke. The "Prince" and the "Leader" needed to know that we weren't just fighting for a trophy. We were fighting a seventeen-year-old mercenary who was holding Dayana's life—and potentially mine—over our heads.
The air in the room felt heavy, and the ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like a countdown. My mind raced through everything that was happening. Luke was out there trying to handle Irfan and the weight of Class 3-C. Zack was at the gym, likely already deep in a tense negotiation with Robert. Heather was holding the line with the rest of our class.
Everyone was doing their job. Everyone was sacrificing something to keep our class from falling apart. If they could do it, then so could I.
I took a deep breath, the scent of oil paint suddenly feeling like the smell of a battlefield. I looked Melvin straight in his dark, arrogant eyes.
"Fine," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper but steady. "I will become your girlfriend."
Melvin actually froze. For the first time since I'd walked into the room, the smug look vanished, replaced by genuine surprise. He let out a low whistle, his eyes scanning me with a new kind of intensity.
"Well," he said, leaning back and letting a slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "I can't say I mind. Having a girl like you on my arm... it's definitely an upgrade. I didn't think you had it in you, Jane."
I didn't flinch. I didn't let the disgust show on my face. I needed to stay in control of the narrative.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," I cut in, my voice cold. "I'm only doing this on one condition. I will be your girlfriend, but my goal is to help you. I'm going to make Dayana love you again. Think of me as the bridge to get her back. Once she's yours, this deal is over."
Melvin's grin widened. He seemed to enjoy the challenge, the idea of using me to reclaim his "prize." He tapped a paintbrush against his chin, considering it. "A bridge, huh? I like that. It's a deal."
But then his expression shifted, a sudden spark of malice returning to his eyes. "But what about the Prince? What about Zack? We all saw the way he looks at you. He's going to lose his mind when he sees you with me."
I felt a sharp pang in my chest at the mention of Zack's name. I pictured him in the car, the way he looked at me in the rain, the protective way he always stood by my side. But I forced that image away. This was about the class. This was about the tournament.
"He will understand," I said, though my heart felt like it was breaking. "Zack and I... we aren't dating, you know. He has his role to play, and I have mine. Whatever he thinks doesn't change the fact that Class 3-C needs this alliance."
Melvin laughed, a deep, triumphant sound that made my skin crawl. "I hope you're right, Jane. Because if he doesn't 'understand,' the Arts Club is about to become a lot more interesting."
I was still trembling in Heather's arms when the sound of soft, hesitant footsteps made us both freeze. I pulled back, quickly wiping my eyes, but it was too late.
Dayana was standing a few feet away. She looked smaller than usual, her skin pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She looked between my tear-streaked face and Heather's murderous expression.
"Jane?" her voice was barely a whisper. "Why are you crying? Why does Heather look like she's about to kill someone?"
"It's nothing, Dayana," I said, my voice cracking. I tried to force a smile, but it felt like lead. "Just tournament stress. Everything is fine."
"Don't lie to me," Dayana said. For the first time, the fear in her eyes was replaced by a tragic kind of clarity. She looked toward the Art Room door and then back at me. "You went in there, didn't you? You talked to Melvin."
Heather stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. "He's a monster, Dayana. Jane told me about the alliance and the 'deal.' Why didn't you tell us he was blackmailing you?"
Dayana flinched, but she didn't run this time. She took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's worse than you think," Dayana whispered. She looked around to make sure the hallway was empty before leaning in. "He didn't just break my heart. We... we slept together. And he recorded it. He told me if I ever left him, or if I didn't do exactly what he said during this tournament, he'd put the video on the school's main server."
The silence that followed was deafening. I felt a surge of nausea so strong I had to lean against the lockers. Heather's face went from red to a ghostly, terrifying white. The disgust I felt for Melvin in the art room was nothing compared to the pure, cold fury circulating in my veins now. He wasn't just a jerk or an arrogant athlete; he was a criminal.
"He is disgusting," Heather hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "He's a subhuman piece of trash. Jane, we're going to the principal. We're going to the police. I don't care about the tournament anymore."
"No!" Dayana grabbed Heather's hand. "You can't. He has the cloud login set to auto-post if he doesn't check in every few hours. If we move too fast, it's over for me. My life will be ruined before the police even arrive."
Dayana looked at me, her gaze steadying. "I know what you did, Jane. I saw you leave. You took the 'girlfriend' role to protect me, didn't you? To buy me time."
I nodded slowly, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
"I have a plan," Dayana said, her voice sounding stronger than I'd heard it in weeks.
She looked at me with an expression of deep guilt. "Jane... can you hold out for a few more days? Can you keep him distracted so he doesn't suspect I'm moving against him?"
Heather, who had been standing quietly by the door keeping watch, stepped forward. She looked between the two of us, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. The puzzle pieces of the past few weeks were spinning in her head, and she couldn't hold the question back anymore.
"Wait, Dayana," Heather asked, her voice dropping to a bewildered whisper. "How did you and Melvin even... how did they manage to become lovers in the first place? Like, how did any of this start before it turned into this nightmare?"
Dayana froze. She looked down at her hands, her shoulders slumping as a shadow of exhaustion crossed her face. The memories of before the blackmail, before the safe, and before the drug ledger seemed hazy, almost entirely swallowed by the trauma of the present.
"I don't know, Heather," Dayana told her softly, her voice hollow. "Honestly... I don't remember."
Jane's POV
I looked at Dayana—my friend, who had been carrying this horrific weight all alone—and then I thought about Melvin's hands on my waist and his voice calling me 'soft.' The disgust was still there, but now it was fueled by a purpose.
"I'll do it," I said, hardening my heart. "I'll be the perfect, obedient girlfriend. I'll keep his eyes on me so he never sees you coming."
"What about Zack?" Heather asked, looking at me with genuine concern. "He's going to see you with that monster for 'a few days.' He's going to break, Jane."
"Then let him break," I said, though it felt like a lie. "If it saves Dayana, I don't care what he thinks of me."