To onlookers, they were the picture of high school bliss – the King and Queen of Prevailers, radiating confidence and power. Once they were alone, away from the prying eyes of their classmates, Amara's mask crumbled.
Her laughter died down, her smile vanished, and tears welled up in her eyes. The bravado she'd displayed in the hallway evaporated, replaced by a raw vulnerability. Tears streamed down her face. Her body shook as humiliation and rage crashed over her like a tidal wave.
"I can't believe this happened," she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion. "They humiliated me. On live video! In front of everyone!" she whispered, her voice trembling.
She sucked in a shaky breath, gripping Xwen's arms like a lifeline. "They're all going to be talking about me. Laughing at me. I looked like such a fool."
Xwen pulled her into a quiet alcove, shielding her from the world. His grip was strong, protective, but his own anger simmered just beneath the surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, stroking her hair while wrapping his arms around her. He hated seeing her like this, so broken and exposed. He knew how much appearances meant to Amara, how carefully she cultivated her image as the untouchable queen.
"Don't let them get to you. You're stronger than this." This public humiliation was a devastating blow.
Amara pulled away slightly, her teary eyes blazing with fury.
"But it's not okay, they did get to me" She insisted, her eyes filled with pain. "They humiliated me," she shot back, "Brittany, that backstabbing two-faced bitch, she's been waiting for an opportunity like this - she's been trying to take me down since elementary school. And that new girl, that little nobody — Munnay, who does she think she is? Just waltzing in here and causing all this trouble".
Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "She's going to pay for this."
Then she stroke his jaw and said, "You're the only one who really understands me, Xwen. I know you'll handle this… for me."
A surge of anger coursed through Xwen. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides and his knuckles turning white. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, each word carefully measured. He hated Munnay. He didn't even know her, but he hated her for making Amara upset, for shattering her confidence. He hated the way she seemed to just exist, a quiet, unassuming presence that somehow managed to disrupt their carefully constructed world.
"They're both going to regret this," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I promise you, princess, I'll make sure of that. They're going to wish they never crossed you."
"You've said this like a million timed now", Amara clung to him, her face wryly from the tears that didn't quite reach her eyes, she'd shed. "I'm so scared, Xwen," she sniffled, still trembling. "I feel like everyone's laughing at me. Like I'm losing control."
She quickly wiped her tears and forced a smile when another student walked by, then her facade came crumbling again when they were alone.
"You're not losing anything," Xwen reassured her, his voice firm. "You're Amara. You're the queen. And no one, absolutely no one, is going to take that away from you."
A wicked gleam flickered in Amara's eyes as she wiped away her tears. "Good," she said, her voice steadying. "Because I'm going to make them pay - Brittany and that little… that thing Munnay. They're going to regret the day they messed with me."
Xwen smirked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "That's my girl."
A dark satisfaction flickered in Xwen's eyes as he imagined Brittany's downfall.
Then, his expression turned serious. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I have something important to tell you," he said, his voice softening. He knew this was a lot for Amara to take in, and he hated to add more to her plate, but he needed to tell her.
Amara looked at him, her eyes filled with concern. "What is it?"
Xwen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I went to see my dad last week," he said quietly.
Amara's eyes widened. "Xwen, why didn't you tell me?" She touched his arm, "You know I would have gone with you. I would have been there for you."
"I didn't want to bother you," he admitted softly. "You have the fashion show coming up. I know how important that is to you."
Amara's expression softened. She reached out and took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "You know you can always tell me anything, right?" she said gently.
Xwen hesitated, then nodded. "I know," he said. "It's just… it's hard. Seeing him like that…"
But the truth was, seeing his father like that had been harder than he'd expected.
His voice trailed off, his mind flashing back to the sterile visiting room at the prison. The cold, sterile air of the prison visiting room gnawed at Xwen's nerves; his eyes locked on the thick glass separating him from his father, Zright Xarter. He sat across from his father, the cold metal chair digging into his skin.
Zright looked older. Thinner. The once-imposing man now seemed smaller, swallowed by his orange jumpsuit. His hands, calloused and bruised, trembled slightly as he picked up the phone. The lines on his face etched deeper by worry and confinement.
"Son," Zright's voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. "You've grown so much."
Xwen swallowed hard. He had told himself he was coming here for closure, but the moment he heard his father's voice, all of his emotions tangled into something unrecognizable.
"I miss you," Zright admitted, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Xwen nodded, his throat tight. He missed his father too, despite everything. He hesitated for a moment, "I miss you too, Dad," he said quietly.
"I'm scared, son," Zright admitted, his eyes filled with fear. "I'm scared I'm going to lose this case. They're saying… they're saying I could get the death penalty." Zright exhaled, pressing a hand against the glass.
Xwen's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't lose his father. Not again. "No," he said, his voice firm. "That's not going to happen. I talked to the lawyer. He said the prosecution's case against you is weak. They don't have any solid evidence."
Zright looked away, his fingers twitching.
"But what if they do?" he whispered. "What if they find something? What if… what if I never get out of here?"
Xwen's breath hitched. He had spent most of his life hating this man—resenting him. But now, seeing him like this, all of that anger twisted into something painful.
"Don't think like that," Xwen said, his voice strained. "You're going to get out. You're going to come home."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "We have plans, remember? The lake trip. The NFL game." He swallowed hard. "You said you'd take me fishing", something Zright had always promised but never delivered.
He couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of losing his father was too much to bear.
"You will get out," he said. "You have to."
Zright chuckled, though it was hollow. "I did, didn't I?"
Xwen forced a smile. "Yeah. And I'm holding you to it."
Zright smiled weakly. "I remember," he said, his eyes filled with longing. "I can't wait, son. I can't wait to be back home with you."
Zright leaned forward, his face inches from the glass. "You're a good kid, Xwen." He sighed. "Better than I ever deserved."
Xwen's throat tightened. 'Don't do this to me', he wanted to say. 'Don't make me feel something for you.'
"Stay strong, Dad," he whispered. "Just… stay strong."
Zright nodded, blinking rapidly. "You too, son."
Then the guards came. The visit was over.
And as Xwen walked out of that prison, a weight settled in his chest, a leaden feeling that dragged at his steps.
The memory dissolved like smoke, replaced by the cold, unforgiving reality of the present.
"His trial or something… is either today or tomorrow," Xwen said, his voice filled with anxiety. "I'm going to be there. I have to be."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Amara asked, her voice laced with concern. "I would have gone with you. I would have supported you."
"I didn't want to worry you," Xwen said softly. "You have enough on your plate with the fashion show and everything."
Amara squeezed his hand. "You know, I'm here for you," she said. "Always. No matter what."
Xwen leaned in and kissed her, his heart filled with gratitude. "Thank you, pookie bear," he whispered. "You're the best."
"I promise you," he continued, his voice hardening. "I'm going to make Munnay and Brittany pay for what they did. They're going to regret the day they crossed you. It's just unfortunate I can't touch Mandy. That twin sister of yours, always acting like a saint."
The bell rang, signaling the beginning of classes. Amara sighed. "I have to go," she said. "Detention."
Xwen nodded. "I'll walk you there," he said.
He escorted her to the detention room, where Mandy, Brittany and a few other students were already seated. As he watched Amara disappear inside, the reality of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks. He was sick of people hurting the ones he loved. He was sick of feeling helpless. He was sick of the way his life had turned out.
Instead of going to class, he headed to the auditorium. He sat down in one of the back rows, his gaze fixed on the empty stage. His mind drifted back to his childhood, to the time before his life had been turned upside down.
The past was a strange thing. It had claws—sharp ones—that dug into Xwen's mind, forcing him to remember things he didn't want to. Like the night before they took him away.
He had spent most of his life with his father. His mother, Adah, had died during childbirth, along with his baby sister. Zright had been devastated. He'd turned into an alcoholic, become abusive, and neglected Xwen. Eventually, social workers intervened and took Xwen to live with his maternal grandmother, Dr. Mrs. Nnenna.
He remembered that night before the day of his salvation. That was going to be the last night in that dungeon.
He could still feel the rough texture of the threadbare carpet beneath his knees, the damp chill of the apartment seeping into his bones. He could still smell the acrid stench of cheap liquor clinging to his father, the air thick with the threat of violence.
Xwen, a small, terrified child, barely eight years old, cowered in the corner of their cramped living room. His father, Zright, loomed over him, his face a grotesque mask of rage and drunken fury. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, seemed to burn with a terrifying intensity.
"You little snitch!" Zright roared, his voice slurred and distorted. "You told them, didn't you? You told those damn social workers about me!"
Xwen shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision. "No, Dad, I didn't," he whimpered, his voice trembling with fear. "I swear, I didn't say anything to anyone."
Zright's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Xwen's thin arm with surprising strength. He yanked the boy to his feet, his grip bruisingly tight. "Don't you lie to me!" he bellowed, his spittle flying. "I know it was you! You're just like your mother, a lying, traitorous bitch!"
He shoved Xwen against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Xwen gasped for air, his small body shaking uncontrollably.
Zright raised his hand, his fingers curling into a fist, the shadow it cast on the wall stretching long and menacing. Xwen squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable blow, the familiar sting of his father's anger.
"If you tell anyone about this," Zright hissed, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper that was somehow more terrifying than his shouts. "If you breathe a word of what happens in this house, I'll… I'll…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air, a chilling promise of pain and retribution.
Xwen squeezed his eyes tighter, his small body rigid with terror, waiting for the impact. But it never came.
Because the next morning, the social workers arrived. which was sooner than planned.
He remembered the black SUV pulling up to his grandmother's mansion. That instant, his breath hit caught in his throat.
The house was massive!
His grandmother's house was a sprawling three-story mansion, painted a pristine white. Servants in sky-blue checked uniforms moved silently through the house, attending to their various tasks. The grounds were meticulously manicured, with lush green lawns, vibrant flower beds, and a large, circular fountain in the center. Security cameras were strategically placed throughout the property, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter It was a world away from the cramped, dingy apartment he had shared with his father.
As the black SUV pulled up the long, winding driveway, Xwen's eyes widened in awe. He had never seen anything like it. The house was enormous, a palace of white marble and gleaming glass. It was like something out of a movie.
He wondered why his immediate family didn't inherit this mind-blowing generational wealth. He later learned that his grandmother, Nnenna, and his grandad, had never approved of his father. Zright came from a poor background, with no social standing and a string of juvenile offenses. But Adah, Xwen's mother, had been headstrong and foolishly married him anyway. That was when Nnenna cut them off. Now, Adah was dead, and Xwen was left with the bitter knowledge that his father's choices had cost him his mother and his sister.
The SUV came to a stop in front of the house, and Xwen's eyes were drawn to a striking statue in the center of the fountain. It was a golden sculpture, depicting a large X with two angels kneeling at the base, their wings outstretched. At the top of the X was a devil-like face with horns, and at the bottom, a staff entwined with a crown of thorns. It was a strange and unsettling image, both beautiful and terrifying. He later learned it was the family crest, a symbol of the family legacy.
Nnenna stood at the entrance, a welcoming smile on her face. She was flanked by a line of housekeepers in their crisp uniforms. Everything about the scene screamed royalty, wealth, power, and impeccable etiquette.
Nnenna looked incredibly young for her age. If Xwen hadn't known she was his grandmother, he would have guessed she was in her forties. Her golden-brown skin glowed, and her brown eyes sparkled with warmth. She wore a royal blue dress that hugged her figure, adorned with pearls, and her silver heels clicked on the marble floor as she approached the car. Xwen's palms grew sweaty. His breath quickened.
Xwen felt a surge of nerves—his palms grew sweaty; his breath quickened. He had never met his grandmother before. He didn't know how to act, what to say. Should he run to her and hug her? Should he walk calmly and risk seeming cold? He didn't want to mess up her dress with a hug. Maybe he should just wave?
He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. But before he could open them again, he felt himself being lifted off the ground. He opened his eyes in confusion and realized he was in his grandmother's arms. She had scooped him up like a baby, her face beaming with joy.
"Obinna, my son," she said, her voice filled with emotion. She held him close, her forehead resting against his. Xwen was momentarily confused by the name – Obinna – but he quickly brushed it aside. He hugged her back, his small arms wrapping around her neck. (Later, he learned that his grandmother had always despised the name "Xwen." It was a name his father had given him).
He had never felt such warmth, such unconditional love. In that moment, all his fears and anxieties melted away. He felt safe, secure, loved.
Nnenna showered him with affection and spared no expense on his upbringing. He grew up in luxury, surrounded by every comfort imaginable. He learned about his father's repeated arrests and releases, but the news barely registered. He didn't care anymore. He had a new life, a better life, and he never felt like he was missing anything.
He did, however, become spoiled. He grew accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. He developed a sense of entitlement, a belief that the world owed him something. But he was always careful to maintain a facade of respect and obedience around his grandmother. She never suspected the monster he was becoming.
When his father was arrested for the rape and murder of someone, Xwen was devastated. This was different. This wasn't something Zright could just be bailed out of. Xwen was angry, hurt, and confused. He couldn't bring himself to visit his father in jail at first.
But as time passed, his anger subsided, replaced by a grudging sense of obligation. He started visiting Zright, and to his surprise, they reconnected. Zright was remorseful, scared, and desperate for his son's forgiveness. Xwen found himself drawn back into his father's orbit, despite his better judgment.
He was surprised that his grandmother didn't object to his visits. She believed that a child should never be prevented from seeing a parent, even under such terrible circumstances. Xwen had hugged her tightly when she said that. He admired her wisdom, her compassion, her unwavering love.
During his last visit, which was about a year ago, Zright had confessed his fears about the trial, his terror of being sentenced to death. Xwen had reassured him, telling him about the weak prosecution case and the lack of evidence. Zright had clung to that hope, his eyes shining with a desperate longing for freedom.
They had talked about all the things they would do when Zright got out, the places they would go, the memories they would make. They both knew that Xwen wouldn't go back to live with him, but that didn't diminish their shared dream of a future together.
Xwen's eyes snapped open, the memory of his father's hopeful face burned into his mind.
He was suddenly back in the auditorium, the silence pressing down on him. He felt a surge of frustration, a desperate longing for things to be different.
Xwen sat in the empty auditorium, staring at the stage.
His mind was a storm.
His father's trial or something… was today. Or tomorrow. He wasn't sure.
He should be there.
But he was here, seething.
He yelled in anger and frustration, kicking his feet against the chair, reliving the scene of Amara's humiliation. He was sick of people hurting the ones he loved. He was sick of feeling powerless. He was sick of the injustice of it all.
Mandy, Amara's twin, was just as bad—always acting like a saint, as if she was above all of them.
His teeth clenched. His fingers curled into fists. Anger bubbled up inside him. Dark. Twisted.
His father had been a monster. And now?
Maybe it was his turn.
The devil inside him was rising, and it was hungry for…something.