Crystal Foaster sat upright on the hospital bed hours before the nurses even arrived. Her chart lay neatly on the side table, her discharge papers already signed, her clothes folded with surgical precision. She looked perfectly calm on the outside—silent, composed, elegant.
But her eyes?
Cold.
Measured.
Busy dissecting the hundred consequences that would come after today.
Everyone else thought she was fragile.
Everyone believed she was traumatized.
They were wrong.
She was simply… tired.
Not from fear.
Not from guilt.
But from the constant attention.
And the people she least wanted to face right now were the ones most eager to see her:
Liam Harrington.
Ethan Thatcher.
Two storms with matching obsessions.
"I need peace, not problems," Crystal muttered quietly, running a hand through her hair. "Not two overgrown puppies fighting over who gets to stand closest to my bedside."
She exhaled sharply.
Her plan had worked… but the aftermath was noisy.
She hated noise.
A gentle knock pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned her head—and blinked.
"Maya?"
Maya Benson slipped into the room with her familiar sunshine smile, her curls bouncing like she carried her own gravity of warmth. She didn't hesitate; she rushed forward and wrapped Crystal in a hug, squeezing with the kind of affection that couldn't be faked.
"Thank God you're okay!" Maya breathed. "I was out of campus for my dad's business. The moment I saw the news—I came flying down here."
Crystal wasn't used to warmth or softness. But Maya's presence… loosened something inside her chest. A rare, unguarded emotion flickered on her face—relief.
"You have no idea how much I needed to see you," Crystal admitted quietly.
Maya grinned with pride. "Of course. I'm your friend. Now hurry up. I'm taking you home."
Crystal arched one brow.
"And how exactly did you know I didn't want Liam or Ethan picking me up?"
Maya scoffed dramatically. "Please. I know you better than anyone. The last thing you want is two overprotective idiots hovering like they're your personal bodyguards."
Crystal smirked—small, but genuine.
She did miss Maya.
Together, they slipped out of the hospital wing quietly… and then froze halfway down the hallway.
Liam and Ethan were outside.
Arguing.
Loudly.
"…I'm telling you, Ethan, she'll choose me—"
"Liam, shut up. She's in this mess because of you—"
"Because of me? You've been obsessed with her since—"
"Don't push me."
Crystal and Maya exchanged a look.
Maya leaned in. "You see? Idiots."
Crystal lifted her hand casually and waved at the boys.
Not a smile.
Not a greeting.
Just a wave.
Then she turned her back on them and walked away.
Both men's jaws dropped.
They called after her—voices urgent, overlapping—but Crystal didn't pause.
Didn't look back.
Didn't care.
Maya unlocked her car with a triumphant grin.
"We escape now," she whispered.
"Drive," Crystal replied.
And with one firm push of the accelerator, they left the boys standing helplessly behind.
The warm floral scent of Maya's car wrapped around the two of them like comfort. Crystal leaned back in the passenger seat, staring at the passing trees and sunlight slicing through the glass.
Maya tapped her fingers lightly on the steering wheel.
"You're trending online, you know."
Crystal's eyes remained on the window.
"People always need something to talk about."
"Maybe," Maya said, "but this time, they're on your side. The comments are brutal—for Verena. Everyone's dragging her."
Crystal didn't answer.
But her lips twitched.
Just slightly.
Maya continued, voice lower now. "Honestly? I'm glad Ethan and Liam handled her the way they did. That girl has been getting too bold lately. It was embarrassing."
Crystal finally spoke—soft, calm.
"Boldness didn't ruin her."
Maya glanced at her. "Then what did?"
Crystal's gaze darkened with quiet intelligence.
"Stupidity."
Silence settled.
A comfortable silence.
Maya parked in front of Crystal's home—a tall, elegant structure with clean lines, reflective windows, and an intimidating gate that whispered old money without trying.
Maya turned to her friend, voice gentle.
"Take a break from school. Rest. I'll handle anything that comes up in your absence."
Crystal looked at her, truly looked.
Maya didn't know everything—Crystal made sure of that. But she cared. And sometimes caring was more valuable than understanding.
"Thank you," Crystal murmured.
"Anytime." Maya hugged her tight one last time. "Don't disappear on me, okay?"
"I'll try not to."
They parted. Maya drove off.
Crystal stood before the house, letting out a controlled breath before stepping inside.
But she barely crossed the living room…
…before freezing in place.
---
Her mother stood in the center of the room like a queen inspecting her battlefield.
The television behind her displayed paused footage of the study-room fire reports. Smoke, sirens, headlines flashing in bold red.
Olivia Whitman's eyes found her daughter immediately—sharp, precise, unnervingly calm.
Not anxious.
Not panicked.
Not shocked.
Just aware.
Too aware.
"Welcome home, Crystal," Olivia said, her tone smooth and cool. "I've been waiting for you."
Crystal inhaled slowly.
Her mother stepped closer, quiet heels tapping against marble tiles—each step crisp enough to echo.
"I saw the news," Olivia said. "Every angle. Every clip. Every rumor."
Crystal remained still.
"I know my daughter," Olivia continued, folding her arms. "The girl I raised for eight years does not sit passively while someone tries to harm her."
A thick silence spread across the room.
Olivia tilted her head—not accusing, not judging, simply evaluating.
"So tell me, Crystal…"
Her voice dipped into something colder, sharper—
the tone of a woman who raised a strategist.
"What exactly did you gain from this?"
Crystal's lips parted.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Her mind sharpened.
Her eyes lifted—
and for the first time that day…
Crystal allowed her real expression to surface.
Dark.
Quiet.
Patient.
A strategist acknowledging another strategist.