Crystal's POV
Three days.
That was how long Olivia Whitman forced me to stay home, wrapped in blankets, pumped with hot chocolate and herbal tea, and watched like a fragile porcelain doll that might crack if someone breathed too hard. Honestly, I would have gone insane if it lasted a fourth day.
This morning, when I finally stepped out of my room, Olivia was already in the kitchen, humming and stirring something thick and sweet. The smell of cinnamon wrapped around the whole house.
"Good morning," she said with that soft smile that always made me feel seen. "Sit. Eat. And—" she pointed her spoon at me, "—stay away from trouble."
I raised a brow. "Trouble should stay away from me."
Olivia sighed like she regretted every life choice that led her to fostering a girl like me. But she slid a plate of pancakes in front of me anyway. I ate quickly, needing the distraction of syrup and sugar to drown out the heaviness still sitting in my chest. She tried to chat about normal things—weather, school schedules, the Whitman family dog who hated everyone except her—but her eyes kept scanning me like she expected me to crumble.
I didn't.
At least not on the outside.
By the time I left the house, Olivia's worry followed me all the way to the school gate like a ghost gripping the back of my sweatshirt.
---
The moment I walked through the gates, I regretted not wearing a disguise. Students stared—some subtly, others dramatically. You'd think I resurrected from the dead with the way they whispered and tapped each other's arms.
Then Maya's car rolled up like a rescue mission. She stepped out, waved her driver off, and hurried toward me.
"There you are!" she said, linking arms with me immediately. "My God, I thought you'd never come back. Everyone's been asking about you. And by 'everyone,' I mean two idiots whose names start with L and E."
I stiffened.
She noticed.
"Okay," Maya said softly. "We're pretending they don't exist today. Got it."
"Perfect," I muttered.
We walked to class together. My gaze stayed glued to anywhere but them—not the doorway where Liam usually leaned, not the back of the class where Ethan sat like a quiet storm brewing in human form. I avoided everything connected to them, including my own thoughts.
People greeted me—some genuinely relieved, others nosy—but I kept my replies polite and short. Fine. Good. I'm okay. Thanks.
Maya stayed close, like a guard dog in glitter lip gloss.
For days, the routine continued:
→ Sit with Maya.
→ Ignore Ethan.
→ Pretend Liam doesn't exist.
→ Don't breathe too deeply near trouble.
Simple.
Except trouble didn't get the memo.
---
It started on a Wednesday, during lunch break. I was heading toward the cafeteria, thinking about food and not thinking about anyone dangerous, when a hand closed around my wrist.
A warm, strong, familiar grip.
I froze before I turned.
Ethan.
His jaw was locked so tight it could slice steel. His eyes—usually dark and unreadable—burned with something sharp and restless.
"You," he said. "You've been avoiding me."
"No," I replied. "I've been avoiding everyone. It's called peace."
He ignored that and pulled me away from the hallway. Not violently—just firmly enough that resistance would have made a scene. I glared at him the entire walk.
"Ethan—stop. Where are you taking me?"
He didn't answer.
He dragged me behind one of the old buildings, a quiet, secluded spot where barely anyone passes. The moment he released my wrist, I snatched my hand back.
"What the hell is your problem?" I snapped.
"You are my problem," he shot back. "You disappeared for days. You refused to talk to me. You wouldn't even look at me."
"I'm allowed to not talk to people."
"You're allowed," he repeated, stepping closer, "but you weren't avoiding people. You were avoiding me."
Silence hung between us like a threat.
"I helped you," Ethan said, voice low and frustrated. "I did everything I said I would, and you didn't even thank me. You act like nothing happened."
A sharp laugh escaped me. "I should thank you? For fulfilling a promise you forced yourself to make? For doing what you insisted on doing? Please. Don't act like you performed a heavenly deed."
His nostrils flared.
I continued, "I don't owe you gratitude for you playing hero in a situation you caused. You don't get a medal."
I turned to leave.
He grabbed my arm and pushed me back against the wall—not roughly, but firmly enough that his frustration radiated through his fingertips.
"Crystal," he said through clenched teeth, "that's not what I meant."
"Then let go of me."
He didn't.
Instead, he pressed his hands onto my shoulders to keep me still. Not painful at first—just controlling.
"I didn't do anything because I wanted thanks," he said. "I did it because—because I can't sit still when you're hurt. I can't breathe when you're in danger. I don't care if you never thank me. I don't need it. But don't act like I'm nothing."
His words were a frenzy—raw, confused, and heavier than they needed to be.
"Ethan," I said sharply, "you're hurting me."
His hands loosened, but didn't leave my shoulders. His eyes were wild, unfocused, as if he wasn't fully present. Like something in him snapped days ago and was still unraveling.
"Ethan," I repeated, louder.
Still no reaction.
"Ethan… will you do what I ask?"
"Yes," he replied instantly.
"Then get off me."
He froze.
But instead of stepping back…
He tightened his grip.
Pain shot down my arms.
"Ethan!" I growled. "You're suffocating me—stay away from me! I don't need some psycho in my life!"
Something inside him cracked.
His grip tightened more—not intentionally, but instinctively, like his emotions were acting for him.
"Stop—Ethan—" I hissed, wincing. "Let go—"
Then—
A blur of movement.
A rush of wind.
A fist slammed against Ethan's jaw so hard the impact echoed through the empty space.
Ethan's body flew sideways and hit the ground.
I gasped.
Standing beside me, chest rising with fury, eyes burning like wildfire—
Was Liam.
Fist still clenched.
Breathing hard.
Jaw tight.
Expression lethal.
And Ethan lay on the ground, stunned.