Alicia Vigere doesn't believe in coincidences.
She believes in positioning.
Timing.
Pressure applied slowly enough that the victim convinces themselves they're choosing it.
By the time rumors reach Xavier, they're already polished. By the time a situation explodes, she's standing far enough away to look uninvolved.
That's how control works.
And Xavier Atlas—brilliant, dangerous, fractured Xavier—has always understood that.
Which is why it irritates her that this situation exists at all.
She watches Aylia Zehir from across the quad, sunlight catching on the glass windows behind her, posture closed but unyielding. The girl sits alone on a bench, notebook balanced on her knees, hair pulled back too tightly like she's holding herself together by force.
She looks smaller than she should.
Not weak.
Contained.
Alicia hates that more than anything.
"She's still here," Camille murmurs beside her, sipping her iced coffee. "Most girls would've folded already."
Alicia doesn't look away. "That's because most girls want to be seen."
"And she doesn't?"
"Oh, she does," Alicia says calmly. "Just not like this."
She watches Xavier approach from the opposite side of the courtyard—unaware of the invisible lines tightening around him. He doesn't look at Aylia. He doesn't slow.
Good.
Still pretending.
Still lying to himself.
Alicia smiles.
Step one is already complete.
...
By second period, Alicia has moved.
Not loudly. Not cruelly.
Efficiently.
She pauses outside the girls' bathroom where two sophomores are whispering too closely to be innocent.
"…I'm just saying, she acts like she's above it."
Alicia tilts her head, concerned. "Above what?"
They freeze.
Recognition lands.
Power shifts.
"Oh—nothing," one says quickly.
Alicia smiles softly. "You don't need to protect her."
They exchange looks.
"She's just… strange," the other admits. "Like she doesn't react. At all."
"That can come across as arrogance," Alicia agrees gently. "Especially here."
She lets the implication hang.
Then adds, almost kindly, "Xavier doesn't like arrogance."
That's all it takes.
She walks away before they can ask questions.
By lunch, the story has shape.
By afternoon, it has intent.
Testing Xavier ...
She finds him near the lockers after last period, scrolling through his phone like the world isn't breathing down his neck.
"You've been quiet," Alicia says, slipping into place beside him.
"I'm busy."
"With what?"
He locks his phone. "Does it matter?"
It does.
She steps closer. "People are confused."
"About?"
"You," she says lightly. "And her."
His jaw tightens. Not denial. Irritation.
Good.
"She's not relevant," he says.
Alicia studies him. "Then why is she still untouched?"
That earns her his full attention.
"Clarify."
"She hasn't been corrected," Alicia continues. "She hasn't been humbled. She hasn't been claimed or dismissed."
"You're assigning meaning where there isn't any."
"No," Alicia says softly. "I'm observing absence."
Marcus appears then, brows drawn. "You two talking about Zehir again?"
Xavier shoots him a look. "Drop it."
Marcus doesn't. "People think you're interested."
Xavier laughs once. Sharp. "People are stupid."
Alicia doesn't smile. "People follow patterns."
Silence.
Xavier turns to her. "What do you want, Alicia?"
Finally.
She meets his gaze. "I want clarity."
"You don't get to demand that."
"I don't need to," she replies. "I just need to expose what's already there."
That unsettles him.
She can see it.
The Pressure Point ...
The next move isn't public.
It's surgical.
That evening, Alicia messages the café manager anonymously.
Not a lie.
Just a suggestion.
You might want to keep an eye on the new girl. She's bringing personal drama into the workplace. Clients are noticing.
She doesn't sign it.
She doesn't need to.
The following day, Alicia "accidentally" bumps into Aylia outside the school gates.
"Oh," she says, feigning surprise. "You're the café girl, right?"
Aylia stiffens. "Excuse me?"
"Relax," Alicia laughs lightly. "It's admirable. Working and studying. Very… resourceful."
Aylia doesn't respond.
"That must be hard," Alicia adds. "Trying to exist in two worlds."
Her eyes flick to the uniform peeking from Aylia's bag.
Aylia's voice is steady. "Is there a point to this?"
Alicia smiles. "Just concern."
Concern dressed as threat.
Aylia walks away.
Good.
...
That night, Alicia finds Xavier alone in the gym, punching a bag like it owes him something.
She waits until he stops.
"You crossed a line today," he says without turning.
"I protected you," she replies.
"By humiliating her?"
"She humiliated herself," Alicia says coolly. "By existing where she doesn't belong."
He turns then.
His eyes are dangerous.
"You don't get to decide that."
Alicia steps closer. "Then you do."
Silence stretches.
"I'm not interested," he says.
"Then prove it."
There it is again.
The challenge.
"You keep saying that."
"Because you keep avoiding it."
She circles him slowly. "You hate that she doesn't respond to you. You hate that she doesn't fear you. You hate that she doesn't want you."
"That's not—"
"She doesn't even look at you anymore," Alicia interrupts. "And that terrifies you."
He stills.
She smiles.
"You want control," she continues. "I'm offering you a way to reclaim it."
"How?"
"You pursue her," Alicia says simply. "Openly. Intentionally."
"That's not control."
"It is," she insists. "Because it ends on your terms."
"And if it doesn't?"
She tilts her head. "Then you were never as untouchable as you thought."
The words dig deep.
Too deep.
Xavier exhales slowly. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"So are you," Alicia says. "The difference is—I know I'm playing."
He looks away.
That's when she knows.
The bet isn't hypothetical anymore.
It's necessary.
...
Alicia leaves the gym satisfied.
By morning, Xavier will move.
Not because she demanded it.Not because she tempted him.
But because she narrowed the world until only one path remained—and made sure it pointed straight at Aylia.
Across the city, Aylia sits on her bed, phone abandoned beside her, heart restless for reasons she can't name. She thinks she still has time. Still has choices.
She doesn't feel the pressure yet.
Doesn't realize her life is already being reduced—pared down into something clean and exacting. A future shaped by other hands. Other wills.
Alicia Vigere smiles into the dark, slow and knowing.
The board isn't just set.
The pieces are already committed.
And Xavier Atlas doesn't resist games like this.
He finishes them.