BENEATH HER LIES

Troy woke to silence.

The kind of silence that meant something was coming.

Nia's scent still clung to his pillow. Her earrings lay forgotten on the bedside table. She'd left early for class with a soft kiss and a sleepy smile, completely unaware of the storm already brewing around them.

He sat up and turned on his phone.

42 unread messages.

Most of them from Serra.

Serra: I warned you. You didn't listen.

Serra: Now you'll learn who you're really playing with.

Serra: Look outside your window, baby.

His heart dropped.

He stood and yanked back the curtains.

There, plastered to the front gate, was a massive printout of a photo grainy, but unmistakable.

Troy. In bed. With Sabrina's mother.

From a few nights ago. Her bare shoulder. His lips on her neck. The flash had caught just enough to tell a story, even if the details blurred.

He cursed under his breath, grabbing a hoodie and bolting outside. Neighbors peeked through curtains. Students across the quad whispered and stared. Phones were already out.

Serra had released the first of her poison.

And he had no idea how much worse it could get.

At campus, the air was sharp with tension. Every hallway echoed with murmurs. Troy walked through it like a ghost—his jaw tight, his hoodie up, avoiding eye contact.

He passed Sabrina in the courtyard.

She didn't speak.

Just stared.

Tears glassed over her eyes, but her mouth didn't tremble. Not this time. She was beyond broken. Beyond begging.

This was war now.

And neither of them would come out clean.

In the media lab, he found Serra lounging in a leather chair, legs crossed, sipping iced coffee like she hadn't detonated a bomb that morning.

She didn't flinch when he stormed in.

"Feeling exposed?" she asked sweetly.

"You had no right—"

"I had every right," she snapped, eyes narrowing. "You broke our rules. You got sloppy. You let feelings distract you."

"That photo could ruin lives!"

She stood and walked toward him, heels echoing on the tiled floor.

"Exactly," she whispered. "That's the point."

Her fingers grazed his jaw, her voice low and dangerous. "You forgot what this was about. You started catching feelings for the enemy. You forgot who stood beside you."

He grabbed her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her touch.

"I never asked you to fall for me."

She smirked. "Didn't have to. I already had."

And then, before he could blink, she kissed him.

Hard. Deep. Full of fury and fire. It wasn't love. It wasn't lust. It was power.

And against every shred of his better judgment, he kissed her back.

His hand tangled in her hair. She bit his lip. Moaned against his mouth. The kiss deepened. Her leg lifted around his waist. Her body arched against him, warm and demanding. His hoodie was yanked over his head. Buttons snapped open.

She pushed him against the cold glass window and whispered, breathless:

"Remind me why I ever let you near anyone else."

And just as fast, she pulled away, smoothed her dress, and walked off.

"Taste that, baby?" she called over her shoulder. "It's the beginning of your downfall."

By nightfall, the damage had spread.

His DMs were flooded.

Some praising him. Some condemning. Some confused.

But one message stopped him cold.

Sabrina: Meet me. Alone. No more games.

He didn't reply.

He just went.

She met him at the abandoned art studio near the east end of campus, the one they used to sneak into for late-night painting, kisses between brush strokes, stories whispered under fluorescent lights.

Now, it was covered in dust and pain.

Sabrina stood in the center of the room, a single lamp flickering above her. She looked different. Stronger. Like someone who'd walked through hell and came out wanting to set fires.

"I saw the photo," she said quietly.

"I didn't know Serra had it."

"You didn't deny it happened."

Troy looked away.

"I didn't come here to scream," she said, stepping closer. "Or cry. Or even ask why."

"Then why?"

"To tell you I remember the night you told me you'd never hurt me."

His throat tightened.

"I also remember the way you kissed me like I was the only girl who ever mattered," she added.

"Sabrina"

She touched his face gently.

"And I remember how you looked the night before you found out."

Her hand slipped behind his neck.

"And I still want to feel that again… even if it's for the last time."

Their lips met before logic could intervene.

This kiss wasn't gentle. It was desperate. Reckless. A hurricane of regret and longing. Clothes slipped away like sins. Her dress pooled at her feet. His jeans half undone.

Her skin was soft and scarred by memory.

They fell onto the paint-stained mattress in the corner.

Her breath was hot against his throat. Her hands traced the muscles she used to love. His fingers slid along her waist, pulling her closer, deeper.

Each moan was a confession.

Each gasp a wound.

She moved atop him with slow, aching rhythm, as if trying to erase every other woman he'd touched since her. He held her tighter than he should've. Kissed her harder than he meant to. Their bodies tangled in sweat, tears, and the sharp taste of goodbye.

And when they finally collapsed into stillness, all that was left was silence and skin.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

Because neither of them knew if love was still enough.

Three days later, Troy received an anonymous package.

Inside: a flash drive.

He plugged it in.

Video footage.

Grainy. Late-night surveillance. From Serra's building.

Nia. Entering Serra's apartment.

Time stamp: the night Troy had been with Sabrina.

The next clip?

Serra and Nia.

On the couch.

Kissing.

Touching.

Stripping each other slowly, hungrily.

Then Serra looked into the camera—directly. Smiling.

Scripted.

Set up.

Nia had been part of Serra's game all along.

Troy dropped the drive.

The floor beneath him spun.

Everything he'd done, every heart he thought he held, every revenge he'd claimed—it was all engineered.

Every lie…

was beneath her lies.