The morning after, the entire school was reeling from the devastating news. Sixteen students were in comas, hospitalized after suffering an attack no one could explain.
The incident had shaken everyone to the core, leaving a palpable sense of fear and uncertainty in its wake. Whispers echoed through the hallways, students speculating about what could have happened.
Some thought it was the work of a violent gang, a targeted strike against the wealthy elite that attended the school. But only Sophia and Ross knew what really took place that night.
Inside the cramped office where Sophia now sat, the atmosphere was tense. A detective, his brow furrowed with frustration, stood before her. He had been interrogating witnesses since the early hours, hoping for a breakthrough, but so far, nothing.
The surveillance footage from the school's cameras had inexplicably vanished—as if erased by magic. Now, they had no choice but to rely on the accounts of those who were there.
But, despite the gravity of the situation and the families' desperate pleas for answers, no one had come forward. Not even with the added incentive of a $10 million reward offered by the victims' affluent families.
It was a clear sign of their desperation—and their wealth.
"Are you absolutely certain you didn't see Mark and his friends last night, Miss Ashcroft?" the detective asked again, this time with a hint of impatience. His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of deception.
Sophia hesitated for the briefest of moments, feeling the weight of his gaze. She had prepared for this, practiced the words she would say, but it didn't make the lie any easier to deliver.
The truth hovered on the edge of her consciousness, threatening to spill over, but she forced it back, burying it deep.
"No, I'm sorry," she said at last, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside her. "I didn't see them. I wish I had."
There was a tremor in her words, and the detective picked up on it. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press further—at least not yet.
Sophia shifted in her seat, clutching her hands tightly in her lap. She could still see the chaos from last night, the violence seared into her mind like a terrible nightmare that refused to fade with the morning light.
Blood, screams, and the sight of bodies crumpling to the ground played on a loop in her head.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she blinked back the tears threatening to spill. She wasn't entirely faking it—Mark and his friends were among the sixteen in the hospital, trapped in their comatose states, and the guilt gnawed at her.
She knew what had happened, but admitting it was impossible. There was too much at stake, too many lives hanging in the balance. She had to keep it hidden, even from the authorities.
The detective sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Alright, Miss Ashcroft. If you think of anything—anything at all—you know where to find me."
Sophia nodded, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile before standing to leave. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she walked out of the room, but she maintained her composure.
Every step away from the detective felt heavier than the last, the weight of the secret she carried pressing down on her like a leaden cloak.
Outside, Sophia spotted Ross leaning casually against the wall, his face alight with ease and satisfaction.
There wasn't a hint of the tension that had gripped her in the interrogation room; in fact, he looked as though the entire ordeal had been little more than a minor inconvenience.
He had been questioned earlier, just like her, but unlike her shaky performance, Ross had passed with flying colors. His sharp mind and reality-bending abilities were his ace in the hole, allowing him to effortlessly reshape events to suit his needs.
Where others struggled or faltered, Ross thrived, bending reality where none dared to tread.
"You were perfect in there, Sophia," Ross said, his voice smooth and reassuring, though there was something dark lurking beneath his charm. He gave her a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I'll see you tonight."
Before she could respond, Ross leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek. The gesture was casual, almost affectionate, but Sophia knew better than to be fooled by it.
His plans from the previous night had been disrupted—whatever twisted game he had in mind for her had been delayed—but she knew it wouldn't be for long.
Ross wasn't the type to give up easily, especially when it came to something—or someone—he wanted.
Sophia's heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest as his words lingered in the air. She had managed to play her part today, but the weight of her secret and the fear of Ross's intentions gnawed at her.
With a happy whistle, Ross pushed off the wall and sauntered down the hallway, his usual air of confidence and control radiating off him.
He was untouchable, or so it seemed, gliding through life with an arrogance born from his abilities.
It was as if the events of the previous night hadn't shaken him at all, despite his plans being derailed.
Of course, he hadn't slept with Sophia—she had been too terrified after witnessing the brutal beating of Mark and his friends. Ross had simply sent her home afterward, letting her off for the night.
But that was the thing about Ross—he always had the ability to adapt, to reschedule and rework his plans to suit his desires. Tonight, he would make another attempt, and Sophia knew it also.
Sophia drifted through the day in a daze, the weight of last night still pressing heavily on her mind.
She could barely focus on her classes, her thoughts consumed by the brutal images that kept replaying in her head—the violence, the blood, the haunting sound of Mark and his friends' bodies hitting the ground.
Nothing felt real, and yet, it was all too real. By the time the day ended, she felt more like a ghost of herself than a person.
When she finally stepped outside, she saw Ross's car waiting for her at the curb. Her eyes widened for a brief moment. It wasn't just any car; it was an opulent sports car, sleek and gleaming under the evening light.
The kind of car you'd only see in magazines, the kind people dreamt of owning but never did. It was easily worth fifty million dollars.
Yesterday, she would have been stunned by the sight, no doubt firing off a thousand questions about how he managed to own something so extravagant.
But today? Today, she felt nothing but exhaustion. She didn't care about the car or the wealth it represented. Her mind was too clouded, too weighed down by everything else.
She climbed into the passenger seat silently, not bothering to ask any questions. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish, as if the energy had been drained from her completely.
Ross drove in silence, the engine purring smoothly as they passed through the city's streets. Sophia's mind wandered, detached from the luxury that surrounded her.
It was strange—despite how close she had been to Ross, she was beginning to realize how little she actually knew about him.
He took her to the most expensive restaurant in the city, a place reserved for the richest of the rich. The air inside was thick with the scent of gourmet dishes, the kind that would have once made her mouth water, but tonight, nothing stirred her appetite.
She sat across from Ross as he ordered the finest items off the menu, but it all felt distant, like a scene unfolding in front of her instead of something she was a part of.
The food was exquisite, she could tell that much from the few bites she managed to take, but Sophia felt too numb to enjoy it. Her mind wasn't on the meal. It wasn't even on Ross.
It was stuck in the memory of last night—the horror of it, the violence that Ross seemed to brush off so easily.
She barely listened to him as he talked about what he was going to do to her tonight, his voice smooth and composed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
After dinner, they drove to a sprawling mansion. The place was enormous, the kind of home that took your breath away at first glance.
Marble floors, chandeliers dripping with crystals, rooms so vast you could get lost in them. But Sophia had long since stopped being impressed.
If anything, it only added to the growing sense of unease gnawing at her. Who was Ross Oakley? The more she saw of his life, the less she felt she knew.
There were layers to him, secrets she couldn't begin to understand, and with every new glimpse into his world, she felt herself slipping further out of her depth.
By the time they arrived, Sophia was beyond exhaustion. The events of the day, the weight of her thoughts, and the lingering fear had taken their toll.
She felt disconnected, like she was floating through a dream—or more accurately, a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
"I'm waiting, Sophia," a voice called softly, snapping her from her thoughts. She blinked, realizing she had been standing under the shower for far too long, letting the hot water cascade over her skin, trying to drown out the noise in her head.
She was in the washroom now, the only place where she could steal a moment to herself, though even here, she couldn't escape the reality of what awaited her.
The voice belonged to Ross, calm but expectant. He never raised his voice. He didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to command attention.
With a long, deep sigh, Sophia turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for a towel, wrapping it tightly around her body.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, her reflection looking back at her with tired, hollow eyes. What had happened to her? She barely recognized the girl staring back.
With no choice but to face the night, Sophia slowly opened the bathroom door, her bare feet padding softly on the cold floor.
She stepped into the bedroom, feeling more vulnerable than ever, her only shield a thin towel wrapped around her damp skin.
Whatever Ross had planned for tonight, she wasn't sure she had the strength to resist anymore.