They say betrayal has a taste. Bitter, they claim—like metal on your tongue or poison in your veins. But they're wrong. Betrayal tastes like nothing at all. It's the absence of everything you once believed in, a void where your certainties used to live.
I should know. I've sampled it thoroughly.
The autumn breeze swept across the Institute's courtyard, carrying with it the whispers of a new semester. My fingers traced the cold iron of the entrance gate, its familiar scrollwork unchanged despite everything else that had shifted in my world. The prestigious Institute of Excellence stood before me, all gleaming windows and ivory columns, looking exactly as it had three months ago—before I learned the true meaning of loyalty. Or rather, its absence.
I drew in a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill my lungs. "It's nice to be back," I murmured to myself, though the words felt hollow. Like practicing lines for a play I wasn't sure I wanted to perform in anymore.
My reflection caught in one of the windows stopped me short. The girl staring back wasn't the same one who'd left this place last term. Same cascade of dark hair, same delicate features that had earned me more attention than I'd ever wanted. But my eyes—they told a different story now. Harder. Colder. More knowing.
The past three months had changed me in ways that went far deeper than appearance. I'd spent weeks as a shell of myself, barely eating, barely sleeping, barely existing. The betrayal had hollowed me out so completely that those who knew me—truly knew me—had feared I might never recover. They'd watched in silent terror as their powerful, confident leader crumbled into something unrecognizable.
What they didn't understand was that sometimes you need to break completely before you can rebuild yourself into something stronger.
"Iris!" A familiar voice shattered my reverie.
Naima.
She stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, waving with such enthusiasm you'd think we'd been separated for years instead of months. Her designer uniform was perfectly pressed, her smile radiantly sincere. Such a convincing performance—I had to admire her skill.
"I missed you so much!" she cried, rushing forward to envelope me in a hug that smelled of expensive perfume and practiced affection. "When you disappeared this summer, I was beside myself! I wanted to learn hacking just to track you down!"
I let myself be embraced, my arms moving to return the gesture with muscle memory rather than genuine warmth. Three months ago, this would have been real. Three months ago, I would have squeezed back just as tightly, would have felt my heart swell with the pure joy of reuniting with my best friend.
But that was before I discovered what she'd been doing behind my back. Before I learned how she and Brenton—my first love, my trusted confidant—had been orchestrating my downfall while pretending to be my strongest supporters.
"I missed you too," I lied smoothly, and felt a small spark of satisfaction at how easily the words came now. The old Iris had been terrible at deception. The old Iris had believed in showing her true face to those she loved.
The old Iris was dead.
As we pulled apart, I caught the flash of envy in Naima's eyes as she looked me over. "You're even more beautiful than before," she said, her tone perfect in its friendly admiration. "You look like you stepped out of a painting."
Once, her jealousy would have made me uncomfortable. Now, I simply filed it away as another weapon in my arsenal. Because that's what everything had become—ammunition for the war I was about to wage.
Few people knew the truth about me. To most of the world, I was simply Iris Chen—top scholar, beloved student, the girl who somehow maintained perfect grades despite her frequent absences. They didn't know about my empire in the shadows, the power I wielded beyond these school walls. They didn't know that at fourteen, I'd already outmaneuvered my parents—the great Mr. and Mrs. Smith—in ways that would shake the financial world if ever discovered.
They certainly didn't know that while I'd been away "recovering," I'd been consolidating my power, strengthening my position, preparing for what was to come.
Because revenge, like trust, requires careful preparation.
As Naima chatted about her summer adventures, I let my gaze drift across the campus. Everything looked the same—the manicured lawns, the state-of-the-art facilities, the students in their perfectly tailored uniforms. But beneath this polished surface, secrets writhed like snakes in a pit. I'd been blind to them before, too wrapped up in my own naive beliefs about friendship and loyalty.
Never again.
"Are you okay?" Naima asked, perhaps noting my momentary distraction. "You seem... different."
I turned to her with a smile that never reached my eyes. "I'm perfect," I said. "Better than ever, actually. Sometimes a breakdown is exactly what you need to break through."
She nodded sympathetically, probably thinking she understood. She didn't. None of them did. They thought they'd broken me, but they'd only succeeded in stripping away my last illusions about the world.
The bell rang, its clear tone cutting through the morning air. Around us, students began moving toward their first classes, a choreographed dance of uniforms and backpacks and morning greetings.
"We should go," Naima said, linking her arm through mine like she'd done a thousand times before. "Can't have the top scholar being late on her first day back."
I let her lead me toward the building, my steps matching hers in perfect synchronization. To anyone watching, we were the picture of reunited best friends, falling easily back into old patterns.
But patterns, like trust, were made to be broken.
Let them think I'm the same. Let them believe their betrayal merely bent me rather than forging me into something new. Let them underestimate me one last time.
Because while they'd spent their summer celebrating their victory, I'd been learning the true meaning of power. And now, back in these familiar halls, I would teach them that lesson—one carefully planned move at a time.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But they're wrong about that too.
The best revenge burns everything in its path to ashes, and then rises from those ashes wearing a crown.
Welcome back to school, indeed.
* * * *
As I settled into my usual seat by the window in Advanced Economics, I could feel the weight of curious stares. Three months was a long time to be gone, and rumors spread through these halls like wildfire. I wondered which version of my absence they believed—mental breakdown, secret illness, family crisis?
The truth was both simpler and more complex: I'd needed time to die so I could be reborn.
My phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. A message from one of my overseas operations—another acquisition completed, another piece of my expanding empire sliding into place. I allowed myself a small smile as I turned my attention to the front of the classroom.
Let the games begin.