The cabin wasn’t the only thing I was dreading about the upcoming retreat. Packing? That was a whole other battle. I stood in front of my open suitcase, staring down at the clothes I’d pulled out, feeling the weight of every decision like it was a life-altering choice. The retreat was just around the corner, and I was trying to figure out how to pack for a weekend that would be nothing short of a disaster. The last thing I needed was to overthink things—again—but it seemed like everything was connected to the unavoidable fact that I was going to be sharing a cabin with Tristan.
The moment I opened my closet, my eyes landed on it, the trench coat. I hadn’t worn it since the day I showed up in front Tristan. It was bold, dramatic, and had always been my way of taking control in situations where I felt completely out of it. It was my armor, my statement of confidence. It had always been my way of reminding everyone I could own the room, no matter how vulnerable I felt inside. The deep, classic black fabric was a contrast to the chaos swirling inside my mind. But now, after everything that had happened, especially the fall yesterday, the near kiss, the way he’d looked at me. I wasn’t sure if I should wear it to the retreat. Part of me wanted to walk into that cabin with that same seductive power, showing Tristan that I wasn’t just his high school target anymore. Another part of me thought it was a dangerous game, one I might not want to play.
Should I wear it? Would it send the wrong message? Would I end up doing something I couldn’t take back?
I felt my stomach twist at the thought of seeing Tristan again. Would the trench coat give me the upper hand, or was I just playing into his games? The thought of being in such close quarters with him again—it was almost too much. I couldn’t tell if I was excited or terrified. He had this way of making me second-guess myself, making me question how much control I actually had.
I glanced at my phone, wondering if Amelia had texted me back yet.
Amelia: You still undecided on the trench coat?
I laughed dryly. Amelia had known about my whole Tristan situation for ages. She was the one person I could count on to see through all my bullshit, to help me cut through the fog of my emotions. If anyone knew how much I hated Tristan and yet still felt drawn to him, it was her.
Me: I’m overthinking everything, Amelia. The retreat is just going to be a nightmare. I can’t be around him for a day. I don’t even know how to act anymore.
Amelia: You could always give him a taste of his own medicine. You know, make things interesting. Not just emotionally, play dirty.
Me: What do you mean, “play dirty”?
Amelia: You’ve been bickering with him for ages, Mia. Maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re unaffected by him. You could mess with him. Maybe a few pranks? Make him sweat. Nothing too crazy, just enough to make him second-guess how much control he really has.
I smiled despite myself. It felt like a bit of a release, someone else in my corner, someone who knew how to throw a little chaos into the mix. I liked the sound of that.
Me: You’re evil. But I like it. Any ideas?
Amelia: Oh, I have plenty. Imagine this: just before bed, you steal all the blankets and leave him freezing. Maybe hide his toothpaste. Or better yet, when he’s in the bathroom, you could sneak in and lock him out of the cabin for a bit. He’ll think you’ve gone insane.
The thoughts made me laugh aloud. The idea of messing with Tristan, seeing him struggle and getting so frustrated, felt kind of delicious. But then, a small voice inside me reminded me of something important: I wasn’t just playing games here. This was more than petty revenge. It was a way to make sure that what happened between us in high school never, ever had a chance of happening again.
The retreat had always been a chance to show my colleagues what I was capable of, to prove that I belonged in this world of creative professionals. But now? It was about something much bigger about showing Tristan that he couldn’t walk all over me anymore.
Me: I’m in. But if I’m going to go full throttle, I have to be in control.
Amelia: Of course. That’s the only way this works, Mia. Remember, it’s not about him having the power. It’s about you taking it back. And don’t forget, you’re a queen. Make him feel it.
I read her message and let out a deep breath, feeling a surge of determination. Amelia always had a way of pushing me when I needed it most. The trench coat now seemed like more than just clothing; it was a symbol. A way to remind myself that I was in control. I couldn’t let Tristan affect me the way he used to. Not anymore.
As I moved back to my closet, I reached for the trench coat, the fabric smooth beneath my fingertips. I hesitated for just a moment. Should I bring it? Was I ready to step into this game with Tristan?
I had to. I had no choice. The plan was already set, the rules already written. This wasn’t just about getting back at him, it was about taking control of my own life. I wanted to walk into that cabin with my head held high, showing him that the girl he once tormented wasn’t the same anymore.
But as I hung the coat on the door, my mind drifted back to yesterday. The way our faces had been so close. The tension between us. The way he’d looked at me, almost like he wanted to kiss me, and I... I hadn’t been able to look away. The moment had been electric. I didn’t know what had happened to me, but there was something deep inside that I couldn’t quite shake. Something I was afraid to admit, even to myself. I didn’t just want revenge on Tristan. I wanted him to see me differently. I wanted him to feel what I had felt. And maybe—just maybe—I wanted something more. I wanted him to want me.
But no. I couldn’t let myself go down that path. I had to stay focused. I had to remind myself why I was doing this. The retreat wasn’t a chance for romantic sparks. It wasn’t some twisted retribution wrapped in seductive tension. It was about showing Tristan that he couldn’t walk all over me anymore. That I wasn’t the girl he used to call ugly or laugh at.
I tossed the trench coat into my bag, resolute.
***
Later that night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing. I couldn’t shake the feeling of Tristan’s gaze from yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes had lingered on me, about the closeness, the heat between us. Was it real? Or had I imagined it?
I tossed and turned, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the turmoil inside. The anger. The frustration. The undeniable pull I still felt toward him, despite everything. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him regret everything he’d ever done to me. But why did it feel like a part of me wanted him to notice me too?
The emotional turmoil inside me was suffocating. It was like I was caught between two worlds, one where I had to stay strong, fight back, and get my revenge. And another where I could maybe, just maybe, give in to the part of me that was still drawn to him.
I sat up in bed, pulling the covers tight around me, and tried to push all those thoughts out of my head. No, I reminded myself. I wasn’t here for romance. I wasn’t here for anything other than control. I had a plan. And I would make sure that nothing—nothing—was going to derail it.
The retreat might be a twisted game. But I was going to make sure I played it better than anyone.