[Marcus’s POV]:
The tension never left. It sat heavy on my chest, coiled around my ribs like a steel vice, suffocating me from the inside out.
At first, I thought it was just the pressure of everything—basketball, the team, the upcoming matches, the scholarship that determined my entire fucking future. But I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the real reason for this constant, gnawing frustration.
It was her and him
Betty and fucking Brent.
Wherever I went, wherever I turned, he was there. Always hanging around her. Always lingering too close.
Always touching what was mine. My girl. My Betty.
I wasn’t blind. I saw everything. The way he looked at her—like she was the sun and he was some pathetic fucker desperate to bask in her light. The way his fingers skimmed over her skin, over her hair, always so casual but so intentional.
She laughed with him, shared stories with him, gave him that same bright, open, unguarded smile she used to only give me. And it made my blood fucking boil.
Because while Betty was oblivious, I wasn’t. I can see how he held back, how he hesitated just enough to not cross a line.
I watched them from across the courtyard, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Betty was laughing at something Brent had said, her head thrown back, hair catching the sunlight.
The "best friend" act wasn't fooling anyone. At least, not me.
I saw the way his eyes lingered on her face when she wasn't looking. Each gesture is calculated, deliberate. Pathetic.
Even more pathetic? How familiar it all looked.
Because I'd done the same thing, hadn't I?
All those careful touches, those lingering looks. I had craved her, burned for her, fought against myself for her. The difference was, in the end, I had her. Betty was mine now – even if nobody else knew it.
The actual worst part of it all wasn’t just seeing them together. It was how little time I actually got with her now.
The rare moments we had—hidden in the library, in my car, behind closed doors in my apartment—weren’t enough. They were fucking scraps, and I was starving for her.
But every time I turned around, Brent was there.
Laughing with her. Walking beside her. Acting like he had any fucking right to exist in her space the way he did.
It drove me insane. It made me reckless. Made me feel weak.
And I hated it.
"Trying to break his neck with the power of your mind?" I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to ignore her. Not today. I wasn’t in the mood. "You're going to break that pen if you squeeze it any harder, you know."
I glanced down at my hand, where I'd been gripping my pen like a weapon. With deliberate effort, I relaxed my fingers.
"What do you want, Stacey?"
"Just enjoying the show." She slid onto the bench beside me, uninvited and unwelcome. "It's quite entertaining, watching you torture yourself like this."
I didn't respond, but my eyes tracked Betty and Brent as they crossed the courtyard. His hand was on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd.
"You should see yourself right now. Sitting here like a kicked dog, watching her hang all over another guy."
I stiffened. That was her game. She wanted to get under my skin.
And fuck, was it working.
"I actually feel bad for you," Stacey continued, circling around me, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy. "Betty’s got you wrapped around her little finger, and she doesn’t even realize it. And now that Brent’s back? What do you think is really happening when he follows her around like that?"
I closed my eyes, willing myself to breathe. To not react.
"You’re a fool if you think they’re just friends," she whispered. "You should see the way she lights up when she talks to him. The way she leans in when they whisper to each other. The way he looks at her when no one else is watching."
I gritted my teeth so hard I thought I’d break my own jaw.
"Oh, come on." She gestured vaguely around us. "Look at yourself. Remember how things used to be? When we were together, you had everything. The campus feared you. Respected you. You were untouchable."
I finally turned to look at her. "The only thing that changed is that I stopped playing your stupid fucking games."
She smirked, tilting her head.
"No, Marcus. You softened. And not just with me—with everyone. People don’t follow you the way they used to. They don’t fear you the way they used to."
I frowned. "Fear and respect aren’t the same thing, Stacey."
"No, but they used to be for you."
I hated the way she said it. Like she knew something I didn’t. Like she was holding up a mirror and forcing me to look.
"Used to be unstoppable. People never questioned you. They never looked at you like you weren’t enough." My stomach twisted. "But now?" Stacey stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, you’re just another guy who got too comfortable. Too weak. And everyone sees it."
It’s all what takes to snap something inside me.