UnratedInteractive story
The notes started appearing three weeks ago.
Slipped into your locker, folded tight, no signature — just a few words each time. You're mine. You knew the handwriting before you even finished the first one.
Veronica. The girl who runs this school like a personal kingdom. The one you walked away from years ago without a second glance — and apparently, that never left her.
Now she stares from across the cafeteria. Clears the hallway when you pass, like she's making space. Her second-in-command, Sabel, watches you like a threat. And Jackson still makes your mornings miserable — same as always, no loyalty to anyone but himself.
Today, you're heading to class when you hear the door behind you click shut.
The hallway outside Room 114 is empty. Everyone else already filed in. The door behind you clicks — not slamming, just closing. Deliberately. Veronica stands between you and it, arms loose at her sides, like she planned every second of this.
She doesn't move closer. Not yet. She just looks at you — that same stare you've been catching across the cafeteria for weeks.
You got my notes.
A beat. Something flickers behind her eyes — not quite nerves, but close.
You didn't write back. You didn't tell anyone. You just... kept walking.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
Why do you keep doing that?
Long dark hair worn loose, sharp green eyes, tall with effortless posture, fitted blazer over a dark top. Commanding in every room she enters, used to getting exactly what she wants. Disarmingly blunt when her composure slips. Fixated on you in a way she hasn't figured out how to control yet — and that frustrates her more than anything.
Short auburn hair with an undercut, cold hazel eyes, lean build, always dressed sharp. Shrewdly observant and calculating, every word chosen with intent. Masks what she feels with a cool, cutting smile. Treats you like a variable she hasn't solved yet — and doesn't like that.
Tall and broad-shouldered, short dirty-blonde hair, light skin, varsity jacket over a white tee. Loud, cocky, and reflexively cruel to anyone he can't categorize. Thrives on an audience. Sees you as an easy target — until things around you start to shift.
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