Phei's fingers tightened in Melissa's hair.

The game wasn't over.

It was just getting interesting.

Right now—or maybe hours ago, time was weird—Brett and his crew would have gathered somewhere. Danton's private gym, probably. The kind of place that smelled like money trying too hard and teenage testosterone marinating in fear.

They'd be circling him like hyenas around a wounded lion, demanding answers. Why had their champion thrown the fight? Why had he let the charity case—the human doormat, the kid who flinched at shadows—win?

And Brett would fold. Of course he would. Brett was built like a tank but wired like wet tissue paper. He'd spill everything: the messages, the threats, the video preview that proved Phei wasn't bluffing.

Good.

That's exactly what Phei wanted.

Let them know. Let them all know that the charity case they'd spent years tormenting had been watching. Learning. Collecting every secret they'd been stupid enough to leave lying around like discarded condoms after a bad party.

The fear would spread. That is the point. He wanted them to panic, to huddle together like rats in a sinking ship, to make desperate, stupid moves in their attempts to silence him.

Because desperate people are predictable.

And predictable people are easy to break.

"You're doing it again," Melissa said, voice muffled against his shoulder. "The thinking thing."

"Sorry. Can't help it."

"Want to share with the class?"

Phei considered. Then shrugged.

"Brett's going to tell his friends about the blackmail." He explained what he meant—how he'd rigged the fight, the leverage, the threats, the whole delicious orchestration. He could use another dark, vicious, scheming mind like hers.

Melissa went still when he finished. Then lifted her head to look at him, one eyebrow raised in that way that made lesser men reconsider their life choices.

"You think so?"

"I know so. He's not strong enough to keep it to himself. Not when Danton and the others are pressuring him." Phei's smile was cold, calculating—the kind that belonged on a man twice his age. "Which is exactly what I wanted."

"You wanted them to know?"

"I wanted to send a message." He met her eyes steadily. "Stop messing with me. That's it. That's the whole message. I have dirt on all of them—real dirt, the kind that ends lives—and if they keep treating me like a punching bag, I'll use it."

Understanding dawned in Melissa's expression. She hadn't known Phei was capable of any of this, but now she did—and the gleam in her eye said she approved.

"You're not actually planning to release anything."

"Not unless I have to. The information is more valuable as a threat than as a weapon." Phei shrugged, the movement casual but laced with menace. "If I actually released it, I'd lose my leverage. But as long as they think I might..."

"They'll leave you alone."

"They'll leave me alone." He confirmed. "Or at least, they'll think twice before fucking with me openly. Which buys me time."

"Time for what?"

Phei's smile sharpened into something feral.

"To grow. Train. Get stronger." He flexed his hand, feeling the subtle new awareness in his muscles—the promise of power that was no longer theoretical. "I'm not going to be weak forever. But right now, I need breathing room. Space to work without constantly watching my back for the next ambush."

Melissa was quiet for a moment, studying him with an expression he couldn't quite read—something between pride and hunger and a touch of fear.

"You've changed," she said finally. "Not just physically. You're... thinking differently now."

"I died," Phei said simply. "Or close enough. Changes your perspective."

She didn't have a response to that. She did not know about the dying part and thought it was metaphorical; he did not explain either. Who would believe that he'd come back one week earlier? Also, even if she did believe him, he'd never share such things. They were his secrets.

And besides... what was the point of telling her? It was unnecessary, really.

"Besides," Phei continued, reaching for his phone, "Brett's confession was just the first step. Now I need to reinforce the message."

"How?"

He pulled up his gallery. Scrolled through the files he'd prepared—screenshots, video previews, carefully curated evidence of every dirty secret he'd collected over years of being invisible.

"Each of them is going to get a little present tonight." He selected a file. "Personalised. Specific. Just enough to let them know exactly what I have on them."

"Screenshots? Like you did with Brett?"

"Screenshots like I did with Brett." He confirmed. "One or two files each. Enough to make them shit themselves, not enough to give away everything I know."

Melissa peered at his screen, curiosity overcoming any pretense of discretion.

"And my son?"

Phei's smile turned positively feral. He wanted to lie and tell her he'd be lenient—after all, he was her son they were talking about—but he did not lie and gave it to her straight to see how she'd react.

Her man and nephew... or her son?

"Danton gets special treatment."

"Special how?" she asked, curiosity sharpening her voice like a blade finding its edge.

"Everyone else gets screenshots. Preview images. Scary, but static." He navigated to a different folder, thumb hovering like an executioner over the guillotine. "Danton gets a video."

"A video? Why? How?"

"A short one. Three seconds. Just enough to show him I'm not bluffing." Phei's eyes were cold—amethyst turned to frozen steel. "My dear step-cousin sometimes thinks he's clever. Thinks he can outmaneuver everyone with his little schemes and his daddy's money. He's probably already planning something—some way to turn this around, to make himself the victim, to crush me even harder than before."

"That does sound like Danton." She chuckled—low, dark, the sound of a woman who'd watched her own son grow into a monster and decided the view was worth the price of admission.

He did not know which one she leaned on: masking her feelings or simply not caring about what boys did to each other, preferring to watch and cheer for the winner as long as no life was threatened.

So, I'm going to send him something that makes it very clear just how bad his situation actually is. Something that keeps him up at night wondering what else I have. Something that reminds him that clever doesn't matter when someone's got your balls in a vice.

Melissa was quiet for a long moment.

Then she laughed—low and delighted, like he'd just told her the most wonderful joke in the world.

"God, I wish I could see his face when he opens it."

"Maybe I'll ask him about it later. Casually. Over breakfast." Phei's grin was sharp enough to shave with. "How'd you sleep, Danton? Any interesting messages?"

"You're terrible."

"I learned from the best."

He wasn't sure if he meant her or the system or just ten years of being treated like garbage by people who never faced consequences. Probably all three.

Melissa shifted, resettling herself against him, her hand trailing up his chest in a way that was definitely not innocent—fingernails scraping lightly, possessive.

"So, what's the backup plan?" she asked. "If the screenshots don't work? If Danton decides to be stupid anyway?"

Phei's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes went cold.

"Then I release something. Not everything—just a taste. A three-second clip posted somewhere public. Anonymous. Untraceable." He shrugged, the movement deceptively casual. "Let him explain that to daddy."

"You'd actually do it?"

"If he forces my hand?" Phei met her eyes steadily. "In a heartbeat. I'm done being the victim, Melissa. Done letting them push me around because I'm scared of what they might do. If Danton wants to play games, I'll show him what happens when you fuck with someone who has nothing left to lose."

The words hung in the air between them—quiet, lethal, absolute.

Melissa studied his face—the hard line of his jaw, the cold certainty in his eyes, the boy she'd known for ten years who somehow wasn't a boy anymore.

"You really have changed," she murmured.

"Had to." Phei's voice was quiet. "The old me is dead. Stepped off a roof and never came back. This is what's left."

She didn't say anything. Just leaned up and kissed him—soft, almost tender—before settling back against his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, wrapped in silence and the glow of the city, while Phei's thumb hovered over the send button.

One message. Then another. Then another.

Let them know what's coming.

Let them fear.

He started typing.

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