Chapter 4: No More Fairytales

The second she stepped out of the principal’s office, Evelyn’s spine straightened.

There was something about hearing Lucien Vale say her name. The way he looked at her. Like he knew things no one else did.

And maybe... maybe he did.

But she didn’t have time to untangle that mystery yet. There was something more urgent—more important.

Nathaniel Hawthorne.

The beginning of her downfall.

In her old life, she had fallen for him like a girl falling into a storybook. Charismatic, well-dressed, and always smiling like he had the world in his hands. He knew how to make a girl feel chosen. Special. Loved.

It was all an illusion.

Because underneath that golden smile was a boy who needed control like oxygen—and the moment you stopped admiring him, he’d slowly crush you in return.

No more.

She wouldn’t wait for him to twist her into his version of perfect. She’d cut the thread before it knotted her fate again.

At lunch, she spotted him easily—Nathaniel always had a way of commanding attention, even when he didn’t speak. He sat at the center of a crowded table, half-laughing at a joke someone made, the sun bouncing off his flawless hair like it had a personal crush on him.

Everything about him was polished. Easy. Carefully curated.

She watched him for a long second, remembering the boy who once tucked notes into her locker, who kissed her knuckles like she was royalty, who cried when she nearly broke things off the first time.

What a performance.

Evelyn took a breath and marched up to the table.

He saw her just as she approached. His face lit up instantly. “Evie.”

That nickname used to melt her.

Now, it made her skin crawl.

He opened his arms, expecting her to lean in, maybe sit beside him like always.

Instead, she stayed standing.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Nathaniel raised a brow, the corners of his lips still curved. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He stood, clearly amused. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t say anything as they stepped away from the noise of the cafeteria and into the quiet hallway. He leaned against a locker, cocking his head at her.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said with a soft laugh. “But I love it when you’re feisty. What’s going on?”

Evelyn folded her arms.

“I want to end whatever this is. Us. The flirting. The games. The future you’ve got all planned out.”

Nathaniel blinked.

Then he smiled.

A slow, practiced smile.

“Wait... what?”

“I’m not playing anymore, Nathaniel.”

“You’re serious?” His tone was still light, but there was a flicker in his eyes. That brief flash of calculation she remembered all too well.

“Dead serious.”

He stepped closer. “Evie—”

“No,” she said firmly, stepping back. “You don’t get to sweet-talk your way through this.”

He froze. “Where is this coming from?”

Evelyn tilted her head. “You ever think that maybe I woke up this morning and realized I don’t want to be someone’s puppet?”

He laughed—sharp and confused. “Puppet? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You want a girl who fits into your perfect picture. Who says the right things, smiles on command, never asks questions.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It’s exactly true. I used to think it was love. But it wasn’t. It was you needing control.”

The laugh faded from his voice. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m not here to be fair. I’m here to stop this before it ever starts.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.

“You’re throwing away everything we’ve built.”

“We haven’t built anything,” she said quietly. “You just decorated a cage and called it a castle.”

That one hit. She saw it in the way his eyes narrowed. Cold calculation flickered there.

“You think you’re so different now?” he asked softly. “That you can just walk away like this without consequences?”

Evelyn felt a chill crawl up her neck.

There it was. The real Nathaniel. The one who used threats in whispers. The one who made girls doubt their instincts, then smiled as they apologized.

She met his gaze, unflinching.

“Watch me.”

She turned on her heel and walked away.

Evelyn didn’t stop until she reached the art room. It was empty during lunch, the smell of oil paint still hanging in the air. She sat on a stool, heart thundering.

Her hands were shaking. But not from fear.

From freedom.

This was her first move. Her first real change.

In her past life, it had taken her nearly a year to see Nathaniel for who he was. By then, she was too wrapped up—too isolated—to escape without bleeding.

This time, she’d ripped off the leash before he even fastened it.

She smiled, a strange sense of power blooming in her chest.

Then she turned her attention to the canvas beside her.

It was blank.

Like her life.

Ready to be repainted.

Rewritten.

And she knew exactly where to start.