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Her best friend since she was fourteen has been staring at her as he sits facing her on the bed. His expression has remained unreadable. But Vivienne can still see the words forming and reforming in his head.

“You said you’d never do it again,” finally, he speaks, his voice quieter than usual, blue-gray eyes losing their familiar shine.

“It was—” Vivienne hesitates, as if she needs a moment to craft a believable lie. “It was a mistake.”

She returns the burger into the portable box it came in, then grabs the canned soda Kenji brought along with the burger. A deafening snap echoes as she opens the can.

“A mistake, hmm?” Kenji’s brow lifts. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

She takes a short sip of the soda before peeling it away from her lips, her nails absentmindedly scratching at the brand name. “Yes. Or is it so hard to believe?”

“Oh, sorry,” Kenji says drily. “I’m just really having a hard time believing my suicidal friend didn’t relapse and tried to kill herself for the hundredth time?”

Vivienne exhales sharply, leaning back into the pillow.

Her muscles feel wrong, tense and taut. She is now more conscious than earlier, so she can feel the burn left behind by yesterday’s horse whip.

She is exhausted. She just wants to rest. But she understands Kenji’s paranoia.

He has been present throughout every relapse and hospital stay.

It will be weird if he doesn’t suspect her at all.

She used to be a repeat offender after all.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” She struggles to hold his discerning gaze. “It was an accident with the Katana you gifted to me.”

His sharp eyes lingers, as if replaying her words in his head, searching for a lie.

Vivienne nearly crumbles under the weight of his stare and reveals the truth.

That she didn’t come up with this excuse.

Isadora simply handed her the script and expected her to play her part.

But she can’t do it. She can’t tell him.

Because the truth—the real truth—is something she doesn’t want to touch.

“Let’s talk about something else.” She tries to lighten the mood. “Tell me about school. Anything special happened today?”

With that, Kenji shifts uncomfortably on the bed, a flicker of hesitation passing through his expression. “Uh, nothing.” He clears his throat. “Nothing special.”

“What?” she asks, sensing it before he even says a word.

He raises a hand, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to broadcast it. I kinda let it slip to Banks when he asked of you and somehow, the whole school knows now.”

“Knows what?” She finds her back arching off the pillow. “That I sliced my wrist with a katana?”

“That you, um, tried to kill yourself because of Ian Griswyk.” He almost winces at the odd hypothesis of the students.

Vivienne’s body stiffens. “Wait. What?”

“Calm down.” He quickly grabs her hand, his eyes flickering to where her fingers clutch the sheet.

“All I told Banks was that you were sick. And then he told Gerald and then Gerald being the class captain, told Mr. Simmons during Geography class and boom, the whole thing about suicide became a speculation that blew up.”

Vivienne inhales slowly and exhales slower. Then she smiles. She is getting angry, so she needs to smile. Because anger does no one any good. Anger is the reason the skin on her back is currently an eyesore—lined by scars.

“So,” she takes in a shuddery breath, a wry smile touching her lips. “They think I tried to kill myself because of Ian, huh?”

Ian Griswyk, just 48hrs ago, was Vivienne’s mathematics teacher…and lover.

The Greek American mathematician was transferred to Golden Creek High about five months ago. He is 27, not just the youngest teacher at school, but the most attractive.

Every girl in senior class wanted him. Even some female teachers had been caught stealing glances and shamelessly flirting.

But Ian Griswyk was a reserved man who never showed interest in anyone—until three months ago when he started to watch Vivienne.

At first, it was nothing. A flicker of attention.

Then it turned to lingering gazes filled with unspoken yearning, fingers brushing, and shy smiles when unnoticed by others.

Nothing became something . Something quite serious. They called, they texted, and they had sex, all the time…when they were alone and the tension was charged with electricity and burning passion.

But yesterday, just before the second period, they got caught.

Miss Madison Barnes—English teacher, infatuated with Ian—caught them in a compromising position, lips locked, hip joined together… moans. It escalated like wildfire, of course, and the school board got involved.

The penalty would be quite simple. Ian Griswyk would get fired, his name blacklisted. And Vivienne would get expelled.

But Isadora refused to allow Vivienne to drag her precious name to the mud just like her father did. Besides, what kind of stepmother would she be if her stepdaughter were found guilty of such a disgusting accusation?

So she pulled strings. Made the pattern work in her favor. She made Vivienne lie.

“Tell them he threatened you,” Isadora had whispered, her grip like an iron on Vivienne’s wrist. “He used your grades against you and swore to get you kicked out of the school if you told anyone. And oh, make sure you cry a lot. You know you’re a natural at that.”

Vivienne had played by the script indeed. Oh, she played it so well she could easily be handed an Oscar.

But she saw Ian’s face crumble when the scripted words left her mouth as though they were true. She watched his life collapse in front of her. Her actions wrecked his career—the only man who ever truly valued her.

Wait, could that have been the reason why she tried to kill herself again?

Did the guilt of harming Ian Griswyk prompt her suicide attempt?