But apparently, this place-stealing glorified mannequin had other plans.
Verena didn’t follow Mia.
She remained still—perfect posture, calm breath—and then, with a sideways glance sharp enough to slice air, she spoke.
"Stay away from Mia. You’re not a good company for her."
My face crumbled into a scowl the moment those words hit my ears.
There was no temper in my voice—none of that fiery rage I usually displayed. No raised volume, no theatrics.
Like ice cracking beneath still water.
"Who the fuck are you to tell me that?" I asked.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a fact. A judgment. A threat barely disguised under a calm breath.
Because who the hell was she, really?
She sighed, almost dramatically, then tilted her head down, gathering fake sympathy before her gaze met mine again.
"A controlling piece of shit isn’t necessary in the life of such an innocent girl," she said, slowly, deliberately, each word sharpened like a dagger.
Her tone? Stoic. Her eyes? Still glaring straight into mine.
Two could play that game.
I rose from the bench, slow and deliberate. My expression trembled—just a little—from the fury coiling beneath my skin.
And then I asked her, still eerily calm, "And what if I don’t? Hm? What can you possibly do?"
Her answer came just as flat, like she’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror.
"As her best friend, I’ll do everything in my power to make her see who you really are... and get her away from you."
I snorted, then let out a slow, bitter chuckle. "Yeah? Best friend? Competing with her brother? Go on, let’s see how long you can hold that title."
She didn’t even flinch.
Instead, she smiled. Actually smiled.
Smug. Confident. The type of smile that belonged to someone who had already decided the outcome.
"A garbage, controlling brother like you?" she sneered. "Of course I’ll get her away."
That confidence—that overblown self-righteousness—irked me to no end.
If I didn’t step in, Mia would’ve done something idiotic again. She would’ve gotten herself assaulted, or worse.
I kept her grounded. I stopped her from falling off cliffs of her own making. What the hell did Verena know?
She didn’t know Mia like I did. She didn’t understand her choices. Her pain. Her—our—past.
A gentle hand touched my shoulder.
I turned, still seething, to see Amelia. Her brows were furrowed, concern bleeding from her eyes like water from a cracked dam.
She gave a small nod. "Hey... calm down. You’re visibly disturbed."
My hands were shaking—subtly. So were my legs. Thin arcs of lightning had started dancing around my fingers—uncontrolled, unstable.
I hadn’t even noticed.
The sound snapped the moment.
"Of course that’s all you can do. Force people. That’s what your parents taught you, didn’t they?"
Verena leaned in closer, her voice a whisper made of venom and frost. "What? Hit a sore spot?"
Amelia’s calm cracked. Her voice, usually gentle, cut like glass. "Miss Verena. That isn’t very ladylike of you."
Verena turned toward her, eyes flashing. "Don’t teach me to be ladylike. I’m not some royal doll like you, Princess Amelia. I—"
She didn’t get to finish.
My hand shot forward before thought could catch up.
I grabbed her by the neck—one smooth, brutal motion—and lifted her clean off the ground.
Her feet dangled. Eyes wide. Hands clawing at my wrist.
Lightning curled around my arm like a serpent. My head tilted slowly to the side, gaze locked onto hers, furious and wild.
"What do you know?" I whispered. My voice shook, low and deadly.
"WHAT DO YOU FUCKING KNOW?!"
She kicked. Gasped. Still I held her there.
The air around us buzzed—thick with pressure, with magic, with fury too long caged.
Verena choked on her breath.
I felt it—her pulse throbbing beneath my fingers, a rhythm that begged to be silenced.
My grip was ironclad, fueled by rage and something darker—something raw, animalistic.
And the longer I held her there, gasping, writhing, the stronger that urge became.
Kill the pulse. End the noise.
And now? Now this self-righteous bitch... was scared.
That fake composure of hers? Gone.
The confident, holier-than-thou glare she had? Shattered like glass under a boot.
Wasn’t she the one mouthing off a second ago? Throwing words like "monster" and "controlling" like she had the moral high ground?
Wasn’t she the one who said she’d take Mia from me?
Who’d play the savior?
Let Mia die when the real shitstorm comes?
Let her crumble under pressure like she’s clearly doing now?
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
It was cruel. Sharp. Hollow.
Verena’s limbs flailed, but it was weak—childish, like she was swatting at smoke.
She was taller than me. Longer limbs. Better reach.
But all that didn’t mean jack shit when her punches hit like feathers. No strength. Just fear-fueled spasms.
From the side, Amelia’s hands wrapped around my arm, trembling but firm.
"Cassius! Don’t do this!!" she cried, her voice desperate, cracking.
But I didn’t hear her. Not really.
My eyes were still locked on Verena’s. Watching her pride decay.
"Cassius, please! You’ll regret this!! Don’t go down this path!"
But if it meant getting this toxic parasite away from Mia, then I was more than ready to carry that burden. To bear the stain.
Because if I didn’t, who would?
My grip tightened. Her flailing slowed.
Her arms dropped to her sides. Her feet no longer kicked.
She dangled like a broken doll.
Like the mannequin of morality she pretended to be.
A sound so sharp, so loud, it sliced through the tension like a blade. Even Emris, slumped and impaled by Zyon’s own blades, turned his head.
My face snapped to the side, the sting still fresh.
And in front of me...
Hand still raised. Eyes wide and furious. Breathing heavy.
The world stood still.
Verena fell from my grasp like dead weight, crashing to the ground and gasping, clawing for air.
But I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t.
My gaze was glued to Mia, who now rushed to Verena’s side. Her hands glowing with soft green light, already working to heal the marks I’d left behind.
And then, her glare turned to me.
Cold. Betrayed. Unfathomably angry.
"Why, Cassius?" she snapped, voice shaking with fury. "Why would you do that?!"
My lips moved, trying to form something—anything—but the words were stuck, caught between shame and disbelief.
I wanted to say it wasn’t what it looked like.
That she deserved it.
But deep down... I knew none of that mattered.
My head dropped, eyes locked to the ground.
She only grew angrier at the silence.
"You almost killed her, Cassius! What the hell were you thinking?!"
Her hands didn’t stop healing Verena, but the burn in her eyes never left me.
"She was right," she hissed. "You really are trash. You only care about yourself. Your own ego. Your own pride. Not me. Not anyone."
That hit harder than the slap.
"Mia... I... I can... I can explain, please—" The words stumbled from my mouth like a drunk man trying to walk straight.
She shot her arm forward, palm out like a barrier.
The rejection in her voice wasn’t dramatic.
Cold. Distant. Like she’d already made up her mind.
She stood, pulling Verena up with her, one arm slung around her shoulders for support.
And then came the death blow.
She turned away. Just like that.
"You know, Cassius? I expected more from you," she said without turning back. "You’re not the same anymore. You’re changing. And not in a good way."
And just like that... she was gone.
My sister. My Mia. The one who told me I wasn’t alone. The one who said she’d be there. Who screamed at me for ignoring her, who thought about fighting beside me just yesterday.
Now walking away, arm in arm with a girl she’s known for a few goddamn days.
What the hell kind of drug did Verena feed her? What kind of fantasy did she paint?
What kind of twisted logic made her more important than me?
I stood there, staring at nothing. Breathing hard. Hands trembling.