Part 2The Golden Hour Of Revenge

Back in my tiny apartment, I started tidying the mountain of chaotic sketches on my desk.

Sienna was right about one thing: I hadn't gone to college, and the opportunity to "jump classes," as she put it, seemed to have passed me by.

As I tucked the latest charcoal drawings back into the filing cabinet, my hand brushed against a thin, yellowed envelope—a letter I hadn’t touched in years.

The handwriting on the front was bold and decisive: "For Eliza Only."

In his note, Owen had once written that he would give me everything he had. Yet, in the end, I felt like I had lost everything because of him.

My mind was violently dragged back to the past.

Owen and I were childhood sweethearts, practically raised as siblings.

We lived in the same quiet neighborhood, back when his family was still whole. As his father’s business expanded, he spent less and less time at home. Owen constantly came to our house, saying our place felt like a home, while his felt like a mausoleum.

When he was six, his father had an affair. His mother smashed everything in the house overnight—including her affection for Owen.

During the messy divorce, his parents treated him like a hot potato, neither one wanting him. His once-warm, three-person home was reduced to an empty shell.

My parents, seeing the lost, miserable boy, took him in, caring for him as if he were their own son.

From then on, Owen and I were inseparable.

He was the definition of exceptional: brilliant grades, movie-star good looks. I was just... average. Not beautiful, not a genius, my only notable talent being my knack for drawing.

But I never felt I didn't measure up to him.

He always said that my family gave him all the warmth he had, that we were his real home. He called me the single beam of light in his darkening world.

The incident happened during our freshman year of high school. We were walking home after late study hall, taking the usual shortcut through a dim alley.

We ran right into Owen's father.

He reeked of cheap liquor, his eyes darting wildly. He had lost his fortune, and the woman he cheated with had left him. Now, he was back for Owen.

Owen refused to go. His father lunged, trying to drag him away. I didn't hesitate; I threw myself in front of Owen and screamed at the man until he finally staggered off.

My legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand, but all I cared about was protecting Owen.

That night, he held me tighter than ever, whispering that he would only ever love me.

As high school progressed, Owen's excellence attracted a steady stream of girls. He was the undisputed top student. I, meanwhile, was just an art student with mediocre grades.

I started to worry that he would outgrow me. But Owen would just smile, pinching my nose. "Silly. How could I ever leave you? I owe you and your parents everything. I could never repay your kindness."

I genuinely believed we would be happy forever. Until Sienna arrived.

It was a scorching summer day. I was at Owen’s house, working on homework, when the doorbell rang.

Standing there was a girl with bright, sunny braids. She introduced herself as the new neighbor, her light, cheerful voice seeming to cut through the oppressive heat. An immediate sense of dread settled in my gut.

Perhaps it was because she was stunningly pretty. Or perhaps it was the way her eyes lingered on Owen, a faint, undeniable spark of interest in their depths.

I soon learned that my gut feeling wasn't a mistake. It was a premonition of the slow-motion disaster that would consume the rest of my high school life.