Chapter 6

This chapter contains mentioning of suicide so proceed with caution. 

Ashton's POV

Parker's parents came rushing through the hospital doors, their faces painted with pure panic. His mother's wails echoed through the sterile white hallways as she clutched onto the nurse's arms, demanding answers.

"Where's my son?! Where's Parker?!" she sobbed, her voice shaking with hysteria.

The nurse, maintaining a calm professionalism, responded, "He's in emergency surgery. The doctor will update you as soon as possible."

The words seemed to to rip through Parker's mother like a knife. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor, screaming, "Not my baby! Please, not my baby!" before passing out from the sheer weight of her grief.

Her husband, with his own grief written all over his face, knelt beside her, whispering reassurances even as his own hands trembled. He looked like a man who had lost everything. Nurses rushed over, checking her vitals before placing her on a stretcher.

And I just stood there. Watching.

I wanted to go to them, to tell them I was sorry, that it was all my fault. But my hands—God, my hands—were still stained with Parker's blood. I clenched them into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I had no right to be here.

With one last glance at the chaos I'd caused, I turned on my heels and walked out. I got into my car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, before speeding off into the night. I drove—aimless, lost, suffocating in the guilt that clawed at my throat.

I had destroyed everything. 

Jasmine's POV

Another day down, another step closer to freedom.

It had been two weeks since Parker or Ashton had shown their faces at school. No one had seen or heard from them. No texts. No calls. No social media activity. Nothing.

Parker had basically disappeared off the face of the Earth, and Ashton? Well, word was he wasn't handling things too well either.

Did I really break them that badly?

The thought made me smirk. It was ironic—Parker had no problem exposing people, tearing their lives apart. But when it was his secrets being spilled? He ran. 

Rumors were flying, of course. I heard them all as I strolled down the hallway, the whispers passing from person to person like wildfire.

"Did you hear? Parker transferred schools."

"I mean, after what happened, can you blame him?"

"And Ashton? He hasn't been back either. You think he's done for?"

"No way. You think he feels guilty?"

"Guilty enough to disappear, I guess." "Or maybe Ashton finally got what was coming to him."

"Who cares? Good riddance."

I rolled my eyes. They were all so predictable. No one questioned where the information was coming from. No one wondered who was feeding the chaos. And that made my job easier.

I made my way to my favorite place—my sanctuary. The library.

Settling into my usual corner, I pulled out my laptop and smirked as I began typing.

Mel Peters isn't as innocent as she wants you to believe. Those perfect grades? Not from hard work, but from stealing test answers. I wonder what Princeton's decision is going to beeeee…

 Love, Emia

I clicked send.

And just like that, the next storm was set in motion. 

Mel's POV

The sharp chime of her phone cut through the quiet of the library. Mel barely glanced at the screen—just another notification, nothing urgent. But then she saw the name.

Emia.

Her breath caught in her throat. Hands trembling, she tapped the screen, her eyes scanning the words that sealed her fate.

Mel Peters isn't as innocent as she wants you to believe. Those perfect grades? Not from hard work, but from stealing test answers. I wonder what Princeton's decision is going to beeeee…

The phone slipped from her grasp, hitting the table with a dull thud. The world around her blurred.

Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and unforgiving.

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

Her chest tightened as panic clawed at her insides. She had only done it once—just once. One stolen exam, one desperate move to maintain her perfect grades.

I needed that A. If my grades dropped, I wouldn't get into Princeton. Everything I worked for—ruined.

Her mother's voice echoed in her head. The dreams they shared. The hours spent poring over applications. The moment she received her acceptance letter and felt like she had finally made her proud.

 What would Princeton do?

A cruel voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Emia will tell them.

She can't. She has no proof. I wiped everything clean.

The voice laughed.

This is Emia. She always has proof.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Mel barely remembered getting home. She paced her room, back and forth, back and forth, her stomach twisting until she was hunched over the toilet, emptying what little she had eaten.

Her eyes darted to her computer, refreshing her email every few minutes. Nothing yet. But it was coming.

She looked around at the pieces of the future she had built—Princeton sweatshirts neatly folded, framed acceptance letters, photos of her and her mom standing in front of the campus gates.

A dream that would never come true now.

Her mother had wanted this more than anything. Mel had promised to follow in her footsteps, to make her proud. But she had failed her.

She had failed everything.

The clock read 2 AM when she finally stood.

Her body moved without thought, carrying her down the hall, past the aspiration door—her and her mother's sacred space, covered in scribbled dreams and little notes of encouragement.

She traced a hand over the words.

"You are meant for great things, my love."

A strangled sob broke from her throat.

She stepped onto the balcony, the wind cool against her tear-streaked face. Below, the pool water shimmered under the moonlight.

Then, nothing.

That was how her father found her.

Floating.

Still.