The morning light filters through the kitchen windows of the Rosenberg mansion, harsh and unforgiving. Amber studies her reflection in the polished surface of the marble island, turning her head slightly to catch different angles. She's spent an hour perfecting her armor - the crisp white blouse, the high-waisted checkered trousers, each strand of hair precisely placed. The perfect mask of composure, betraying nothing of the storm that's been raging inside her for days.
"You don't have to do this today," Nate says softly, kneeling to fasten the straps of her white Steve Madden platforms. His touch is gentle, reverent almost, like she might shatter if he presses too hard. "No one would blame you for taking more time."
"That's exactly why I have to go back." Amber's voice comes out steadier than she feels. "Every day I hide is another day they win." She flexes her foot, testing the familiar fit of the platform. "Besides, when has a Rosenberg ever backed down from a fight?"
Nate looks up at her, those warm brown eyes filled with something that makes her chest ache. "My brave girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her ankle before standing. "Ready?"
Amber grabs her Chanel tote, the leather cool and reassuring against her palm. "As I'll ever be."
The walk to Nate's truck feels endless, each step echoing against the cobblestone driveway. Her mother had offered to bring her, but she needed Nate and Nate alone.
Nate helps her into the passenger seat with practiced ease, his hand lingering on her waist a moment longer than necessary. "You've got this," he whispers, and she almost believes him.
The engine rumbles to life, familiar and oddly comforting. Amber pulls down the visor mirror, studying her reflection for the hundredth time. The messages from her inner circle play through her mind - Susan's fierce loyalty ("I'll destroy anyone who looks at you wrong"), Lisa's quiet understanding ("Some battles make us stronger"), Charlotte's practical support ("I've got your schedule covered"), even Sarah's surprising kindness ("We're all more complicated than people think").
"You're spiraling again." Nate's voice cuts through her thoughts as his hand finds her thigh, warm and grounding. "I can see it in your eyes."
"Just... processing." Amber watches the manicured lawns of Riverside Heights blur past the window. Her mind drifts to the medical report, tucked away so carefully between her mattress where only someone deliberately searching would find it. The pieces start falling into place - Hannah Marshall, always hovering at the edges of their world, always watching, always digging.
"Why me?" The words slip out before she can stop them. "What did I ever do to her?" But even as she says it, something nags at the back of her mind - a memory trying to surface, something about Emily that she's pushed down so deep she sometimes forgets it exists.
"Am?" Nate's voice carries an edge of concern.
"Just thinking about classes," she lies smoothly, the familiar mask sliding back into place. But underneath, her mind races. Because if Hannah knows about Emily - really knows - then the medical records might be just the beginning.
The thought settles in her stomach like ice as they pull into the Riverside High parking lot. Through the windshield, she can see them all waiting - her court, her protectors, her carefully curated inner circle. Ready to fall in line, to help maintain the illusion of control.
But for the first time in her life, Amber Rosenberg wonders if maybe she's not the queen in this game after all.
Maybe she's just another pawn, moving across a board she never fully understood.
The truck's engine dies with a gentle rumble, leaving them suspended in silence. Through the windshield, Riverside High looms like a fortress - familiar yet suddenly foreign. Amber's fingers trace the strap of her bag, a nervous gesture she thought she'd outgrown years ago.
"We can still turn around," Nate says softly, his eyes studying her face. "One word, princess. That's all it takes."
Amber straightens her spine, channeling generations of Rosenberg steel. "No. I need to do this."
The parking lot feels like a stage, every step choreographed under the weight of unseen eyes. Nate's arm slides around her waist, and something shifts in Amber's chest - not quite confidence, but something closer to defiance. Let them stare. Let them whisper. She is Amber fucking Rosenberg, and she has Nate Brooks by her side. The thought settles in her bones like armor.
The familiar scent of floor wax and desperate teenage ambition hits her as they push through the main entrance. For a heartbeat, everything feels normal - same fluorescent lights, same badly decorated bulletin boards, same undercurrent of drama and desire. Then she catches the first whisper, sees the first head turn, feels the first wave of eyes tracking her movement.
Something inside her threatens to crack, a hairline fracture in her carefully maintained facade. But then Nate's arm tightens, ever so slightly, around her waist. The gesture speaks volumes: I'm here. You're safe. Anyone who wants to hurt you has to go through me first.
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The ice queen mask slides into place like muscle memory. Amber lifts her chin, letting her gaze sweep the hallway with calculated indifference. A junior girl - probably Lauren Mitchell's little sister - makes the mistake of staring too long. Amber meets her eyes with the kind of look that once reduced a senior to tears, and the girl practically dives into her locker.
"That's my girl," Nate murmurs, pride evident in his voice.
They round the corner to find Jake lounging against his locker, radiating that particular brand of entitled ease that comes from being Riverside royalty. His eyes lock onto them immediately, something flashing across his features before his trademark grin takes over.
"Well, well," Jake pushes off the locker with fluid grace, all six-foot-one of him unfolding like a jungle cat. "Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence."
Before Amber can respond, she's engulfed in one of Jake's signature bear hugs. It's surprisingly gentle, nothing like his usual crushing embraces. "You good, Rosenberg?" he asks, his voice pitched low enough that only she and Nate can hear.
"Getting there," she manages, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cologne and athletic ambition.
Jake pulls back, keeping his hands on her shoulders. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this once." His eyes - usually dancing with mischief - are deadly serious. "Anyone gives you shit? Anyone so much as looks at you wrong? They answer to all of us. The whole team's got your back. No questions asked."
The sincerity in his voice catches her off guard. She's known Jake Woodland since they were kids, but she's never quite warmed to him the way Nate has. There's always been something calculating behind his easy charm, something that sets off warning bells in her head. But in this moment, looking into his eyes, she sees nothing but fierce protectiveness.
"The crew's waiting in the cafeteria," Jake announces, falling into step on her other side. "Susan's been running point on damage control. Pretty sure she made at least three freshmen cry yesterday."
Amber finds herself bracketed between them as they move through the halls - Jake with his quarterback swagger, Nate with his quiet intensity. The symbolism isn't lost on her: Riverside's golden trio, back in formation. Let them stare. Let them whisper. She is Amber Rosenberg, flanked by the two most powerful players in school.
But even as her confidence rebuilds with each step, something nags at the back of her mind. Because Jake's protection, while appreciated, feels almost too perfect. Like he's playing a role he's rehearsed, delivering lines in a script she hasn't seen.
Or maybe that's just the paranoia talking - another fun side effect of her condition that the whole school now knows about.
The cafeteria's fluorescent glare feels almost surreal as they enter. Susan materializes like she's been summoned, her designer sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as she practically launches herself at Amber.
"Oh my god, finally!" Susan's arms wrap around her in a cloud of Jo Malone perfume. "I was about to send a search party to your house."
"I'm okay," Amber manages, the words feeling mechanical on her tongue. "It's just... a lot."
Susan pulls back, her face set with determination. "Listen, I've been running interference all week. That group chat Mia Parker tried starting? Shut it down. And I made sure everyone knows that spreading private medical information is basically asking for a lawsuit." She gives Amber's arm a squeeze. "Anyone tries to start drama, they'll have to deal with me first."
"Sue..." Amber feels something crack in her chest at the familiar nickname. "You don't have to-"
"Shut up, yes I do." Susan links their arms together as they navigate toward their usual table. "That's what ride-or-dies are for."
Their regular crowd waits at their claimed territory - Jeff sprawled across two chairs, Justin mindlessly spinning a water bottle, Lisa and Sarah engaged in what looks like an intense conversation. The normalcy of it all makes Amber's throat tight.
Nate's hand finds the small of her back as he helps her into her seat, the gesture so practiced it's almost unconscious. "There you go, princess," he murmurs, sliding in beside her.
"Welcome back to the jungle," Jeff grins, tossing a grape in the air and catching it in his mouth. "Place hasn't been the same without our queen."
"God, could you be any more of a show-off?" Sarah rolls her eyes, but there's no real heat in it. Her gaze lingers on Amber with an expression that's hard to read. "How are you really doing, Am?"
"I'm-" Amber starts, but Susan cuts her off with a wave of her French-manicured hands.
"She's perfect because I've been handling everything," Susan declares, practically bouncing in her seat. "You would not believe the damage control I've been running. First of all-"
"Here we go," Justin groans, sharing a knowing look with Lisa. "Sue's PR masterclass is now in session."
"Shut up," Susan throws a napkin at him. "This is important. So, Katie Morrison tried starting this whole rumor about-"
Amber finds herself drifting as Susan launches into her detailed report. The cafeteria noise washes over her in waves - fragments of conversation, bursts of laughter, the constant undercurrent of teenage drama. It all feels simultaneously too loud and too distant, like she's watching everything through thick glass.
"Earth to Amber," Lisa's gentle voice breaks through. "You still with us?"
Before Amber can respond, a commotion at the entrance draws everyone's attention. Morris and Charlotte burst in, Charlotte practically vibrating with that nervous energy she gets when she's carrying important news.
"Oh my god, you guys!" Charlotte calls out while she's still halfway across the cafeteria. Morris trails behind her, shaking his head at his girlfriend's characteristic lack of subtlety.
"Indoor voice, babe!" Morris calls after her, but Charlotte's already racing toward their table.
"Oh my god, Amber, are you- never mind, you need to hear this." Charlotte's voice drops to an urgent whisper. "I was just in the admin office for yearbook stuff, and-"
The world seems to slow down as Charlotte delivers the news, each word falling like a stone into still water: "Hannah Marshall committed suicide yesterday."
The cafeteria noise dies in Amber's ears, replaced by a high-pitched ringing. She feels Nate go completely still beside her, his hand frozen where it rests on her thigh. Through the fog descending over her brain, she registers Jake's sharp intake of breath, the way Susan's perfectly manicured nails dig into the table's surface.
Time fractures into crystal-clear fragments: Sarah's water bottle slipping from her fingers, hitting the floor in slow motion. Justin's face draining of color. Lisa's hand flying to her mouth. Jeff muttering something that sounds like a prayer.
But it's the look that passes between Jake and Nate - lightning-quick but loaded with something dark and terrible - that makes Amber's blood run cold.
The memory hits her like a physical blow: Nate's voice, raw with promise: "No one hurts my girlfriend and lives."
Oh god.
What have they done?