Vendetta: Throne of Betrayal

Chapter 2: First Blood

The next morning, Aiden walked into Gravesend Academy with a bruise blooming along his ribs and a steely glint in his eyes.

If Bryce Maddox thought a cheap shot would scare him off, he didn’t know Aiden Cole. The hallways buzzed with early chatter. Laughter. Footsteps. Clicks of luxury shoes against marble floors.

But as Aiden approached his locker, the noise seemed to slow... hush...He knew something was wrong before he even reached it.

The locker door hung open, and inside, chaos. His books had been slashed to pieces, pages shredded like confetti. 

His notebooks were drowned in ink, dark puddles bleeding through his homework. The one photograph he carried, the one of his family, all smiling in front of their tiny home, had been torn into quarters.

A single word was scrawled across the locker door in thick red marker: "TRASH."

The hallway erupted in cruel laughter. Phones came out, flashing like little daggers. Someone whistled mockingly.

Bryce leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, smiling lazily. Aiden stood frozen, feeling the burn of humiliation creeping up his neck. “Not here. Not now. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

He grabbed the remains of his books, shoving them into his battered backpack with stiff hands. He didn’t bother wiping away the word on the door. Let them think they had won.

But inside, a slow fire was building. “This isn't a fight they can win, he promised himself. Not forever.”

Classes dragged by in a blur. Snickers followed him from room to room. Some teachers even seemed amused, pretending not to notice.

Only one person didn’t laugh: Isabelle Lane. She caught up with him in the hallway after Chemistry, slipping a folded note into his hand before anyone could see. "Meet me behind the library. 4PM. Don't be late."

The library’s shadow stretched long and cold over the courtyard as Aiden slipped out the side doors. 

He followed a narrow stone path around the back, where the noise of the academy faded into eerie silence. Isabelle was already there, pacing. When she saw him, she rushed forward. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged, trying for indifference. "I’ve had worse."

Her jaw tightened. "Bryce did that to your locker. I know it."

"Not exactly subtle," Aiden muttered.

Isabelle hesitated. Bit her lip. Then said, "You need to be careful, Aiden. Bryce’s father is Vice President Maddox. They own half the people in this city. Here." She pressed something into his hand.

A tiny, sleek recording device. "If they try anything else, record it. If you catch them... you might survive this place."

Before he could answer, heavy footsteps echoed around the corner. Isabelle’s eyes widened. "Go! If they see us together, it'll only get worse."

Aiden nodded once, then disappeared into the shadows. That night, back home, Aiden stared at the recorder under the weak lightbulb in his room. His father sat beside him, sipping instant coffee. "Tough day?"

"You could say that," Aiden said, forcing a grin.

His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Remember what I always told you. You can't fight a snake by stepping on its tail. You have to crush the head."

Wise words, but easier said than done. Aiden slipped the recorder into his backpack and lay back on the creaky mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he would be ready.

The next day, Bryce was waiting. "Hey, charity case," he sneered. "Got you a little welcome gift."

Before Aiden could react, Bryce grabbed him by the collar and dragged him behind a row of lockers, out of view.

Another boy, stocky, wearing a Rolex, stepped forward and smashed a cup of coffee over Aiden's head. Hot, sticky liquid soaked into his hair, his clothes. The smell made him gag. "Oops," the boy said, fake-sweet.

Bryce leaned in, voice low. "You don’t belong here, trash. Maybe you should go back to the slums before something bad happens."

Aiden stared him dead in the eye, and smiled. "Smile while you can, Maddox," he said softly. "It won't last."

Bryce’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Aiden turned on his heel and walked away, coffee dripping from his ruined jacket.

Later, hiding in the bathroom, he pulled out the recorder. The red light blinked steadily.

It had captured everything. Every word. Every threat. First blood... wasn’t his. It was theirs.