Vendetta: Throne of Betrayal

Chapter 5: Blood in the Water

The old Aiden would have hesitated. He would have reasoned, pleaded, hoped for justice.

That Aiden was dead now, and what rose in his place was something colder. Sharper. Something that would not stop until the debt was paid, in full.

The plan had to be flawless. Aiden spent the entire night drafting it out, lines crisscrossing a notebook page, notes written in furious, tiny script.

Marcus watched silently from across the room, only nodding once when Aiden finally looked up. "We hit them where it hurts," Aiden said.

"And where’s that?"

Aiden’s eyes gleamed. "Their pride."

The Saint Augustine’s Winter Ball was two weeks away. A gala for the elite, senators’ sons, billionaire daughters, royalty in everything but name.

It was the highlight of the semester, a showcase of wealth, privilege, and carefully curated power.

Bryce would be there, smug and untouchable. So would his father, the Vice President of the country.

Security would be tight. Perfect. If Aiden could humiliate Bryce publicly, strip away the golden armor his family’s name gave him, the wolves would come circling.

 Rich kids didn’t survive without their reputation intact. It would be the beginning of the end.

Marcus introduced Aiden to one of his contacts, a skinny, jittery kid named Eliot who worked part-time in the event logistics office.

Eliot had sticky fingers and looser morals. "$500," Eliot said, tapping a worn flash drive on the table between them. "Floor plans, guest list, security schedules. Everything."

Aiden slid the cash across without hesitation. He needed more than Marcus. He needed people inside Bryce’s circle, discontent simmering just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t hard to find them. Jealousy was a virus among the rich, and Bryce had burned more bridges than he realized.

Aiden approached them one by one: a jilted ex-best friend, a scholarship girl desperate for leverage, a bitter second-son ignored in favor of Bryce’s brilliance.

Promises were made. Secrets traded. By the end of the week, Aiden had a small army. Small, but sharp.

Bryce’s laptop was the key. If Aiden could get inside it, peel back the layers of curated perfection, he was sure he’d find rot.

Marcus had a plan for that too. Friday night, while Bryce partied in the East Wing, Marcus and Aiden broke into the boy’s dorm room. It wasn’t even locked.

Rich kids rarely worried about being stolen from. Their whole world was built on safety.

The laptop was password-protected, of course, but Marcus’s friend, a junior hacker named Savannah, cracked it in less than ten minutes, and what they found made Aiden’s blood run cold.

Photos. Videos. Not just bullying, though there was plenty of that, but evidence of real crimes: drunken assaults, drug deals, blackmail, and Bryce was at the center of it all, smirking into the camera like he owned the world.

Aiden copied everything onto a separate flash drive. Insurance. A sword hanging over Bryce’s head, but the real weapon came hidden among the videos: A recording from three weeks ago.

In it, Bryce and two other boys cornered a terrified freshman, a scholarship student, and beat him savagely, laughing the entire time.

The freshman’s face was barely recognizable by the end. Aiden’s hands shook as he watched. “This is what they do,” he thought. “This is who they are.”

And he had been right all along. There would be no mercy. Not anymore.

The night of the Winter Ball arrived like a storm. Saint Augustine’s Great Hall was unrecognizable: crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, champagne towers glinting like pyramids of light.

The students glittered in designer suits and gowns worth more than most families made in a year, but beneath the glamour, there was rot.

Aiden could smell it. He adjusted the simple black suit Marcus had lent him and slipped into the crowd.

He wasn't here to dance. He was here to set the match, and watch it all burn.

The plan was simple. At exactly 9:45 p.m., when the dance floor was packed and every important figure was present, the main projector screen, currently cycling through bland photos of Saint Augustine’s history, would suddenly flicker.

And then the video would play. The freshman’s beating. Unedited. Unforgiving. Broadcast for all to see.

Aiden timed it perfectly. Slipped the flash drive into the A/V booth when no one was watching.

Walked back to the edge of the room, heart hammering. Waited. At 9:43, Bryce swaggered onto the stage, holding the microphone.

He tapped it once, grinning. "Good evening, everyone," he drawled. "Hope you’re all enjoying your night. Just a quick word from our sponsors."

Laughter rippled through the crowd, then the screen behind him flickered. A brief glitch, then the first frame of the video froze there, massive and inescapable.

Aiden held his breath. Bryce turned, frowning. The video began to play. The laughter stopped. Gasps broke out.

Mothers covered their mouths. Fathers surged forward, snarling. Students screamed. Cameras flashed.

And in the center of it all, Bryce stood frozen, caught in 4K, blood on his hands, cruelty in his eyes.

Security tackled him less than a minute later. The Vice President’s aides rushed to intercept the fallout, but the damage was done.

In less than five minutes, Bryce’s future, his dynasty, crumbled into dust. Aiden watched it happen from the shadows, face expressionless.

One enemy down. A hundred more to go, but he had barely made it out of the building before the first knife slipped between his ribs, metaphorically speaking.

Waiting for him in the alley was Savannah, the hacker who had cracked Bryce’s laptop. She was pale, sweating. "There’s a problem," she whispered.

Aiden’s heart sank. "What kind of problem?"

Savannah licked her lips. "I think... I think Bryce knew someone would come for him. He had a failsafe."

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and shoved it into his hands. It was a printed photo. A grainy black-and-white surveillance shot, of Aiden breaking into Bryce’s room.

Time-stamped. Dated. Undeniable. Savannah’s voice shook. "He sent it to his father. Insurance. If anything happened to him, it would be released."

Aiden’s blood turned to ice. "They’re coming for you," Savannah said. "Real soon."