I calmly continued eating my breakfast, acting as though nothing had happened.

But I barely made it three steps out of the cafeteria when I spotted them waiting. The girl whose salad had decorated her head minutes earlier stood with a friend, both clutching open milk cartons, their faces twisted with smug anticipation.

They thought they had me cornered. How adorable.

“Think you’re clever, don’t you?” Salad Girl hissed, her mascara still smudged from her earlier humiliation. “Nobody embarrasses us and gets away with it.”

Her friend, a blonde with too much lip gloss, snickered. “We’re going to make sure everyone remembers what happens to fat nobodies who don’t know their place.”

I assessed the situation in milliseconds. Two amateur attackers, poor stance, telegraphing their intentions clearly. They planned to douse me with milk, probably recording it on a phone hidden nearby. Classic high school warfare.

“Let’s see how funny you are covered in milk, pig,” Salad Girl snarled, both girls stepping forward.

I feigned a startled step back, deliberately shifting my weight as if losing balance. Their eyes lit up at what they perceived as vulnerability. As they lunged forward with their milk cartons, I pivoted on my left foot, my right palm shooting out in a precise, calculated movement.

My hand connected with the bottom of both cartons simultaneously, applying just enough force to redirect their momentum upward and back. Physics did the rest.

Twin streams of milk arced through the air, splashing directly onto their carefully styled hair and designer clothes. The liquid soaked through their shirts, dripping down their shocked faces.

“You—!” Salad Girl shrieked, stumbling backward. Her heel caught on the uneven pavement, sending her tumbling into her friend. They both went down in an ungraceful heap of wet clothes and smeared makeup.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Emily ducking behind a corner. She’d been watching, probably hoping to see me humiliated. Now she was slinking away, terrified of being associated with me.

I stepped over the girls without a second glance, my eyes fixed on a new target. Ashley Williams stood frozen by the lockers. The so-called queen bee of Cloud City High, responsible for orchestrating most of the original Jade’s torment.

Her face drained of color as I walked straight toward her.

“What do you want?” she demanded, voice cracking slightly.

I didn’t stop until I was inches from her face, backing her against the lockers.

“You can’t touch me,” she whispered, her trembling lips betraying her fear.

I almost laughed. In my previous life, I’d faced down cartel lords and government assassins. This girl thought her daddy’s position would save her.

I raised my fist, watching her flinch and shut her eyes. Instead of hitting her, I slammed my knuckles into the locker beside her head, the metal denting under the impact.

Ashley’s eyes flew open, fixed on the perfect impression my fist had left in the steel.

“There won’t be a third chance.” I stepped back, giving her space to breathe again.

Ashley’s shock morphed into rage as she regained her composure. “Jade Morgan,” she spat, “you’re dead. You hear me? Dead!”

I was already walking away, her threats as meaningless as a child’s tantrum.

“Jade!”

I turned to see Max limping hurriedly down the hallway, concern etched across his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, slightly out of breath from his effort to reach me. “I heard some girls were planning to ambush you after breakfast.”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Max glanced around at the aftermath. “Yeah, I can see that.” A small, uncertain smile crossed his face. “You’ve… changed lately.”

I shrugged. “Just stopped putting up with bullshit.”

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