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When the bell rings, signaling the end of class, I feel Milo’s body go rigid against mine.

He pulls back just enough to lift my chin, tilting my face toward his. There’s so much barely contained fury in his eyes that it takes my breath away.

“She doesn’t get to win.”

Before I can stop him, he’s gone.

“Milo! Milo, don’t!” I call, hurrying after him.

But it’s no use. His legs are considerably longer than mine, and by the time I realize where he’s headed, he’s already halfway down the corridor.

Students pour out of classrooms, filling the hallway with chatter and laughter, but Milo cuts through them without slowing down. His gaze is fixed on Peyton, who’s standing by her locker with Troy, Misty, and Delaney gathered around her, laughing at something.

“Milo!” she calls when she spots him approaching, her face lighting up.

The smile vanishes when he shoves Troy out of his way and slams his palm against the locker beside her head.

“I know it was you, Peyton. I know you’re behind this.”

“What?” she stammers, batting her eyelashes at him. “Milo, what are you talking about?”

He slams his fist against the metal this time, the sound cracking through the hallway and drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I know you got Max’s college acceptance rescinded.”

The innocent look on her face disappears, replaced by a coldness I’ve come to know all too well.

“So this is about her?” she snarls. “Of course it is. Everything’s about her nowadays. Whatever lies that little bitch has been feeding you, I had nothing to do with it.”

Milo draws his fist back again, but before he can hit the locker, I catch his forearm.

“Don’t, Milo.” I tighten my grip, forcing him to look at me. “You’re not this guy.”

For a moment, his fury gives way to something else as he looks down at me. Something that hurts almost as much as the rage. Shame.

“Don’t bother trying to protect me, whore,” Peyton scoffs from behind him. “Milo would never lay a hand on me.”

Milo slowly lowers his fist, then steps away from her and threads his fingers through mine.

“Never speak to Max like that again,” he seethes. “But you’re right about one thing,” he says, his voice suddenly so calm it sends a chill down my spine. “I wouldn’t touch you, Peyton. Not in a million years. I’d rather have my hand cut off than lay a finger on you.”

Her expression falters.

“And that’s what kills you, isn’t it? Knowing that no matter how many schemes you come up with, how many lies you tell, or how many twisted little games you play with Max’s life, there’s one thing you’ll never be able to change.”

He takes another step back, putting more distance between them.

“I will never want you.”

The hallway goes eerily quiet.

I glance around and realize that almost everyone is watching us. Some students are even recording the whole thing on their phones.

“Milo,” I whisper, tugging gently on his hand.

“No.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Peyton. “She needs to hear this. For once in her miserable life, she needs to fucking listen.”

Peyton’s face flushes, but Milo doesn’t give her a chance to speak.