1 Darkest before the dawn
ROWAN
The house was quiet, dark. It wasn’t a mansion. But make no mistake, it was huge, filling up the entire block while having a main entrance and a smaller one entering the premises from a different street.
A thirteen year old Rowan was walking past it while staring peripherally at it—as if the home had offended her somehow. The further she walked, the harder her breathing became, until she stopped on the opposite side of the road.
It simply stood there, mocking her with its beautiful garden and reddish tiled roof. Great pillars framed the front door, a spectacular fountain sparkled in the driveway, and the garden stretched along two full sides of the property. One side held the main entrance behind a wrought‑iron gate that matched the three‑foot‑high double‑layer brick walls topped with more iron. On the far side, a secure garage sat alongside five rooms forming the back end of the sprawling house at the corner of Mackenzie Street.
Her thoughts drifted—unwillingly—to her nemesis.
The boy who lived there was probably being an idiot, as usual. Either bullying their servants—because that’s exactly what they were; not one person ever left that place smiling—or doing his own thing… which usually meant someone around him would get hurt, caught in the crossfire of his hazardous nature. Hence why she referred to him (always) as “the Idiot.”
His arrogance knew no bounds; he cultivated entitlement the way others cultivated roses.
And his charm always saved the day; his day and no one else’s.
With a smile sometimes so sharp it could cut bone, leaving your legs weak and the breath stolen from your lungs.
“Alex Jordan (water sign — defender, nurturer, protective)
VS
Rowan Peyton (fire sign — aggressor, combative).”
It sounded like a movie title waiting to happen. Or maybe the words an announcer would shout before their inevitable one‑on‑one MMA showdown.
We’ve always been like this.
Wonder if it will ever change? He acts; I react. I act; he reacts.
Guess we’ll see what the future brings. This year is going to be difficult if the parents are to be believed. They’ve never steered me wrong before. Yeah… we’ll see what Grade 8 offers. High school at last. Five years left. As they said: “It’s all downhill from here.”
Unclenching her tiny fists once her nails bit into her palms, she turned her head away. A sneaky smile slowly stretched across her face — having no clue that the next few years would paint her as a spiteful, villainous girl bent on wrecking a young boy’s life.
3 YEARS LATER
“Hand over that cricket bat right this second, young lady!”
Mrs. Van Staden’s voice cut through the air as she rounded the corner, legs moving so fast it looked like she was sailing toward Rowan. The nonsensical dress she wore flapped around wildly—dresses should never be worn when PT was on the cards.
“But he—” Rowan began, but the teacher on duty ripped the bat from her hands before she could finish.
Of course she didn’t want to hear that their “perfect” student had been swinging the bat dangerously close to the little kids playing duck‑duck‑goose. He would’ve sent someone to the hospital if I hadn’t intervened!
“I am not listening to another word from you,” the teacher snapped, jabbing an accusing finger under Rowan’s nose. “We are not having this same argument again. If you keep assaulting him with his own sports equipment, you’re going straight to reform school. Mark my words, the principal is fed up with your nonsense.”
Mrs. Van Staden grabbed Rowan by the arm and led her away, offering an apologetic look toward “Mr. Perfect.” She didn’t pause for breath as she launched into a lecture about how Rowan simply could not leave things alone. They practically sprinted up the stairs from the cricket field to the school hall’s entrance.
“But Ma’am, if you’d just hear my—” Rowan tried again.
All sixteen years and seven months of her existence rebelled at the thought that today might truly be her last day at this school.
Her heart flipped from the rapid, expectant beats of adrenaline to the sheer terror of facing the principal… again.
“You cannot be serious, Gwen! Again?”
Principal Heart stood stiffly, clearly about to enter his office. Coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other, he gave Rowan a look that perfectly encapsulated betrayal.
“But Sir—” she started.
He lifted a hand, silencing her instantly.
“I’ve had it, Rowan. I’m sorry. We have all had it. I don’t need details, Mrs. Van Staden.”
He seemed to age right before Rowan’s eyes, those pale‑blue peepers staring into her soul.
This can’t be happening! I swore I wouldn’t let him down again. No!
“I regret that I wasn’t able to help you, girl,” he said softly. “Notify her parents and get the paperwork ready.”
He turned and disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Mrs. Van Staden muttered as she shoved Rowan toward the waiting chairs. “You would’ve been the death of him if he hadn’t cut you loose.”
Their muffled voices blended together—Principal Heart, Mrs. Van Staden, her parents, and those of the Idiot. None of them wanted her side of the story. Every face held the same look of betrayal, and it stung so deeply that she had to force herself not to break down.
His parents wanting her gone? Fine. Expected.
Mrs. Van Staden? Maybe.
But Principal Heart? That cut the deepest of all.
She and Alex had been at each other’s throats for ten years—no surprises there. Their fate being sealed so suddenly only proved that life would eventually get better. It was always darkest before dawn… coldest before the light.
Alex Jordan was a bully. Had been then. Still was now. And he always would be.
And Rowan’s best gift… was getting in his way.
Who would stand up to him now?
Not one adult looked at her as they filed out of the office. Her teary‑eyed mother clutched a roll of documents like a lifeline, while her father’s expression was twisted with humiliation and grief.
And there he was — the bane of her existence.
Alex Jordan.
The tell‑tale signs of nerves were obvious despite his attempt to hide them. One brow raised while he fought a frown.
Their eyes met.
The room fell away.
She understood instantly: their push‑and‑pull was ending.
Rebellion burned in his gaze — and… was that fear?
Surely he’d be thrilled to see her go. Wouldn’t he?
Principal Heart signed another set of papers and passed them to his secretary, who added her signature and handed them to Rowan’s mom with a soft sigh.
Rowan’s heart hammered harder as the reality set in. Everything blurred — whether from tears or numbness, she couldn’t tell.
She loved this school. She loved her friends. Her life had been close to perfect… aside from the Idiot ruining other kids’ school careers.
The image burned into her memory forever: Alex running. Running toward their car as they pulled out of the parking lot. What in the world did he have to shout about when it was her life ending? He ruined things once again. He always came out on top.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. One escaped anyway.
He reached the car just as her father pulled into traffic.
“PEYTON!”
His shout cracked — a defeated sound — as he dropped to his knees right there in the street.
I hate you, Alex Jordan. Hopefully, fate has some grand plans for you!
