4. Jared

4

JARED

AGED 16

I grip the steering wheel of my car, knuckles turning white as I watch that asshole, Aaron, walk across the empty football field. The last players left already, and he's still out here, texting away. Probably messaging her.

My jaw clenches as I imagine them together, his hands on her, his lips pressed against hers. It makes my skin crawl, this twisted, possessive rage that consumes me whenever I think of Aria with someone else. She's mine . No one else gets to touch her.

I wait until he's made his way up the bleachers, then I shove open the car door and stalk toward him, my heart pounding. The cold night air does little to cool the fire burning inside me.

"Hey, asshole," I growl as I approach him. "What the fuck are you doing out here all alone?"

Aaron looks up, startled, fear flickering in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid.

"N-nothing," he stammers, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Just... just waiting for Aria."

I step closer, looming over him. "Aria, huh?" I snarl. "You know, she's mine ."

Aaron's brow furrows in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? Aria's your sister, she's-"

"She's mine ," I cut him off, my voice dripping with venom. "And I don't appreciate you touching what's mine."

Realization dawns on his face, his eyes widening. "You're sick, man," he breathes, scrambling to his feet. "She's your sister. That's fucked up."

I let out a harsh laugh, closing the distance between us. "She's my stepsister ," I correct him. "And that makes all the difference."

Aaron shakes his head. "You're insane, man. She's my girlfriend." A smug grin spreads across his face. "And she sure wasn't complaining when we were making out and going to third base."

The world narrows to a pinpoint, my vision tunneling as I stare at this pathetic excuse for a human being. My Aria— my obsession, my everything—with someone else. The thought makes me sick.

"You're lying," I growl, my hands balling into fists at my sides. "Aria would never?—"

"Oh, but she did," Aaron interrupts, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "She was begging for it, Jared. Begging me to touch her, to make her feel good."

That's it. The last shred of my control snaps, and my fist flies toward Aaron's face. I hear the satisfying crunch of bone as my knuckles connect with his nose, and he stumbles back, clutching at his face in pain.

"You bastard!" he cries, blood streaming through his fingers. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

He lunges at me, and suddenly, we're grappling, trading blows. I don't feel the pain of his fists connecting with my body, the adrenaline coursing through me drowning out everything but the need to destroy the boy who dared to touch what's mine.

My hands find his throat, and I squeeze, watching the panic flare in his eyes as he struggles to breathe. "She's mine ," I snarl. "Do you hear me?"

The life begins to drain from his eyes, but then he punches me in the ribs. Grunting, my grip loosens, and he takes a lungful of air, coughing and spluttering.

Launching at him, we continue to fight, trading blows. This is a fight to the death. It is my one intention as my vision blurs with pure rage.

Somehow, Aaron gains the upper hand, pinning me down and raining blows on my face. The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, but it fills me with a surge of adrenaline. I throw him off, sending him tumbling backward toward the edge of the bleachers.

He teeters, arms flailing as he struggles to regain balance. I see the fear in his eyes. The realization that he's about to fucking die. And I love it.

"She's mine ," I growl. "And you'll never touch her again."

With a hard shove, I send Aaron tumbling over the edge. His anguished cry echoes in the still night air. I watch, transfixed, as he plummets down, his body crashing against the metal bleachers before hitting the ground with a thud.

Silence falls, the only sound the pounding of my own heart as I stare at the unmoving figure below. All I feel is triumph. No one else will ever have Aria.

But the small rational part of my mind screams at me, reminding me of the risk of lingering. I've just killed someone.

I stare down at Aaron's lifeless body, a strange sense of calm washing over me. There's no guilt, no remorse—just a deep, unwavering certainty that I've done what was necessary.

I turn and hurry back to my car, knowing I've got to get out of there and put as much distance between myself and the crime scene as possible. Getting caught isn't an option. I can't lose Aria.

As I approach my car, a flash of movement catches my attention. I freeze, watching Aria head toward the bleachers.

The horror on her face when she sees Aaron's body, a small pang of regret tugs at my chest. She starts screaming, and I know I've caused her pain. But it was a necessary evil. She'll understand, eventually.

People approach, drawn by Aria's cries, and I know I must leave. Climbing into my car, my hands shake as I start the engine.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I glimpse Aria in my rearview mirror, her face streaked with tears. My heart aches, but I know this is for the best. I'll keep her safe, no matter what it takes.

I drive away, my mind racing with questions.

What will happen now? Will they know he was murdered?

I push those thoughts aside, focusing only on the road ahead. Aria is mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep her.