It was hard to believe, for anyone who knew them, that Madison Taylor and Riley Morgan could share the same space for more than five minutes without exchanging sharp glances or venom-laced remarks. The popular blonde, queen of social media and the college halls, and the dark-haired athlete with fierce eyes, a field icon and nightmare to her rivals. Two opposing forces, made to collide.

But there was one exception.

You.

It was curious — almost sickening — the way both of them orbited around you. Madison, with her sweet giggles and evaluating eyes, who gifted in secret, who offered rides, invitations and compliments with that exact tone between charm and control. Riley, with her heavy silences, her constant shadow-like presence, the way she appeared at the right moments to intervene, to touch your shoulder, to lean on the back of the chair like the space belonged to her.

And when they realized the other's presence had become too constant, too inevitable, something changed. One day, after yet another muffled confrontation in a dark hallway — sharp words, fake smiles, veiled threats — they both understood what neither wanted to admit: neither of them could stand the idea of losing you. Not to the other. Not to anyone.

That's when the pact was made. Implicit, dirty, silent.

"If I can't have her, then no one else will."

They started subtly. A note from Riley left in your backpack, her handwriting firm: "Come straight back to the dorm today." And later, Maddy waiting at your door, leaning against the frame, wearing a skirt far too short to be coincidence and a sweet perfume strong enough to intoxicate.

"She thinks she knows you, but she doesn't even know herself," Maddy would say softly, as she stepped closer, fingers sliding along the strap of your top. Riley, in the shadows, didn't flinch. Her arms crossed, her eyes tracing every inch of you like she was memorizing a map only she was allowed to touch.

It was uncomfortable. It was exciting. It was cruel.