A month before the reckoning

"Just think of it as books and sports. The way you balance Shakespeare and football."

Anna Forbes had no business with the Sheriff's phone call, yet she chuckled like her opinion mattered. Lying back against the pillow, she scrolled through TikTok, watching a wacky white girl attempt a dance tutorial. Even as her fingers swiped lazily, her ears tuned in to the Sheriff’s conversation with his son.

"Your son overthinks everything, it's so unhealthy." Anna remarked, half-reprimanding as she propped her phone up to film herself. She cycled through Snapchat filters, pausing at one that enlarged her eyes, making her look cartoonishly innocent—a sharp contrast to the reality of her being in nothing but a brassiere and the Sheriff’s duvet draped over her legs.

The Sheriff lowered his phone, covering the mouthpiece with his thumb. "Don’t talk bad about your friend, Anna," he said, his stern words softened by a chuckle.

Anna raised a hand in faux surrender. "Okay, Daddy," she teased, biting her glossy red lip and winking.

The Sheriff ran a hand through his graying hair, visibly flustered.

"Cole, listen to me," he continued into the phone, his tone shifting to a mix of fatherly concern and pep talk. "This is an important meeting. Deliver the speech the way we practiced. Columbia would be lucky to have you. You’re brilliant and a damn good football player. You’re like the love child of Albert Einstein and Tom Brady."

Anna rolled her eyes at the comparison, returning her attention to her phone.

"—You’ve got this," the Sheriff concluded. "I’ll call you later." He hung up, cutting off his son’s protest mid-sentence.

Anna smirked, pulling down one strap of her bra as she inched closer to the Sheriff. "So now I’m your important meeting?"

The Sheriff laughed—"don't flatter yourself"—he unbuckled his belt with one hand and loosening his tie with the other. He moved with practiced ease, his actions betraying years of secrets.

Anna tilted her head, feigning a pout as she readjusted her bra strap. "Well, I guess this meeting’s adjourned."

"Don’t tease, little bird," the Sheriff muttered, his voice husky. He leaned closer, but stopped himself, his hand hovering midair. Anna’s coy smile turned sharp. She always knew when to push and when to pull back.

"Can you… beg for it?" she whispered, her voice teasing yet firm.

The Sheriff hesitated, his breath quickening. "Please, little bird," he murmured, his hand grazing her neck.

"Good boy," she cooed, running a finger down his chest, tracing the line of hair that disappeared into his waistband.

The tension shattered when a voice called out from downstairs.

"Honey… I’m home!"

"What the fuck!" Anna yell-whispered, pushing Sheriff Goode away. "Is that not Sheila, your wife?" She inquired jumping out of the bed and getting dress.

"Hide. Now." The Sheriff’s tone was sharp, panic etched across his face as he hurriedly smoothed the sheets.

"Graham, where are you, is Cole back?" They heard Sheriff Goode's wife inquired further as she began ascending the staircase.

Anna slipped off the bed, rolling her eyes. "You’re still paying my tuition, right?"

"Yes, just go!" He opened the closet, practically shoving her inside.

"Don't rush me, please, I'm going in. . . I know the drill." Anna stepped in, blowing him a mocking kiss. "I hope she catches us," she sang softly before disappearing behind the doors.

"As if." Sheriff Goode's lips curl into a smirk as he push the closet's doors close.

He began doing a thorough scan of the room for evidence of Anna's presence. His eyes landed on her handbag perched on the vanity. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed it and tossed it out the window.

Mrs. Goode entered the room seconds later, her cheerful expression faltering. "What are you hiding?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," the Sheriff replied, too quickly. "I was just looking for a file. I’m glad you’re home—we can check the basement together."

She hesitated but allowed him to guide her out. As they left, she spotted something on the nightstand. "Wait… isn’t that Anna’s phone? I thought she and Cole were heading to Columbia."

Sheriff Goode's face was white a sheet, but he recollected himself instantly, "oh that," he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head, "that is definitely her phone, she forgot it when she came, she's gone now. . . gone to Columbia, with Cole." Effortlessly, the lie slide out of his mouth.

"Oh. . ."—she cooed—"such a sweet girl she is. I'll hold that for her." Mrs. Goode grabbed the phone and Sheriff Goode knows better than to collect the phone from her. "You won't believe what Nancy called Karen at the meeting today," she began her daily show: What Happened at the Breakfast Club with her husband as they walked out of the room, hands linked together.

Through the gap between the closet's doors, Anna peeped and listened, she made sure nobody was in the room before stepping out of the prison she'd forced herself to adapt to. Cracking her neck, she made way to Mrs. Goode's vanity, took her seat on  and she took a good look at her reflection.

The face staring back at her wasn’t entirely her own. it was the one she'd curated over the years: a determined spoilt blonde powerful princess—masking the desperate survivor she was. Deep down she knew it was all a facade, she knew she had been wearing the mask of deception since the first day she'd manage to scam her way into Regal Crest Academy. The reflection she had to keep up with ever since she made friends with the richest kids in school, the reflection she had to own with pride if she ever wanted to make it into any Ivy league university. As she traced her reflection with a finger, her expression hardening.

Do what you have to do to survive. That was her mantra. And if that meant playing her friend's father, so be it.

Anna Forbes, the queen of deception, smiled at her reflection before slipping out the window, leaving chaos in her wake.