How to Destroy Your Ex in 10 Days
Description
Two weeks ago, I had it all. Perfect GPA. Perfect boyfriend. Perfect life, if you ignore the fact that Liam's main talent was pretending he cared. I was so good at being the perfect girlfriend - straight A's, playing nice, not rocking the boat. Until Madison's Close Friends post came up on my phone during lunch. Spoiler alert: Liam was wearing my hoodie on a bed that wasn't mine, and Madison was, well, half-naked. "Oh," she said when I walked in on them. "Zoe." No apology. No shame. Just flat, rehearsed indifference. My boyfriend and my best friend? Yep, they were in it together. So much for my perfect life. I drove home like a robot, all while pretending this was some sort of weird prank that would "blow over" in a week. Spoiler: it didn't. Then enter Jaxon Reed - my personal nightmare - swaggering into the picture like he owns it. "Do you want them publicly shamed and emotionally unstable?" he asked. I said, "Yeah. I want that." And that's when things got real. We started our little revenge operation, leaking texts, causing drama, and by the way, I'm absolutely pretending that I didn't enjoy it. I mean, sure, revenge is petty, but have you seen Liam's smug face? The more I let Jaxon help me burn my high school reputation to the ground, the more I couldn't stop thinking about how good he was at it. But-plot twist-I can't date Jaxon. No, because he's a walking disaster, a reputation killer, and oh yeah, my ex's worst nightmare. Plus, my friends would definitely disown me, especially after they saw me wearing his hoodie-his very distinct hoodie that I was definitely not supposed to be wearing. But let's be real, this is me we're talking about. I'm in too deep, the drama's wild, and Jaxon just kissed me. On a school night. In a library. In the middle of plotting my ex's downfall. And honestly? I didn't hate it. But we're not supposed to be a thing, okay?
Chapter 1
Feb 18, 2026
If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I would’ve told you I had the high school dream life.
GPA: solid.
Boyfriend: Liam Carter — varsity soccer, dimples for days, the kind of jawline that made moms weirdly flirty.
College: Berkeley-bound with a scholarship pending final confirmation.
Friend group: elite-tier. We had the corner table in the cafeteria — not assigned, but understood. Me, Leah, Macy, Jamie, and Madison freaking Kim.
Leah knew every one of my secrets, including the ones I swore I’d never say out loud. She was my first call, my emergency contact, my ride-or-die since sixth grade science fair. Macy and Jamie were the loud, chaotic balance to our quiet scheming — they kept things fun, fast, and just on the right side of dramatic.
And then there was Madison. Madison Kim, whose name people always said in full like it was a brand or a punchline or both. She was effortlessly terrifying in the best way — editor of the school paper, straight-A everything, interned at a real publishing house over the summer. Nepo baby to a streaming exec and a fashion model, with the wardrobe (and networking skills) to prove it. She walked through school like it was her personal runway-slash-boardroom, and somehow still managed to be genuinely nice to me. Annoying, right?
Everyone either wanted to be her or befriend her — and she knew it.
My days were a blur of AP classes, color-coded notes, and group chats named things like Prom Posse 2025 💖, where we made elaborate plans none of us had time for and sent memes we were too smart to laugh at but did anyway.
We had plans. Prom court domination. Matching grad caps. Dual college essays about “teamwork in relationships.”
(I know. Gag. But I was committed.)
I wasn’t perfect. But I played the part. And I was good at it.
Until the green circle showed up around Maddie’s profile.
We were mid-lunch. Jamie was tearing apart prom theme options like they personally insulted his fashion sense, and Macy was stabbing her salad like it owed her money. I was staring at my phone, chewing a straw to death, when I tapped.
Madison’s Close Friends story.
The photo was grainy. Bad lighting, lazy angle. A bed. Messy sheets. Center of the frame: Liam’s gray hoodie. The one I gave him. The one he wore on cold game days and I wore on stressed-out debate weekends.
It was unmistakable.
So was the bed. It wasn’t mine.
I stared at the screen until the image burned behind my eyes. Then I stood up, muttered something about the bathroom, and left.
No one even looked up.
I drove straight to Liam’s house.
Every mile, I gave myself new excuses. Maybe it was old. Maybe Maddie borrowed it. Maybe it was a prank. A misunderstanding. Something we’d laugh about in a week.
The front door was unlocked. I stepped inside without thinking. I knew the creak of his hallway floorboards better than I knew my own locker combination.
When I opened the door to his room, I expected denial. Excuses.
Instead, I found Madison.
On his bed.
Just a bra, a pair of denim shorts, and her phone in her hand.
She looked up like I’d interrupted her mid-text.
“Oh,” she said. “Zoe.”
Not shocked. Not ashamed. Just flat. Like she’d already rehearsed what she’d say if I walked in.
Liam was standing by the window. Shirtless. Still holding his phone like maybe he thought this would blow over if he just didn’t move. Like if he stood still enough, I wouldn’t actually be there.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look sorry. Just... blank. Like his brain was buffering and he couldn’t believe this was happening out loud.
I froze.
There wasn’t screaming. No dramatic gasps or shattered picture frames. Just the eerie kind of stillness you only feel when your brain short-circuits and your body decides to abandon ship.
I don’t remember walking back to my car. I don’t remember the drive. I think I hit every green light and still managed to feel like I was drowning.
The next thing I knew, I was behind the gym.
Sitting on the grass, hoodie zipped to my chin, knees pulled tight against my chest like I could physically keep myself from unraveling. I’d grabbed a half-squished Capri Sun someone had left on the ground near the recycling bins and clutched it like a stress toy. A pathetic, juice-flavored lifeline.
I sat there trying to breathe through the burn in my throat, willing my heartbeat to stop echoing in my ears.
And then I heard footsteps.
“Whoa.”
The voice was a little too loud, a little too smug, and immediately familiar.
I looked up.
Of course. Of course.
Jaxon Reed.
Leaning against the brick wall like this was some low-budget indie movie he’d been cast in without auditioning. Hoodie too expensive for someone with his GPA, curls tousled like he’d just woken up from a nap he didn’t deserve.
“What do you want?” I asked, voice hoarse but still capable of sarcasm.
He held up both hands like I’d pulled a knife on him. “Relax. Just walking through. Didn’t know you’d be hosting a full-blown crisis party back here.”
“Then keep walking.”
But naturally, he didn’t.
He sat on the rusted bench nearby, cracked open a Capri Sun from his hoodie pocket—because of course he had his own—and sucked on the straw like this was his standard Thursday vibe.
We sat there in silence for a minute.
Then he glanced over. “Want to talk about it?”
I didn’t mean to answer. But the words were already spilling.
“I saw Maddie’s Close Friends post. Liam’s hoodie. Her bed. I drove over. She was there. Just a bra. No shame. Just… sitting there. Like she wanted me to walk in.”
Jaxon blinked. He didn’t say anything. Just wait.
“Liam didn’t say a word,” I added. “Not sorry. Not surprised. Just stared at me like I was the one interrupting something.”
I stared at the juice pouch in my hand. “You know what’s sad? I kept thinking maybe it was my fault. I pushed him to run for Prom King. I didn’t let him coast like he wanted. I made things... matter.”
“Wow,” Jaxon said, leaning back. “So this is where the nice girls snap.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
Jaxon didn’t say anything. Just wait.
“Liam hasn’t actually liked me in months. Not really.”
I dug my nails into the fabric of my hoodie.
“He used to interrupt me mid-sentence when we were with his friends. Or he’d say I was ‘too intense’ when I brought up anything I actually cared about — politics, debate, literally school. One time, I was excited about getting a rec letter from Ms. Davila and he said, ‘Can we not do the academic flex thing right now?’ Like my wins made him feel small.”
Jaxon’s expression sharpened a little, but he didn’t speak.
“And the worst part?” I went on, voice quieter now. “He made me feel like I was the problem. Like I was too much. Too ambitious. Too sharp. So I started shrinking. Laughing at things that weren’t funny. Asking for less. Acting like his slacker attitude was charming instead of—” I exhaled hard, “—lazy and insecure.”
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling.
“I should’ve left him months ago. But I was too busy being ‘the perfect girlfriend.’ The girl who didn’t cause drama. The girl who ‘had it all.’” I scoffed. “Turns out I was just the girl getting cheated on in HD.”
Another pause.
Then, with zero warning, Jaxon asked, “You want revenge?”
I looked at him. “What?”
“Do you want them publicly shamed and emotionally unstable?” he asked, like he was offering a study guide and not a social assassination.
I stared at him, then nodded. “Yeah. I want that.”
He smiled. “Thought so.”
And just like that, we made a pact.
Ten days.
Liam and Madison: undone.
Socially. Romantically. Academically. Publicly. Secretly.
And no one—no one—could know. Not Leah, not Jamie, definitely not Macy.
“Seriously,” I said. “If people find out I’m working with you, I’m done.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m me?”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re radioactive. Half my friends think you bribed your way into college tryouts. Liam told everyone you paid off the coach to steal his spot, remember?”
He snorted. “That old story? Please.”
“They’ve hated you since sophomore year,” I said. “There’s a literal group chat called Jaxon Sux Club. I’m pretty sure Leah made custom emojis.”
“Flattered,” he said dryly.
“If I’m seen with you, I don’t just lose Liam and Maddie. I lost my whole group. My reputation. My place in everything.”
He gave a slow nod and sipped from his juice like this was just business.
“That, and you’ll get your revenge,” he said.
He held out his hand.
I didn’t take it. Not because I wasn’t serious, but because I was. Shaking hands with Jaxon Reed in public? I might as well start packing for social exile.
But I looked him in the eye and said it anyway.
“Deal.”
How to Destroy Your Ex in 10 Days
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