The taunts came daily, relentless in their cruelty. They mocked him for having a mother who embarrassed them, until one day, Liam Blackwood snapped. He threw himself at the three boys, fists flying.

But he stood no chance against them. Not even close.

The aftermath only made things worse. Their jeers grew louder, more vicious. They recruited others to join their cruel chorus, turning the playground into his personal hell.

At his old preschool, nothing terrified Liam more than encountering those three tormentors. Yet here they were—miraculously transferred to Royal Oaks Academy too.

The boys swaggered toward Liam with practiced menace, surrounding him with predatory ease. Panic flashed in Liam's wide eyes.

Bradley Thornton, their ringleader, studied Liam's delicate features with barely concealed envy. His beady eyes narrowed with resentment.

Bradley had despised Liam for as long as he could remember. His mother's constant comparisons saw to that. Every failed test brought the same refrain: "Look at Liam—perfect scores again. Why can't you be more like him?"

"If you can't master simple arithmetic, I don't know what I'll do with such a disappointment!"

"All you do is eat! Just like your womanizing father! At least he can run a business—why couldn't you inherit any of his intelligence?"

"Liam speaks three languages fluently, and you can't form a proper English sentence!"

"Liam solves Rubik's cubes for fun while you're still playing in the dirt!"

Initially, Bradley had admired Liam's brilliance. But admiration curdled into bitterness over time.

If not for Liam, his mother wouldn't be so cruel!

When Liam transferred preschools months ago, Bradley rejoiced. Finally, the constant comparisons would end.

But then his mother discovered Royal Oaks' language requirement. Overnight, Bradley found himself with a private tutor, drilling vocabulary until midnight. No memorization meant no sleep.

His hatred for Liam grew deeper, darker.

He made a vow: once enrolled at Royal Oaks, he'd make Liam pay for every miserable moment. He recruited two other boys who shared his resentment, determined to break Liam's spirit completely.

Maybe then their mothers would finally stop holding Liam up as the golden standard.

Oliver Kingsley observed the confrontation with detached interest. He had no intention of intervening.

Even if roles were reversed—even if Liam became the aggressor—Oliver wouldn't lift a finger.

His constant teasing of Liam masked a deeper jealousy, more potent than anything else. Grades, popularity, social skills—none of that mattered to Oliver.

Only one thing did: Liam had a mother who truly loved him.

Being ostracized didn't bother Oliver. The whole world could ignore him—it meant nothing.

As long as Amy Sinclair acknowledged his existence, that was enough.

"What are you staring at, freak? This doesn't concern you—get lost! Unless you want what he's getting!" Bradley snarled, catching Oliver's gaze.

Oliver barely reacted. With a dismissive shrug, he turned and walked away without a word.

Watching Oliver leave, Liam's anxiety spiked. The troublemaker might enjoy getting him into sticky situations, but Oliver had never raised a hand to anyone.

Liam disliked Oliver intensely—but he didn't fear him. Not like he feared Bradley and his gang.