The Icy Young Lady Melted for Me and Turned into a Yandere

I spent three years trying to melt that iceberg. She was the school's notorious pampered princess, known for her emotional detachment; she couldn't even smile. I brought her breakfast, saved her a seat, stayed up all night chatting with her—everyone laughed at me, calling me a simp. But the day she finally said "thank you," I realized I couldn't heal her at all. "Go," she said, her eyes still like she was looking at a stranger. I turned and left without looking back. Little did I know her wicked best friend had been watching me from behind a tree. That universally acknowledged crazy school beauty later cornered me in an alley, her fingertip tracing my Adam's apple: "She doesn't..."