Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
JADE
It started small.
Not all at once. Not loud. Just... faded.
Like colors left out in the sun too long.
The first time I noticed, I brushed it off. He didn’t text goodnight. No call after practice. No dumb selfie from Tristan's car. I told myself it was nothing. Maybe he was tired. Busy. Or heaven forbid, grounded again for punching another guy with too much lip and too little brain.
But the next day, he didn’t wait for me after history. Just ghosted out of class like he had somewhere better to be.
And that was... weird.
Because Leo never missed a chance to walk me to lunch. Never skipped the hand-holding bit. Or the smug glance over his shoulder at everyone watching like yes, this is my girl and no, you can’t have her.
Until now.
Until he stopped looking.
Until he sat across the quad with his crew, sunglasses on, head tipped back like the sun was more interesting than I was.
It felt stupid to care. Embarrassing, even. Like I was that girl now—the one checking her phone every five minutes and replaying memories like they were voicemails she could rewind for clues.
The kiss behind the marble wall.
The stargazing.
His laugh in my aunt’s kitchen when she told him to water the basil or he couldn’t come back.
Was it fake?
No.
No. It couldn’t be.
I knew what I saw in his eyes. What I felt in his hands. The way he kissed me like he needed to memorize me.
But he was slipping now.
And I didn’t know how to stop it.
The silence wasn’t total. He still showed up to soccer games, but he didn’t cheer. Still offered rides, but barely spoke. Still kissed me, but his lips felt colder now—less fire, more obligation.
And when I asked him what was wrong, he gave me that lopsided half-smile I used to melt for.
“Nothing, Gitanilla. Just a lot on my mind.”
Gitanilla.
He still called me that.
But it didn’t feel the same. Not when his touch felt like sandpaper and his gaze slid off mine like it hurt to look too long.
Tristan noticed.
Shani definitely noticed.
“Is everything okay with you and the Prince of Oakwood?” she asked as we changed after practice, her voice careful but curious.
“Yeah,” I lied, my voice too fast. Too high. “Totally.”
But it wasn’t.
It was unraveling.
I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, in the way my fingers trembled before every text I sent. The fear of no reply. Or worse—just one word: cool, yeah, sure.
Leo used to flood my inbox. Now I’d be lucky to get a dry “kk.”
And the worst part?
He hadn’t even broken up with me.
He was just fading out.
Like I was an old playlist he used to love, but now skips without thinking.
And I didn’t know whether to hold on tighter… or let him go before it got worse.
But something told me…
The worst was already on its way.
It was supposed to be just another Tuesday.
Another ordinary Royal Oaks afternoon where the breeze smelled like cut grass and entitlement, where the marble halls echoed with whispers and Gucci soles.
But nothing about today felt ordinary.
Because Leo asked to talk. Alone.
No flirting. No wink. Just a clipped “We need to talk” outside the library after last period.
I followed him anyway. Like a fool. Like someone who still thought the ache in her chest might be fixed by one more kiss.
He led me behind the quad fountain—the same place he kissed me that first week of school. The same place I fell. Hard.
I folded my arms. “What’s going on with you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the grass, jaw clenched like he was bracing for something. His hands were in his pockets, not reaching for me. Not even trying.
Then he said it.
Flat. Cold. Practiced.
“I think we should end this.”
The words knocked the breath from my lungs.
“What?” I whispered. “Are you serious?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. Just kept going like he’d memorized the lines.
“It was fun. But I’m over it.”
I laughed—sharp, bitter. “Fun? That’s all this was to you?”
He shrugged like he didn’t care. “I don’t do serious, Jade. You knew that.”
“No,” I said, stepping in, grabbing his arm and spinning him to face me. “No, you don’t get to do that. Not after everything. After my aunt. The cliffs. The—”
“Don’t make this dramatic,” he snapped. “We kissed. We hung out. You caught feelings. I didn’t.”
That broke something.
That shattered me in places I didn’t know I was still fragile.
“You’re lying,” I breathed. “Look at me and say that again.”
His eyes met mine. Stone cold. Empty. And for a second—just a second—I thought I saw pain flicker behind the mask.
But then it was gone.
He stepped back. “It’s over, Jade. Don’t make it worse.”
The sound hit before the silence did—phones clicking on. Screens recording. Whispers multiplying like wildfire.
#RoyalBreakup
#PrinceDumpsHisPrincess
#ScholarshipScandalUnfolding
And just like that, it was all happening again.
Just like how we started—fire, whispers, stares.
Only this time... I was the one left in the flames.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t scream.
I just stood there as Leo Holt—King of Royal Oaks—walked away without a backward glance.
And somehow… that hurt the most.
By Friday morning, I’d lost count of how many people had looked me in the eye and then turned to whisper.
The halls felt narrower now. The silence louder. Every laugh felt like it might be about me. Probably was.
Once, I had the spotlight. Now, I was just the cautionary tale.
The girl who dared to love a prince and got dragged through the moat when he was done.
I walked into school with my head held high, but my spine was screaming. Each step echoed with invisible fingers pointing.
"Guess she wasn’t worth the chase."
"Thought she'd marry into money. Oops."
"Bet he finally got what he wanted."
They didn’t even bother to whisper it behind my back anymore.
At my locker, someone had scribbled “Social Climber” in lipstick. Scarlet. Like a scarlet letter. I wiped it off with my sleeve and didn’t even blink.
I wouldn’t cry.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
At lunch, I ate alone. Shani tried to sit with me, but one glare from the girls who used to worship Leo and she backed off. Not out of cruelty—just survival.
I didn’t blame her. I wouldn’t have picked me either.
The quad, once my accidental kingdom, now felt like a coliseum. Everyone waiting for me to fall completely apart. I held it together, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
But practice was the real battlefield.
Coach Roman had us running drills like we were already in postseason playoffs. I welcomed the burn in my lungs. The ache in my legs. Pain was easier than heartbreak.
That was until the ball slammed into the back of my skull.
Hard.
I stumbled forward, stars flashing behind my eyes. Someone gasped. A few girls laughed. The laughter was what got me.
“Keep your head in the game, Bryan,” someone muttered behind me.
I didn’t see who it was. I didn’t need to.
My palms clenched into fists so tight my nails broke skin. Blood welled in my hands as I bent over, trying to breathe through the sudden wave of nausea and heat.
Coach’s whistle pierced the field.
“Jade! You good?”
I straightened, swaying slightly. “Yeah. Fine.”
She jogged over, eyes scanning my face, but I stepped back. “Just a headache. I didn’t eat enough.”
It was a lie. All of it.
But I couldn’t tell her the truth—that Royal Oaks’ beloved daughters had turned into wolves, and I was bleeding out in silence.
Coach nodded slowly, like she didn’t quite believe me but didn’t push. “Take a knee. Grab water. We’ll reset the drill.”
I walked off the field with dignity in tatters, blood smeared on my palms, and a pounding behind my eyes.
But I didn’t cry.
I didn’t scream.
I just sat on the sidelines with my chin high and my soul aching.
They could slash my tires. Humiliate me. Pelt balls at my skull.
But I wouldn’t give them the broken girl they were hoping to see.
Let them look.
Let them whisper.
I’d survive this.
Even if it killed me.
The walk home was hell.
Two miles of avoiding eye contact, ducking behind brick pillars and hydrangea bushes. Slipping between school buildings just to avoid being seen, caught, followed.
Twice, I heard footsteps behind me. Laughter. Tires screeching as a Mercedes SUV rolled past, slow enough to be a warning. Or a threat.
By the time I reached the edge of the football field near the lower school, I was done.
My feet throbbed. My palms still stung where the crescent shapes from my nails had broken the skin. And the tears? They were there, clinging to my lashes, daring to fall.
I spotted a bike leaning against a tree outside the church down the street. No lock. Just sitting there, tempting me. An old ten-speed with worn-out tires and a crooked seat.
I looked around.
No one.
Just five more minutes. Five more blocks. No one would even notice.
I took one step toward it.
Then another.
My hand gripped the handlebar before I could talk myself out of it.
But I stopped.
Because that wasn’t me. Not yet. I hadn’t lost everything.
So I let go, even though my knees were shaking.
The final stretch home was blur. I barely registered the fall leaves or the flicker of porch lights.
By the time I reached the old beach bungalow, I didn’t even bother using the front door.
I slipped around the back, past the tomato plants and wildflowers, and let myself in through the laundry room.
I peeled off my muddy sneakers. Stripped down to my sports bra and shorts.
Then I got into the shower.
Turned it on. Sat down.
Let it all fall apart.
Hot water poured over me while I sat, semi-clothed, on the floor of the tub, my knees to my chest and my forehead resting on them. I didn’t sob. Not at first.
But then the sobbing came.
It ripped through me, silent at first, then louder. Broken. Raw.
I don’t know how long I was there. Could’ve been ten minutes. Could’ve been an hour.
When the curtain shifted, I didn’t even flinch.
A towel, warm from the dryer, was wrapped gently around my shoulders after the shower was turned off. A hand on my back. My aunt’s voice was soft, steady, not pushing. She helped me to my feet, and wrapped another towel around my hair.
She handed me a cup of chamomile tea with honey. I didn’t know I was cold until I felt the warmth between my hands.
We didn’t talk until I was dry, in flannel pajamas, and curled up under a wool blanket on the couch, legs tucked under me like a child.
She sat beside me, slowly combing out the tangles in my hair. Her fingers moved with quiet patience, never pulling, never rushing.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For lying. For not telling you.”
“I knew something was wrong,” she said. “But I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
I closed my eyes.
And I told her everything.
From the fake OnlyFans account and the police report… to Ohio. To the scholarship. To the bonfire.
And Leo.
His smile. His kiss. The way he made me feel like the most important girl in the world.
Then the whispers. His sudden coldness. The heartbreak. The slow death of something beautiful.
“I lost my virginity to him,” I admitted, my voice shaking.
She didn’t gasp. She didn’t flinch. She just kept combing.
“I thought it meant something. To both of us.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
“I was supposed to lay low,” I choked. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.”
“But you did,” she said softly. “And that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
I wiped at my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “I hate him.”
“Do you?”
“…No.”
“Good,” she said gently. “Hating him would be easier. But you’re strong enough to feel all of it.”
We sat like that for a long time, fire crackling in the hearth, my aunt quietly untangling what was left of my dignity and heartbreak with every stroke of the brush.
The next morning, the air had that early October bite to it—crisp and clean, with a faint smell of woodsmoke drifting in through the cracked kitchen window. My eyes were swollen from crying, but sleep had helped. A little.
I padded into the kitchen in my slippers and hoodie, expecting another day of dragging myself through Royal Oaks hell.
But my aunt was already waiting by the stove, flipping pancakes in a pan like it was any other morning. Like my world hadn’t shattered 12 hours ago.
“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward the kitchen table.
“I’m gonna be late,” I muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“You’re not going today,” she replied. “I already called you in sick.”
That made me look up. “You what?”
“You need a day,” she said, setting a mug of tea in front of me. “You’ve been running on empty for weeks, Jade. You’re allowed to stop.”
I stared at her, confused. “But Coach—”
“Coach Roman knows. And she agrees.”
My defenses wobbled.
She turned off the stove and sat across from me, sliding a small envelope across the table. I opened it slowly, thinking maybe it was a card or a note.
It was a key.
Before I could ask, I heard the rumble of an engine outside. A second later, tires crunched on gravel.
I shot to my feet and stepped to the front window, pulling back the curtain.
A vintage Mini Cooper convertible—cherry red, cream leather interior, scuffed just enough to have character—was being parked in our driveway.
The driver got out, waved to my aunt, and walked off like it was totally normal to drop a whole-ass car in the middle of a Tuesday.
“What is that?” I whispered, still staring.
“My friend Paula’s mom used it as a summer car,” my aunt said, joining me by the window. “It’s high on mileage and love, but it runs smooth and the top still goes down.”
I turned to her, stunned. “No. No way. I can’t accept that.”
“Yes, you can.” She smiled, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “You need wheels. That walk isn’t sustainable—especially with half the school gunning for you.”
I shook my head. “It’s too much. I don’t deserve this. I—”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “Stop.”
Tears sprang up again, quick and hot.
“You coming here,” she said softly, “was an escape from something awful. A tragic part of your life. But for me?” Her voice thickened. “It was a blessing.”
I blinked.
“You’ve brought joy to this house, Jade. Real, actual joy. It was just me and the cats and a bunch of broken clocks before you showed up. I didn’t even realize how lonely I was until you filled this place with your noise and your socks and your awful singing in the shower.”
I let out a watery laugh, covering my mouth with one hand.
“I love you, girl,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. “Let me give you this. Let me make life just a little bit easier.”
I buried my face in her shoulder and nodded.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”