Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
JADE
I watched through the window as the tow truck clanked and hissed, dragging what was left of my dignity out of the driveway.
The Mini Cooper—my battered little lifeline—looked even sadder hooked up like that, front bumper skewed, waterlogged and stinking.
The trail of fish guts it left behind made my stomach roll.
Aunt Susan didn’t say anything until the truck rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
Then she turned to me, sighing softly. “It’s totaled,” she said, voice gentle. “Un-driveable. And the smell…” She shook her head, lips pressed into a line. “Even if we gutted it, the seats, the insulation—it wouldn’t come out. Not really.”
I didn’t say anything. Just stood there barefoot in her kitchen in an old hoodie, shoulders slumped forward like a scarecrow after the wind. Something inside me wilted.
“I filed the claim this morning. Insurance will cover a bit,” she continued, her voice a little too casual, like we weren’t talking about someone vandalizing what little I had left. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I turned slowly, my eyes heavy, raw. “What then?”
She gestured to the breakfast table. “Sit with me.”
I sat. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t have the energy to argue.
She pulled a folder out from under the placemat—neat, labeled. Aunt Susan didn’t do chaos, even when her life invited it.
“There’s money,” she said slowly. “Not a windfall. But… something.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Your parents took a settlement. After everything in Ohio… the school board offered a private agreement to avoid a full-blown lawsuit. Quiet. No headlines. No depositions. Just a wire transfer and NDAs for everyone involved.”
My throat tightened. “They didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t think they wanted to make it feel like blood money,” she admitted. “And frankly, it wasn’t much. Not for what they did to you. But it’s enough to cover a year or two of college—at a state school. Maybe another used car.”
I stared at her, unsure if I felt relieved or furious.
“They signed away justice,” I whispered.
Susan reached across the table, took my hand. “No, honey. They bought you peace. Maybe not the justice you deserved—but a shot at a future without being dragged through courtrooms and interviews and social media feeding frenzies.”
“But none of it worked,” I said bitterly, voice cracking. “The fake name. The distance. Royal Oaks was supposed to be a clean start.”
“And it was,” she said firmly. “Until some small-minded people decided to ruin it.”
My lip trembled. “And now?”
“Now,” she said, squeezing my hand, “you’ve still got a future. Maybe bruised, maybe off-script. But it’s yours, Jade. They tried to take everything from you, and you’re still here.”
The tears came before I could stop them.
“I’m so tired, Susan.”
“I know.”
I wiped at my eyes. “They’ll just keep coming. The whispers, the pranks. And now, with my name on that police report…”
She gave me a long, searching look.
“Then we hit back smarter,” she said. “You’ve got people behind you, Jade. Starting with me. But I need you to stay strong.”
I nodded, slowly.
“I’ll call a dealership,” she said softly. “We’ll find you another car. And you—focus on school. Soccer. Getting out of this town on your own terms.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder and exhaled.
There was still time to rewrite the ending.
And I wasn’t done yet.
I blinked at the matte gray Cybertruck pulling up to the curb, its gullwing doors lifting like something out of a sci-fi movie.
Tristan hopped out in head-to-toe designer casual—dark joggers, a cream sweatshirt that probably cost more than my old car, and aviators he definitely didn’t need in this overcast weather. His grin was wicked.
“Guess who’s your new Prince Charming,” he said, sauntering up the walk with that golden retriever swagger only he could pull off. “Climb in, princess?”
I stared, my jaw somewhere on the driveway. “What?”
He winked. “Come on. Leo might be somewhere hyperventilating into a leather-bound journal, but it’s been a week or two. I figure mourning periods are overrated.”
My aunt chuckled from the porch. “He’s a charmer, this one.”
Tristan leaned in close. “Look, I always liked you, Jade. Always thought you were a firecracker. And right now, you need someone who’ll burn back for you.”
I should’ve rolled my eyes. Should’ve called him on his BS.
But instead…I smiled.
Maybe I needed this. The distraction. The armor. The guy no one dared mess with.
“No one’s touching my car with you next to it,” I muttered.
He opened the passenger door with a flourish. “Let’s ride.”
Tristan didn’t hold my hand. He didn’t kiss my cheek or flirt too hard. But he stood tall and wide beside me as we walked into school. The whispers came instantly—burning and biting.
Slut. Leveled up to Tristan after Leo tossed her out.
Whore. Guess royalty has a rotation.
I kept my chin up. Focused on the way Tristan pulled my locker open for me, his shoulder brushing mine. How he sat with me and Shani in the quad for lunch, eating fries off my tray like we’d done it forever.
I caught Leo watching once. Maybe twice.
Okay—more like every time I looked up, his eyes were there.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t come over.
Xavier, too, kept his distance. Just a nod here, a glance there. Still part of the old court, while Tristan… stood with me in the trenches.
He never asked for anything. Never expected payment for the shield he’d become.
And though everyone thought his protection came at a price, they didn’t know the truth.
That Tristan may be a prince—but he was one hell of a knight, too.
And right now? I needed every ounce of armor he gave me.
Tristan threw an arm over the back of the bench, stretching like he owned the damn sun as it filtered through thinning trees and cast golden stripes across the quad.
“I had to give DNA,” he announced, biting into an apple like it was the most casual thing in the world. “You know, for the pregnant model. Court-ordered and all.”
Shani choked on her drink. “Wait, what?”
He shrugged, grinning. “Allegedly. Her lawyer was more dramatic than she was. But anyway, I’m kinda the black sheep right now—so I figured I might as well slum it with y’all commoners.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, lifting a brow.
“Don’t get it twisted,” he said, flashing me a dimpled grin. “This bench has never looked better.”
“Because of you?” I deadpanned.
“Because of us, obviously. Royal Oaks’ most scandalous rebound duo.”
Shani rolled her eyes. “You two are chaos incarnate.”
“More like damage control,” I said softly.
Tristan didn’t reply, just tilted his head, letting the wind ruffle his hair. He basked in the late autumn light like a lion soaking up the last of the season.
And for a moment—for just that sliver of a second—it felt okay. Like I wasn’t broken. Like I could breathe again.
Even if I knew better.
Even if I still felt Leo’s stare, heavy on my back as we laughed. As we pretended.
But maybe pretending was all any of us could do right now.
“Homecoming,” Tristan said casually, tossing his half-eaten apple into the trash with precision. “You. Me. I’ll wear Armani. You’ll need a trip to Boston to find something worthy of standing next to me.”
My jaw dropped a little. “Are you actually asking me?”
“Obviously,” he smirked. “You think I’m gonna roll in with a girl from Milton Academy? Please. I’ve upgraded.”
I blinked. “I could… use a few days out of here,” I mumbled, trying to hide the way my chest fluttered. The thought of escaping Royal Oaks, even temporarily, felt like oxygen.
Shani perked up instantly. “Can I third-wheel? Because I’ve been dying to hit Newbury Street.”
Tristan flashed his signature grin. “The more the merrier, ladies.”
And just like that, I found myself in the backseat of a black SUV with heated seats, cruising into Boston for a weekend of shopping, iced lattes, and pretending like the world didn’t burn just weeks ago.
It was the perfect fall weekend.
The city was alive with that crisp, golden energy that only New England in late Autumn could pull off—leaves crunching beneath our boots, the scent of roasted chestnuts and overpriced coffee wafting through the air.
Boutique windows sparkled. Shani tried on every shade of lip gloss in Sephora.
Tristan carried our shopping bags like a personal valet-slash-bodyguard, snapping candids of me laughing when I forgot to care how I looked.
He posted one of us—me in a cropped cable-knit sweater, him in a camel coat with his sunglasses pushed back on his head. The caption just said:
Fall royalty #JandT #OaksRoyalty #NotSorry
The comments exploded. I should’ve been anxious. I should’ve cringed at the whispers that were probably spreading back home.
But I didn’t.
For the first time in weeks, I felt like me again.
Not Jade the scandal. Not Jade the scholarship girl. Just Jade—the girl who could breathe, laugh, spin in her new dress in the mirror and actually like what she saw.
Even if I knew it couldn’t last forever.
Even if I knew his eyes—Leo’s—were still chasing my shadow, even from a distance.
Tristan noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t push.
He just walked beside me, told every sales associate to treat me like a queen, and made the world feel wide again. Safe again.
That weekend, we weren’t just surviving Royal Oaks.
We were rewriting it.