"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
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Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best friend.
She's quiet...
Thank you guys for the support and I want to apologize again for any confusion for the new readers! I decided to rewrite this story to smooth out some errors in my plot, so some scenes/moments may be repeated until all of the •REWRITTEN• parts are up.
And for my loyal readers who have been here prior to the rewritten chapters, I HIGHLY recommend rereading the rewritten parts, as some stuff is going to...change. There will be several similarities, but also several differences.
Enjoy!
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I cut across the courtyard toward the other side of campus, hugging my backpack strap as I replay the map of the building in my head. It's only my fifth time attending this class, and considering I have six different classrooms scattered across a campus the size of a small town, the fact that I can even guess my way there feels like a minor accomplishment.
The hallways are thinning out as I step inside—just a handful of students left behind, most killing time on their phones or talking lazily against the lockers. The others, the ones like me, are practically speed-walking with that wide-eyed, oh-god-I'm-late panic. I definitely prefer not to be in that category, but here I am.
I take a left at what I hope—pray—is the correct hallway. No one else is around, so the only sounds are the soft echo of my footsteps and the uneven cadence of my breathing. My nerves always get worse with this class.
Mr. Grey is the last professor on campus anyone wants to irritate. He's strict, uptight, and has this uncanny ability to make the entire room feel like they've personally disappointed him if he's even a minute behind schedule. I've only known him for almost two weeks and already know I want to avoid getting on his bad side for as long as I live.
I reach the end of the hallway when faint voices drift toward me—muffled at first, then clearer the closer I get. A girl's voice, tight with emotion. Then a low, irritated reply that sends a small jolt through my stomach.
That's not any random person's voice—it's Jackson's voice.
"It's none of your business," he snaps, the annoyance in his tone unmistakable. Even without seeing him, I can picture the way he's standing—shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed with that cold indifference he perfected sometime in middle school. Arms covered in ink probably crossed, too. It's all muscle memory at this point.
"Jackson, please," the girl's voice trembles. "You've been acting weird the last few days. I just want—"
"You just want what, huh?" His reply cuts through her sentence like a blade—cold, dismissive and sharp enough to make me flinch. "To feel valued by a man because of your daddy issues? I hate to break it to you, but there's nothing about you that I value. This was casual. That's it."
Ouch.
A small gasp echoes down the hall, followed by a painful stretch of silence that makes the air feel tight.
