𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Make It Up To You

I shrug, leaning back a little, though still perched firmly on his lap. "I was a kid, Wilde. Everyone makes mistakes. I'll make it up to you. I promise." I say, flashing a bright smile at him.

The car glides to a stop at the school gates, the metal barriers looming ahead. The engine's low rumble contrasts sharply with the heavy silence inside the vehicle. Neither of us moves, the weight of the conversation palpable. The driver glances nervously in the rearview mirror, but the tension in the air makes it clear that this exchange isn't over.

"You'll make it up to me?" He asks in an absurdly childish voice that's very much out of place with his whole murky and pensive personality-as if he's an abandoned kid kicked to the curb-but I dismiss it as him taunting the original Faye's actions.

Pulling out my best compassionate and gentle smile I nod and hum.

After what seems like an eternity, but is probably just a few seconds, his expression eases and it feels like the knife hanging over me is finally lifted.

Cars had started honking by now, rich students in their rich cars, all lining up at the entrance.

Sitting on his lap, I could feel the weight of his hesitation, the honking from the cars behind us becoming more insistent. He glanced at me, his voice low but soft, "Faye, we need to get going. Come on." There was something almost gentle in the way he said it, but I could still sense the struggle beneath the calm.

"Tsk tsk, how can you ask a lady to walk on her own?" I teased, flashing my dimples. "You should know when to carry her all princess-style."

Wilde's eyes softened just for a moment, a flicker of something warm beneath the dark, brooding exterior. He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're making this difficult, you know that?" His voice was quiet but carried that familiar weight, a mix of frustration and something else he wouldn't admit.

Still, his hands rested gently on my waist, as if caught between pushing me away and keeping me close. "We need to go," he added, softer this time, "before they get tired of waiting and I end up carrying you for real."

"You're going to carry me for real, Wilde," I said, a playful glint in my eyes as I leaned in closer.

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his options, then exhaled slowly. "You're impossible," he muttered, his voice low but without any real frustration. He shifted me gently off his lap, stepping out of the car with that brooding calm he always had.

Without a word, he came around to my side, and before I could say anything more, he scooped me up effortlessly. His grip was firm yet careful, his expression unreadable. "Let's just get inside," he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice sending a quiet shiver through me.

The moment we stepped into the school, I could feel the shift in the air-eyes on us, conversations pausing mid-sentence. It didn't bother me. If anything, it was amusing. Their glances were quick, the whispers just low enough to be ignored, but I knew what they were thinking. The school forums were probably buzzing by now, though no one would dare to make it too obvious. They weren't that bold.

Lozero and Timewell-names that carried weight. Parents had warned their kids, made it clear that families like ours were untouchable. One wrong word, and everything they held dear could be at risk-reputation, standing, future. That's how it worked here, and I had no problem reminding them if necessary.

Sara Chauy, though-she didn't have that luxury. A scholarship student in a school like this? It made her an easy target. In the original storyline, she'd been torn apart, bullied mercilessly. No power to back her, no name to shield her from the cruelty of others. But me? I wasn't her, and Wilde wasn't either. People knew better than to cross us, even if their curiosity got the better of them.