Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 84

Chapter 84 – Departure and the Bus Ride

Wayne Academy Silver Island Field Trip — Day 1

Courtyard, Wayne Academy

Freshmen lined up beside their assigned buses.

Luggage clattered against pavement.
Teachers called out names and instructions.
Students buzzed with excitement.

Ten buses stood in a perfect row.

Eight for each section.
One for maids and butlers.
One for school staff.

And on Bus One—

Section 1's royal court was already making a scene.

Zatariel slouched in his seat like a dethroned prince.

Golden-blonde hair—perfect.
Expression—lethally unimpressed.

His gaze was fixed at the front of the bus—

Where his father, Zaren Wov, was currently charming the driver like he owned both the vehicle... and the road it drove on.

"Unbelievable," Zatariel muttered.
"He really invited himself to my first young adult field trip."

From the back row, Asha Dom leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Aww," she cooed. "Is Daddy Zaren here to pack your socks and hold your hand during thunderstorms?"

"I'm considering trading fathers with you," Zatariel replied flatly.
"So he can pack your socks and hold your hand during thunderstorms."

Asha snorted and shoved him—

Then immediately got distracted.

"Hey!" she called out to a girl near the front. "Cherry gloss! Are you into confident women or emotionally available disasters?"

Zatariel closed his eyes.

Of course.

Thyron Sebastian entered next—like he owned the entire transportation system.

Uniform jacket perfectly styled, confidence bordering on criminal.

He flashed finger hearts at anyone with a pulse.

"Don't cry, ladies," he said with a grin. "I'll return in one piece."

The girls by the window screamed.

Actual screams.

The kind that could startle birds mid-flight.

Then—

Jayson Dom stepped in. He didn't acknowledge the noise.

Didn't glance at the fangirls.

His eyes moved past everything— Scanning.

Bus numbers.

Looking for one in particular.

Section 8 Bus

The difference was immediate.

The seats were worn.
The windows stuck halfway.
The overhead lights flickered like they couldn't decide whether to live or die.

Miexha Verra sat by the window. Like a painting placed in the wrong gallery.

Lavender jumpsuit.
A soft white ribbon resting in her hair.
Her tablet bag was placed neatly on her lap.
Hands folded.