My first crush (COMPLETED)√

Chapter 15

I walked back into the classroom to collect my bag, my mind still spinning from everything I had just heard. The air felt heavy, suffocating. I couldn't stay here another minute — I just needed to go home. I was exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally drained.

"You're leaving?" Bella frowned as she watched me sling my bag over my shoulder.

"Yeah... I'm tired," I replied, my voice dull.

"But that doesn't mean you should go home. You just got here."

"It doesn't matter."

"Please stay," she pleaded softly.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

She studied my face carefully. "Are you coming tomorrow then?"

"I don't think so."

"What's going on?" Bella snapped, her concern sharpening into suspicion.

"Nothing."

"What changed your mind?"

"Nothing, I'm serious," I insisted, forcing a small shrug as if it were trivial.

She sighed. "Okay then... come online tonight so we can chat. I've got a lot of gossip."

"Okay. Bye." I gave her a faint, unconvincing smile before turning away.

I shouldn't have come to school in the first place. I still couldn't believe what I'd heard. So that was it — he was engaged all along. Maybe I was just something temporary to him, someone to fill his time.

Thank God things hadn't gone further.

But why would their parents arrange something like that? And why was I even bothered? Why did it hurt so much?

As I stepped out of the school gate, someone called after me.

"Sharon! Wait, don't go!"

I turned slightly, thinking it might be Bella, but the voice — that voice — was unmistakable. Stephen.

I ignored him and kept walking.

Dad's driver was already waiting, and I slipped into the car without looking back. What could he possibly want from me now that I knew the truth? I stayed silent the whole ride home, staring out the window as thoughts tangled inside my head.

When we arrived, I stepped out and unlocked the door with the spare key. The house was quiet, empty.

I dropped my bag, walked straight to the cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of alcohol.

I'm almost eighteen. I can do whatever I like.

I poured myself a drink, the sharp scent stinging my nose, and switched on the TV, hoping the noise would drown out my thoughts. I had barely settled when I heard a knock at the door.

My brows furrowed. Who could that be? We weren't expecting anyone.

I opened the door — and froze.

"Stephen?"

Was he following me all this time?

"Can I come in?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, almost cautious.

I stared at him for a moment, my chest tightening, then shook my head.

"No."