My Naughty Lover ✔️

Chapter 4

~No pain is permanent

(Scarlette’s POV)

After lunch, I head to English class with Mrs. Jacob. I quicken my pace—I don’t want to be late again. My footsteps echo in the hallway as I approach the classroom door. I pause for a moment, take a breath, then push it open.

The room is mostly quiet. Mrs. Jacob isn’t here yet, and students are scattered, some already chatting, others on their phones. I walk to the back of the room, choosing a seat with no one beside me. I slide into the chair and pull out my pink notebook, pretending to write while avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Then, something completely unexpected happens.

A boy—tall, tan-skinned, and unfamiliar—approaches me. Before I can react, his arms are around me, holding me in a sudden, overwhelming hug. I freeze. My body goes rigid, breath caught in my chest. And then, instinct kicks in—I push him away.

“What are you doing?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.

His eyes widen, and I catch something in them—regret, maybe even pain. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else,” he says quickly, his voice low and sincere.

There’s something about the way he says it. Maybe it’s the sadness in his eyes, or the way his voice slightly trembles—but I believe him. A strange wave of emotion washes over me. It’s like... that hug had memories in it. His, not mine.

“It’s fine. Just... don’t do that again,” I say, clearing my throat awkwardly.

“I won’t. I swear. I didn’t mean to freak you out. You just... you look like someone I used to know. Someone important.” He exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something heavy.

I nod, still trying to steady myself. “Okay.”

He hesitates. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

I glance at the empty seat beside me. “Uh... sure. Go ahead.”

“I’m Liam,” he says, managing a soft smile. I notice a glint on his tongue as he speaks. A piercing.

“Scarlette,” I reply, trying to match his calm but friendly tone.

“Nice to meet you, Scarlette.” His gaze shifts to my outfit, then back to my face, but there’s no mockery in his expression. Just curiosity.

“Same,” I reply. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans, with clean white Converse. Effortless style, but not flashy. His brown hair is cropped close, and his eyes are a smoky grey—unreadable. Attractive, but not in a way that’s trying to be.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “New York.”

“Ah. That explains the accent,” he says with a nod.

I study him for a second. He seems distracted. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, a soft, almost invisible smile on his lips. “I’m alright. Just… memories, I guess.”

Before I can say anything else, the classroom door swings open and Mrs. Jacob rushes in. Her bob haircut bounces as she sets her things down.

“Good morning, class. Sorry I’m late. Actually, I have to leave again—” the class groans in protest, “—but I’ve prepared a writing task for you. It will be marked, so do your best.” And just like that, she’s gone again.

“You’re actually going to do it?” Liam raises an eyebrow at me, amused.

“Well, yeah. If it’s being graded.” I smile faintly.

“You’re different,” he says with a chuckle.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all. I like different,” he replies. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“I think so too,” I say, surprised at how easily this conversation is flowing.

But then, the door opens again—and all the air in my lungs disappears. Him. What is he doing here?

He walks in like he owns the space, like gravity bends slightly around him. We lock eyes, and I immediately look away. Still, I feel his gaze lingering. Tense. Heavy. And cold.

He walks past our table without a word and takes a seat a few rows behind. But not before clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes at Liam.

“You know him?” Liam asks, noticing the shift in the air.

“Sort of,” I say. “He made fun of my clothes earlier.”

Liam’s expression hardens. “It’s better if you stay away from him.”

I blink. “Why?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Just… trust me.”

His voice is firm but quiet, and the way he glances over his shoulder makes it clear—there’s history between them. Maybe even bad blood. What kind of drama have I stepped into?

•

Liam and I end up talking for most of the class. He’s surprisingly funny—dark humor kind of guy, but it works. I learn that he’s actually from here but spent a year in Spain with family. He even speaks Spanish. I tell him I speak French. We exchange a few more things—personal but not too deep. I feel comfortable. Which is rare for me.

At some point, I gather the courage to ask about his tongue piercing.

“Heartbreak,” he admits simply.

I pause. “That bad?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was in a dark place.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

He shrugs. “We all have our mess.”

Fair enough. I don’t pry.

But every time I laugh—even just a little—there’s an audible groan from the back of the classroom. It’s him. Mr. Rude, scowling like I’ve personally insulted his existence. I ignore it, but the tension builds, sitting thick in the air.

When the bell rings, Liam stands and gives me a warm “see you around,” before walking off. I start gathering my things when I feel a sudden grip on my wrist.

“What the—” I turn sharply.

It’s him.

Mr. Rude himself.

“You need to let go of me,” I say firmly.

His eyes are intense. “What were you talking about with Liam?”

“Excuse me?” I stare at him, incredulous.

“What did he tell you?”

“Why do you even care?” I snap. “That’s none of your business.”

He tightens his grip slightly. “Because I want to know.”

I pull my hand free. “You don’t get to demand answers from me. Especially after how you treated me.”

He leans in, eyes dark, voice low. “You don’t talk to me like that, sweetheart.”

The word burns.

I glare at him, completely thrown off—not by fear, but by confusion. What is wrong with this guy?

He steps back, finally releasing me. “I hope you understood,” he mutters, before walking off.

I stand there, breath caught in my throat. What the hell just happened?