Laylani nodded. "Yeah, got it."

She stood there with her chin tilted up just a bit, her gaze steady and curious, like she could see straight through him. Elio Bradley's fingers curled slightly, and he found himself crunching down on the mint in his mouth without even thinking. He'd never had her look at him that way before—no admiration, no fear, just a calm, serious stare.

Elio covered his mouth and coughed, barely holding back a smirk. "Well, since you're so perceptive…" he started, trying to play it cool. "If anyone gives you trouble, just drop my name."

The second it came out, he knew it sounded lame. His expression faltered, and he spun on his heel, heading off the field, his steps quicker than before. "Catch you later," he tossed over his shoulder, his retreating figure all swagger and a little over-the-top.

Laylani watched him go, catching the bright red tips of his ears, and smiled knowingly. Same as always—hard on the outside, soft on the inside, almost funny how predictable it was.

---

In a dim, damp alley behind campus, Kayla Morgan clutched her phone, knuckles bone-white. On the line were the girls who'd been busted the night before, their voices frantic and edged with desperation. "Kayla, you gotta get us out! If we get locked up, who knows if they'll find out about that stuff in the room!"

Kayla's heart squeezed; her voice dropped a few degrees. "Did you clean everything up?"

"We're not idiots! But these cops keep grilling us. We might slip up, okay?"

"I hear you," Kayla cut in, ending the call with a jab of her finger, malice flashing in her eyes. What a bunch of morons—couldn't even handle one simple thing.

Kayla sucked in a deep breath, pushing down her anger, and dialed her brother Tate Morgan's number. It barely rang before he picked up. "Hey, Tate," she said, her voice soft with a hint of fake distress. "There's been a situation…"

Tate had just come out of a company meeting, still sharp in his business suit, but his tone was patient. "What's wrong, Kay? Somebody giving you a hard time?"

"No, it's about Laylani." Kayla bit her lip gently. "Day before yesterday was her eighteenth birthday. A few of her friends were out celebrating with her. But somehow, they all ended up at the police station."

She paused, picking her words carefully to pin the blame on Laylani. "I asked around, but there aren't many details. All I know is… Laylani was the one who called the cops. Tate, has Laylani been in a bad mood lately? How could she do something like that on her birthday?"

On the other end, Tate's brow furrowed, his face darkening. He remembered Laylani's rebellious stunts over the past few days and felt irritation rise. Laylani had always been headstrong and narrow-minded, throwing fits when things didn't go her way. It wasn't a stretch to think she'd called the cops out of spite.

"I'll handle it," Tate replied, his voice impatient, carrying a hint of scolding. "Laylani is still so immature, always stirring up drama. She could learn a thing or two from you, Kayla. Leave it to me."

With the Morgan family's reach, springing those girls from a minor disturbance charge was just one phone call away.

"Thanks, Tate," Kayla said, hanging up with a smirk of satisfaction. With Tate on it, Laylani wouldn't be stirring up any more trouble.

---

Back at the academic building, Kayla was climbing the stairs when a familiar figure stopped her. She looked up into Zechariah Boyd's cool, deep eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. "Zechariah," she greeted softly.

Leaning against the wall, his shirt collar slightly open, Zechariah's composed expression held a hint of concern. "What's going on with Laylani lately?" he asked, direct as always.

Kayla dropped her gaze, twisting the hem of her shirt in an innocent little gesture. "I'm not sure…"

She glanced up, pretending to search her memory. "Her birthday was a few days ago. She seemed really upset, threw a huge fit, and got the people celebrating with her taken to the police station…"

Zechariah's frown deepened. Could it really be over something so trivial? Laylani was truly spoiled. Just because her birthday wasn't perfect, she'd go this far. Even resorting to threatening him with their engagement. He had indulged her way too much.

"I see," Zechariah replied, his voice growing colder, his irritation plain. "Just ignore her. She's being dramatic."

If Laylani wanted to pitch a fit, let her. After she cooled off for a few days, she'd come crawling back to apologize.

Without another word, Zechariah turned and walked away.

Kayla stayed put, watching his tall, retreating figure with a satisfied smile. She knew Zechariah too well. The more Laylani got on his nerves, the more doors would open for her.

---

Meanwhile, in her classroom, Laylani sat by the window, her pen resting on her textbook, her gaze far away. She was rapidly sorting through the web of connections in this life.

If Laylani's memory served, she was still the class president of the finance department. In her previous life, she'd eagerly grabbed the role, hoping to impress Zechariah—who was in the same major and president of the student council. She wanted to be close to him, to get him to notice her.

The class was a gathering of heirs from powerful families. Most couldn't care less about academics, forming cliques based on wealth and connections, and they cared way more about social rank than studying.

To wrangle these unruly rich kids, she'd been a hard-ass about attendance and discipline, which earned her the hatred of many classmates and trashed her reputation.

Later, when her life hit rock bottom and her rep was shattered, not a single soul stood up for her.

Not long after, Kayla transferred from the drama department to her finance class. With her sweet, understanding vibe—always smiling, always approachable—she quickly became everyone's favorite, the exact opposite of Laylani. Kayla stole the class presidency, won over everyone's hearts, and Laylani was gradually pushed out, her life crumbling from addiction until she vanished from all social circles.

Kayla had ridden her fall all the way to graduation and a job at Amazon, her path always smooth. Wherever she went, others paved the way.

Laylani's fingers curled tighter. Before she was fully back on her feet, she wasn't about to let those connections and resources slip into Kayla's hands again.

---

In the evening, during the last statistics class, a light rain began to fall outside. The professor lectured enthusiastically at the front, but the students were restless, eyes darting to the window again and again. The rain pattered in time with their uneasy hearts.

The second the bell rang, the classroom burst into motion, students filing out. "See you tomorrow, Laylani!" Nataly Hughes called, waving as she bolted for the door.

Laylani gave a nod, but her attention was pulled to her phone—two missed calls from the same unknown number.

Gathering her stuff, she headed downstairs and found a quiet corner in the hallway to return the call. It barely rang before a clear, slightly cocky young voice answered. "I sent the files to your email. Check 'em yourself."

"Thanks," Laylani replied, her tone even.

The guy clicked his tongue, annoyed. "Seriously, Laylani? You used the one favor I owed you on this? Next time, don't come asking me for help. I'm out."

Laylani's lips curved slightly. "Appreciate it."

And with that, she hung up, crisp as anything.

On the other end, hunkered down in a private villa in the Alps, the guy stared at the ended call. His fair, pretty face puffed up in indignation, and he tossed his phone aside, grumbling, "Use me and lose me—what an ungrateful piece of work! So damn infuriating!"

Laylani lowered her phone and looked up, pausing for a moment. Across the courtyard, through the sheets of rain, a white statue stood silent. Two familiar figures walked side by side, chatting and laughing with ease—Zechariah Boyd and Kayla Morgan.

He was tall and handsome, while she was all delicate and petite. They honestly looked like the picture-perfect couple. In the past, seeing them like that would've gutted Laylani.

But now? She just felt… nothing. She dropped her gaze with a soft scoff. *Yeah, they really did make a pair.*

From across the way, Kayla spotted Laylani tucked into the corner of the corridor, and her eyes lit up. She tugged on Zechariah's arm. "Zechariah, look—my sister's over there."

Zechariah followed her gaze. His eyes met Laylani's—calm, detached. He'd already decided he was gonna ignore her, so he looked away fast, his brow furrowing without a word.

Kayla's eyes shimmered as she pitched her voice a little louder. "My sister sees us."

"Let her," Zechariah said flatly, not even trying to pretend he cared.

Kayla bit her lip, glancing around with an 'oh, this is so awkward' kind of look, and let out a gentle sigh. They started walking slowly toward Laylani.

As they got closer, Kayla put on her best innocent face. "Zechariah, you don't actually believe what people are saying, do you? That I was the one who set up that whole fake accusation…"

She trailed off, her eyes going all misty with unshed tears.

Zechariah tore his gaze away from Laylani, saying quietly, "I don't."

The two of them walked right up to Laylani.

Zechariah kept staring straight ahead, but Kayla stopped. She turned to face Laylani, her expression dripping with fake concern. "Sister, you didn't bring an umbrella? Dad said Sam couldn't pick us up today. Maybe you should ride home with Zechariah?"

She clung to Zechariah's arm, looking up at him sweetly. "That okay with you, Zechariah?"

Zechariah said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. He told himself that if Laylani showed even a tiny sliver of humility, he might—*might*—grudgingly give her a ride. She was still his fiancée, after all.

The moment stretched tight with tension.

Kayla shot Laylani a smug little look, clearly expecting her to get all angry or embarrassed.

But Laylani just glanced at them, her expression unreadable, and let out a soft laugh. She didn't even move to accept.

That laugh hit Zechariah like a slap. His expression darkened. He pulled Kayla closer, snapping open a black umbrella to shield her—the gesture intimate, protective.

He knew Laylani. She was always so jealous, so small-minded.

He was trying to provoke her.

Under that umbrella, the two of them seemed lost in their own little world, slowly fading into the rain—leaving Laylani completely unaffected.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Elio Bradley leaned against the railing, sucking on a mint candy as he watched the whole scene play out. Raindrops fell in sheets around him, but his sharp eyes were locked onto Laylani's slender figure standing all alone, her hair soaked. She looked like a drenched stray cat—pathetic, abandoned.

Elio clicked his tongue in irritation, muttering to himself, "Idiot."

Why the hell did she ever waste her heart on someone as blind and clueless as Zechariah?

He spun on his heel and snatched an umbrella right out of his friend Riggs Myers's hand, leaving Riggs standing there, stunned.

"Hey! Elio, what the hell?" Riggs protested, completely floored. "That's my umbrella! You seriously gonna leave me to walk home soaked? Don't be such a jerk…"

Elio ignored him, gripping the umbrella as he bolted down the stairs.

Down in the corridor, Laylani was still messing with her phone when Elio stopped right in front of her, frowning.

"Hey. You got an umbrella?" he asked, his tone coming out way gruffer than he meant.

Laylani looked up, her hand instinctively going to her bag.

Elio hesitated, then added stiffly, "'Cause, I mean, if you need to borrow—"

Before he could finish, Laylani pulled a folding umbrella out of her bag and—*click*—snapped it open. A fresh, light green canopy bloomed above her.

And just like that, the air got super awkward.

Elio's ears turned bright red.

Laylani blinked up at him, all innocent. "Sorry… looks like I do have one."

Elio's expression soured as he clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Elio, get back here!" Riggs shouted, coming down the stairs. "That's not cool, dude. Give me my umbrella!"

Laylani looked totally confused.

Riggs caught up with them, and the awkwardness just hung there. Elio scowled and tossed the umbrella back to Riggs.

Riggs looked back and forth between Laylani and Elio, who was getting more and more grumpy by the second. He nudged Elio lightly. "Come on, man, you trying to catch a cold standing here?"

Elio turned to leave.

Laylani watched him walk away, and it suddenly hit her—had he really come all the way down just to offer her his umbrella?

"Elio," she called, stopping him in his tracks.

He paused, not turning around. "What?" His voice was still rough.

"Could you come somewhere with me?"

Elio turned, one eyebrow raised. "Since when are we that close?"

Laylani just blinked. "I thought we were."

Elio's Adam's apple bobbed. He looked away fast.

"You're delusional."

With that, he left with Riggs, vanishing into the rain.

Laylani scratched her head, bewildered. *Did I just get shot down?*

*Oh well…*

The rain kept coming down steady.

Huddled under her umbrella, Laylani left campus—but she didn't head straight home.

She got into a cab and gave the driver an address, and the car glided smoothly away.

What she didn't know was that a black sedan was parked near the campus gate, hidden by the rain.

Inside, Tate Morgan sat stiffly in the backseat, dressed sharp and radiating cold efficiency.

He'd watched Laylani climb into a cab heading in the exact opposite direction from home, and instantly his mind flashed to Kayla's complaints that morning about Laylani's behavior.

He immediately assumed she was up to something shady.

"Follow her," he ordered the driver.

"Yes, sir."

…

On the other side of town, in the old part of the city—a world away from the upscale neighborhoods—the streets were narrow and the buildings worn.

Rain washed over the tiny alleys, and the air was thick with the smell of dampness and rotting leaves.

Laylani made her way along the wet cobblestones, her pristine shoes splashing through puddles. It was a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings.

Following the address from the email, she navigated deeper into the rain-soaked streets until she spotted an old fruit stand, its plastic tarp flapping in the wind.

Rainwater dripped off the edges, forming muddy puddles on the ground.

A boy stood beside the stall.

Laylani stopped.