Chapter 3Third Return And I Am Done

The next morning, I stepped out of the house with my backpack slung over one shoulder.

Harrison’s sleek black Audi was idling in the driveway. He and Tyler were already inside.

A second later, Brianna darted past me, her hair perfectly curled, and hopped into the back seat.

I stopped. Usually, Harrison only drove Brianna. I was supposed to wait for the family driver to take me in the SUV.

But Harrison didn't pull away. I could feel his gaze on me through the tinted glass. I adjusted my bag and stared at the pavement, pretending I didn't notice.

"Harrison, come on! I’m going to be late for rehearsal!" Brianna’s voice drifted out through the cracked window.

Harrison grunted, then called out: "Are you getting in or not?"

I looked up, meeting his eyes in the side mirror. I glanced at Brianna, who was pouting, and shook my head. "No thanks. I’ll wait for the driver."

When I’d first come back this time, I’d tried to ride with them. That night, Brianna had broken out in a "stress rash," claiming the car felt "unclean." The look my parents gave me was enough. They thought I was literally 'dirty.'

Harrison paused. "Get in. The driver is off today."

I froze. Off? No one told me.

I caught sight of Tyler and Brianna in the car, stifling smirks. They’d known. They’d wanted me to stand out here like an idiot waiting for a car that wasn't coming.

The familiar sting of exclusion hit me, but I pushed it down. I was over it.

"Actually, I think I’ll take the bus. I could use the walk," I said with a polite smile.

Harrison’s brow furrowed.

From the passenger seat, Tyler sneered. "Let her go, Harrison. She’s used to roughing it. Why bother with someone who’d rather be a martyr?"

"Hurry up, Harry! I have a solo today!" Brianna whined.

Harrison shifted into gear and pulled away.

"You shouldn't waste your breath on someone so ungrateful," I heard Tyler’s voice fading as the car sped down the long driveway. I caught a snippet of his laugh: "Walking to the bus stop? That’s a three-mile hike down the hill. Let the peasant sweat, haha..."

I rolled my eyes.

I walked straight to the garage and pulled out the beat-up mountain bike I’d brought back from the Millers.

I wasn't a martyr. I just wasn't a fool.

When I reached the school gates, I hesitated for a second. The elite atmosphere of St. Jude’s Academy always felt like a suffocating cloud of old money.

"Well, if it isn't the ghost of Mercer past!"

I didn't even have to turn around. Nate, the youngest son of the local tech mogul, was leaning against a locker, a smirk playing on his lips. "I heard you got shipped off again. What happened? Did you forget which fork to use?"

Beside him, Sophie—the daughter of a jewelry tycoon—shoved him hard. "Shut it, Nate. You’re such a prick."

Sophie was the closest thing I had to a friend. She was blunt, wealthy, and didn't give a damn about social hierarchies.

"Maddie, seriously," she whispered, leaning in. "Just move into my guest house. My mom has been wanting a second daughter who actually has a brain. That 'Stepford Sister' of yours is driving everyone insane."

I laughed, but didn't commit.

"Hey, Maddie! You still taking commissions? I’ve got three essays and a lab report. Name your price."

A rounder guy, Becca, squeezed through the crowd, her eyes practically sparkling. Her family owned a massive restaurant franchise. This was a school for the one percent—kids who were brilliant at networking but hated the actual grunt work of being a student.

For them, homework was a chore. For me, it was a revenue stream.

The teachers knew I did it. As long as I wasn't literally taking their exams for them, they turned a blind eye because my work was better than the kids could ever produce.

"I’m back in business," I said, nodding.

A small crowd gathered. Some were genuinely curious where I’d been; others were placing bets on how long I’d stay this time. Becca shooed them away.

It was funny, really. These spoiled, arrogant rich kids were infinitely more straightforward than my own family. You knew exactly where you stood with them.

Becca was especially good to me. When my lunch card was empty and I tried to hide in the library to drink water and suppress the hunger, she’d drag me to the cafeteria and order enough food for five people.

One day, I asked her why she bothered.

She’d rubbed her chin thoughtfully and said, "I don’t know. Maybe I just have a hero complex? Or maybe you just look like a stray kitten that needs a sandwich." She grinned. "Besides, my goal in life is to make sure none of my friends are thinner than me. It’s a branding thing."

It was a ridiculous answer. It was perfect. It almost made me cry.