The Grand entrance of a Villainess

The morning sunlight bathed the car interior in a warm glow as I drove toward campus. The soft purr of the engine was a comforting reminder that I wasn't being jostled on a crowded train. A relief, honestly.

"I think we've done enough train rides to last a lifetime," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel.

Beside me, Nyssa hummed in agreement, her green eyes scanning the pages of her notebook. "I don't mind the train," she replied, flipping to another page without looking up. Her tone was casual, distracted.

"You don't mind the train because you're good at pretending the smell doesn't exist," I countered, stealing a glance at her. "Meanwhile, I get to enjoy being squished into a corner with someone's elbow in my ribs. Very pleasant."

She chuckled softly, the sound as light as the way her orange hair caught the sunlight streaming through the window. "At least it was character-building."

"Sure, if 'character-building' is just a fancy way of saying 'torture,'" I shot back.

Nyssa didn't respond, too focused on her notes. She had this way of zoning everything else out when she was in study mode, her lips moving slightly as she read.

Feeling playful, I rested a hand on her thigh, fingers brushing the fabric lightly.

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

She continued to speak, pointing out potential exam pitfalls. "For the economics section, don't forget to double-check your calculations—"

I pressed my hand a bit more firmly, just to test her reaction.

"—and for the theoretical questions, use the structure I taught you," she continued without missing a beat.

My eyebrow twitched. Seriously?

Finally, I withdrew my hand, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh. She didn't even notice. "Unflappable, huh?" I muttered under my breath, hiding my smirk.

The gates of the school came into view, and I smoothly turned into the driveway. A line of students milled about outside; their eyes immediately drawn to my car.

I parked in my designated spot, stepped out, and casually straightened my jacket. The whispers started almost immediately.

"Is that Henry Novar?"

"And... Nyssa Albright?"

"Do you think they're... you know?"

"She's so lucky. Imagine being picked up in that car!"

I turned to open the door for Nyssa, who stepped out with her bag clutched tightly to her chest. Despite her composed demeanor, her cheeks flushed faintly as she caught sight of the growing crowd. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her head dipping slightly as if to avoid the attention.

"They're admiring you," I teased, leaning close as we started walking toward the building.

"They're not admiring me; they're staring at you," she retorted, her voice a bit sharper than usual.

Her blush deepened as someone in the crowd whispered, "They look so good together, don't they?"

Nyssa groaned under her breath. "Don't they have anything better to do?"

"They're harmless," I said with a shrug, though I couldn't stop the smug grin from creeping onto my face.

After escorting Nyssa to her classroom, I made my way to mine. Class 2 wasn't as intimidating as her Class 1, but the energy in the room was still tense.

As I walked in, a few heads turned. Some girls flashed me sly smiles, one even blowing a kiss. Meanwhile, the guys just clicked their tongues, muttering things about "rich kids."

I took my seat, ignoring the whispers, though my inner monologue couldn't help but chime in: Why is everyone acting like I walked onto a runway? I'm hot I know it ,but damn.

The proctor handed out the exam papers, and I immediately focused, the morning passing in a blur of questions and answers.

By the time the bell rang, I felt a mix of relief and exhaustion. Standing up, I stretched, my thoughts drifting to lunch—and Nyssa.

The courtyard bustled with life as students milled about, soaking in the rare moments of freedom between classes. Conversations melded into a cacophony of chatter, the occasional burst of laughter punctuating the air.

I spotted Nyssa sitting under one of the large shade trees that dotted the courtyard, her bright orange hair glowing in the sunlight like a fiery halo. She was setting up lunch, her movements unhurried, her face a picture of serenity. Seeing her there, so calm and focused, made my chest lighten. It was like the world could pause for just a moment, and everything would be fine.

Of course, peace was fleeting.

A loud splash shattered the tranquility, followed by a gasp so theatrical it sounded rehearsed.

My stomach twisted with a sense of foreboding as I turned toward the fountain.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. My heart sank.

There she was.

Dahlia Vayne, drenched and glistening like some kind of mythological water nymph, perched herself delicately on the edge of the fountain. The midday sun caught the droplets sliding down her blonde-pink hair, making them sparkle like they were straight out of a shampoo commercial. Her red eyes shimmered with unshed tears, wide and brimming with an innocence so over-the-top it deserved an award. Her lips quivered in an expertly crafted pout, a look so practiced it was probably trademarked.

The crowd? Oh, they were eating it up like a free buffet.

"I-It's okay," Dahlia stammered, her voice trembling just enough to sound tragically frail. Every word seemed to be spun from pure sugar and pity. "It was an accident. I'm fine, really."

Cue the gasps of sympathy from the onlookers. The poor girl who had "accidentally" shoved her into the fountain stood there, frozen in horror, her face whiter than chalk. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Please, forgive me!"

Dahlia tilted her head ever so slightly, the picture of saintly martyrdom. "Please, don't blame yourself," she murmured, her tone soft and self-sacrificing, as though she were absolving someone for a war crime. "It's just water."

Oh, please.

The crowd murmured their admiration, closing in like they were at some holy site.

"She's so kind," someone whispered with awe.

"An angel," added another, probably seconds away from bursting into tears.

"She looks even more beautiful with wet hair," a guy near me muttered, his voice tinged with actual reverence.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes so hard they'd detach. Kind? Angelic? The girl's practically a master class in manipulation. But sure, let's all pretend she didn't orchestrate this entire scene to milk sympathy like it was a competitive sport.

And then came the pièce de résistance. A group of boys—likely her adoring fan club—rushed forward like contestants on some reality show.

"Miss Dahlia, let me get you a towel!"

"No, I'll get the towel!"

"Don't worry about that, I'll carry you home if you're too cold!"

The desperation in their voices was palpable, each one competing for the title of Knight in Soaking Wet Armor.

Meanwhile, I just stood there, arms crossed, watching the whole ridiculous spectacle like I was at a bad theater performance. My inner monologue kicked into overdrive.

Gentle soul? More like gentle manipulator. And these guys? Oh, they're definitely not thinking with their brains. If I hear one more compliment about how 'radiant' she looks wet, I'm going to—

The guy turned scarlet, his voice cracking as he stammered, "I-It's an honor."

I grimaced, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. She's still the same fucking ass even in this life?

Keeping my distance, I retreated to the tree where Nyssa sat, blissfully unaware of the commotion. She hummed softly to herself, focused entirely on unpacking our lunches.

"Wow, she's like a princess," a girl nearby whispered, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Princess of drama, I thought bitterly, crossing my arms as I watched Dahlia soak in the adoration like a plant basking in sunlight.

If only these people knew who they were really worshipping—a wolf in drenched sheep's clothing.

Dahlia's red eyes scanned the crowd, her lashes fluttering as though she were performing in some grand romantic scene. Then, to my dismay, her gaze found me.

My blood ran cold as her lips parted, the faintest smile curving upward like a hunter spotting their prey.

Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

I spun on my heel, heading toward the staircase that led to the rooftop. "Let's eat somewhere quiet," I said to Nyssa, keeping my voice calm.

She looked up, blinking in confusion. "What's going on over there?"

"Nothing important," I replied quickly, refusing to glance back.

"Uh, okay," she said, grabbing her bag and following me.

As we ascended the stairs, I couldn't resist a glance over my shoulder. Dahlia was still surrounded by her adoring entourage, her gaze lingering in my direction. Her lips moved, as if preparing to call out to me.

But I was already gone, Nyssa at my side, and the rooftop beckoning us toward the peace we deserved.

The rooftop had become our sanctuary—a place above the noise and chaos of the school below. I exhaled deeply, trying to steady my nerves as I set down our lunchboxes on the small table.

But my mind was still elsewhere.

Dahlia. Her piercing red eyes, the sickly-sweet tone of her voice, and the haunting memories she carried with her. Even now, the thought of her sent a chill down my spine. What was she even trying to do with that whole fountain stunt? Whatever it was, I wasn't sticking around to find out.

I glanced at Nyssa, who sat across from me, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight as she arranged the food. She looked so calm, so effortlessly beautiful, that for a moment, my fears felt like a distant echo.

"You're awfully quiet," she said, breaking the silence. She tilted her head, studying me like I was an unsolved puzzle.

I forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. "Just thinking about the exams."

Her lips quirked upward knowingly. "Henry, I've known you long enough to tell when you're lying." She picked up a piece of fruit from her lunchbox, her expression shifting to one of playful mischief. "Here, eat."

Before I could react, she leaned across the table and placed the fruit between her lips, offering it to me with a teasing glint in her eye.

My brain short-circuited. "Wha—"

Her pout deepened, making her look like an adorable, yet determined, fox. "If you won't eat willingly, I'll make sure you do."

There was no winning against her. Tentatively, I leaned forward, biting the fruit from her lips. The sweetness of the fruit and the proximity of Nyssa's face left me momentarily stunned.

"There," she said with a triumphant smile, leaning back in her seat. "At least I have your attention now."

I blinked, my fear of Dahlia momentarily eclipsed by the sheer audacity of what had just happened. "Nyssa, you're going to kill me one of these days," I muttered, my voice tinged with awe.

She laughed softly, the sound like a balm to my frayed nerves. "Well, at least you're not brooding anymore."

She reached for another piece of food, holding it out to me with her fingers this time. "Here, you'll need energy for the afternoon exams."

I couldn't help but smirk as I took the offering. She was feeding me now, like some kind of pampered prince. It was... sweet.

Then it hit me—why she was doing this.

I glanced at her, noticing how her cheeks flushed slightly whenever my gaze lingered. Jealous, I realized. She wasn't one to voice it directly, but with all the stares and whispers we'd endured today, it made sense. She was staking her claim, in her own quiet, bold way.

I decided to play along, leaning into her little "feeding session" with a grin. "You're spoiling me, you know that?"

She huffed, her blush deepening. "Just eat, Henry."

I took her hand in mine, pulling it down gently. "Hey," I said softly, my tone earnest now. "You don't need to worry, okay? You've already marked me."

Her brows furrowed slightly in confusion until I tugged at my collar, revealing the faint hickeys she'd left a few days ago still clinging on my skin.

Her eyes widened, her blush spreading down to her neck. "H-Henry!"

"What?" I teased, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Just thought I'd remind you that you've got nothing to worry about. I'm all yours."

She buried her face in her hands, half-giggling, half-muttering what I could only assume were curses directed at me.

Satisfied, I reached across the table and gave her a light head pat. "Thanks for the lunch," I said warmly. "And for looking out for me."

Her eyes peeked out from behind her fingers, sparkling with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness. "Idiot," she murmured, but her smile betrayed her words.

As the breeze carried our laughter across the rooftop, the weight of Dahlia's theatrics and the looming exams faded away, replaced by the simple, unshakable comfort of having Nyssa by my side.

The afternoon exams were brutal, a gauntlet of trick questions and mind-numbing equations, but I powered through. Nyssa's earlier words—You've got this—had latched onto my brain like a lifeline. By the time the final bell rang, I was a little fried, but victorious.

I packed up my things and headed for the exit, ready to call it a day.

And then… she struck again.

There, right in the middle of the main hallway, was Dahlia. Not standing. Not walking. No. Sprawled. Like she was auditioning for the role of Fainting Victorian Heroine #3. One hand clutched her chest, the other reached dramatically toward me.

"Henry," she whispered, her voice so weak and trembling it could've melted steel.

Oh, for the love of—

My internal monologue groaned as I slowed to a stop. Are you serious? We're doing this again?

Her crimson eyes glistened with the practiced innocence of someone who had a PHD in deceit. Her blouse—now that was a masterpiece of manipulation—artfully pulled down just enough to hint at cleavage but not enough to look intentional. She was playing the helpless damsel to perfection, and the crowd was eating it up like free snacks at a party.

"Please," she murmured, her lips quivering as she reached for me. "Help me…"

I stared at her for a beat, my face an impassive mask. Then, without missing a beat, I said flatly, "Sorry, still recovering from a coma," and stepped around her.

The air froze. Her jaw practically hit the floor as gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathering crowd.

Behind me, one of her fanboys sprang into action, rushing to her side with the devotion of a knight pledged to his queen. "Don't worry, Dahlia! I'll take care of you!"

Good luck with that, I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as I walked away.

By the time I reached the car, Nyssa was already waiting inside, scrolling on her phone. She glanced up as I climbed in, raising an eyebrow. "What took you so long?"

"Nothing important," I said with a smirk, pulling the door shut.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but let it slide.

As we pulled away, I caught myself glancing back through the rearview mirror, catching a last glimpse of Dahlia's expression—somewhere between shock and sheer disbelief.

Honestly? Worth it.

The day had been exhausting, but the moment I looked at Nyssa—calm, steady, effortlessly grounding—I knew one thing for sure: Dahlia could stage a thousand melodramas, but she would never hold a candle to the quiet strength of the girl sitting beside me.

__

The morning sun was sharp and unforgiving as we arrived at school, the bustling energy of students palpable as the tension of midterms hovered like a cloud. After parking, Nyssa and I exchanged a quiet nod before heading to our respective classrooms.

The atmosphere in Class 2 was a mix of dread and anticipation, the kind of energy that came with waiting for your fate to be handed to you on a slip of paper. As I slipped into my seat, I couldn't help but notice the nervous glances being exchanged across the room.

Our homeroom teacher entered with a stack of cards in hand, their contents no doubt the topic of every student's anxiety. The teacher began distributing them one by one, offering congratulatory smiles or murmurs of encouragement depending on the result.

Finally, my turn came.

"Novar," the teacher said, handing me the card with a small smile.

I took it, my heart pounding slightly. Flipping it open, my eyes scanned the details until they locked onto two words: Class Rank: 1.

I blinked, a slow grin spreading across my face.

Across the room, whispers of relief, joy, and frustration filled the air as my classmates opened their own cards.

"Yes! I improved!" someone cheered.

"Ugh, no! I dropped three places," another groaned.

But the loudest voice came from a guy seated in the middle row, his voice tinged with indignation. "Who took my spot?" he snapped, waving his card.

The usual top scorer, Timothy.

My lips twitched as I tucked my card into my bag without a word. Let him stew.

As the bell rang for lunch, the school buzzed with renewed anticipation. The overall rankings were being posted in the courtyard—a tradition that turned an already stressful day into a public spectacle.

I joined the throng of students gathering around the board, casually scanning for my name.

"Wait—Henry Novar is second?" a voice exclaimed from the crowd before I could even find it myself.

Heads turned in my direction, whispers spreading like wildfire.

"Second overall?!"

"That's insane!"

I turned to find her already looking at me, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She held up her hand, forming a playful V with her fingers.

I couldn't help but smile back, mimicking the gesture. The way her green eyes sparkled with joy made the second-place rank feel like first.

But as I walked away from the board, the murmurs of approval and admiration were quickly replaced by a group of my fangirls. Their presence was hard to miss—stylishly dressed, impeccably confident, and just the tiniest bit intimidating.

They stood in a loose semi-circle around Nyssa, their gazes assessing her from head to toe.

"She's the one who was in Henry's car?" one of them muttered under her breath.

Nyssa, to her credit, didn't shrink away, though I could see her grip on her bag tighten.

"Henry seems really happy lately," another said, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "Even if she's... not what I expected."

The leader of the group, a girl with a sharp gaze and impeccable posture, stepped forward, holding out a single yellow flower.

"For you," she said, her tone neutral. "Yellow means happiness. Make sure Henry stays that way."

Nyssa blinked, stunned, before reaching out to accept the flower. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice tinged with surprise.

As Nyssa took the flower, one of the girls leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I sat behind Henry during the exams," she said, her lips curling into a sly smile. "I could see the hickey you left. Guess you're not just smart—you know how to mark your possession."

Nyssa's face turned a shade of crimson I didn't think was possible. She stammered something unintelligible, her free hand flying to her neck.

The girl straightened, giving Nyssa a knowing look before rejoining her friends.

I'd heard the whole thing, of course, and as I stepped closer, Nyssa looked at me with wide, flustered eyes.

"What did they say?" I asked, my voice teasing.

"N-Nothing!" she squeaked, shoving the flower into her bag as if it were a piece of contraband.

I smirked, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "I think they like you."

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "They don't like me. They tolerate me because of you."

"Same thing," I said with a shrug. "Besides, they're right about one thing."

She peeked at me through her fingers, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What's that?"

I tapped my neck where her hickey had barely begun to fade, grinning at her. "You did mark your possession pretty well."

Nyssa's groan turned into a soft laugh, and as we walked away from the board, I couldn't help but feel like today was a win for both of us.

As Nyssa and I started heading to the cafeteria, the schoolyard's gossip had already reached a fever pitch. The rankings were out, and the talk of the campus wasn't just about me and Nyssa. It was about her.

A loud, overly dramatic sigh echoed through the courtyard.

"Why me? Why must these exams always be so cruel?"

I didn't need to turn to know who it was. The distinctively saccharine voice could only belong to one person: Dahlia Vayne.

I bit back an exasperated groan and dared to glance toward the commotion. Dahlia was sitting on the edge of a bench, her face tilted downward like she was mourning a great loss. Her pale pink-blonde hair framed her face in perfectly styled curls, while her sharp red eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Her exam card, clutched dramatically in her hand, told a story of academic tragedy—her rank was embarrassingly close to the bottom.

"Dahlia," one of her fanboys said, kneeling beside her. "You're still amazing. These scores don't define you."

"Yeah," another chimed in. "You probably weren't feeling well during the exams, right?"

"I—I just tried my best," Dahlia stammered, her voice trembling with angelic vulnerability. Her hands brushed against the boy who was kneeling, and her cheeks turned a perfect shade of pink.

The boy turned as red as a stoplight. "D-Dahlia!"

I cringed, glancing at Nyssa, who was busy looking through her bag, probably deciding if the yellow flower could fit with her lunch. She hadn't noticed the scene yet.

Dahlia's performance continued. "It's not the end of the world," she murmured, a tragic smile on her lips. "As long as I stay true to myself, that's all that matters."

The crowd around her seemed spellbound.

"Oh my gosh, she's so pure," one girl whispered.

"She's an angel," another added.

Angel? She's a fallen one, at best.

But then, my fangirls stepped into the fray.

"Excuse me," one of them said, her arms crossed as she pushed into Dahlia's pity circle. "Are we really calling a bottom-ranker an angel? Someone just out of a coma got second place."

The air crackled with tension as the Dahlia Fan Club squared off with my fangirls.

"Henry has nothing to do with this!" one of Dahlia's supporters snapped.

"But the fact remains," my fangirl countered, her voice sharp. "He's proof that excuses don't get you anywhere. Being sick isn't an excuse to slack off."

Dahlia's lower lip trembled as she glanced between the two groups. "Please don't fight because of me," she said, her tone full of martyr-like sorrow.

"Oh, give it a rest," another of my fangirls snapped. "You're playing the victim, and everyone can see it."

The verbal war escalated, drawing a larger crowd.

Nyssa finally noticed. "What's going on?" she asked, tilting her head as she looked at the growing argument.

"Nothing you need to worry about," I said quickly, trying to steer her toward the cafeteria.

"Is that ..the same girl yesterday?" Nyssa asked, squinting toward the center of the commotion.

I flinched. "Nope. Let's eat."

But before I could pull her away, one of the Dahlia supporters yelled loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear.

Before I could escape with Nyssa, a shrill voice pierced through the courtyard, loud enough to turn every head.

"Of course, Henry's second place is suspicious!" a Dahlia supporter sneered. "He probably just got lucky. Everyone knows he doesn't take anything seriously!"

The insult hit like a slap, and the murmurs in the crowd grew louder.

"Henry? Lucky? Did he even study?"

"I mean, it's Nyssa who's always top one. Makes sense she'd drag him along."

"Maybe he copied her." Ok first of all we are in different classes.

Wow, I thought, my jaw tightening as I resisted the urge to snap back. Real original insults, everyone. Let's ignore the countless nights of torture Nyssa put me through to get here.

Nyssa froze beside me, her green eyes narrowing. "What did they just say?"

"Nothing worth repeating," I muttered, tugging at her hand. "Let's just go."

But Nyssa, the ever-stoic scholar, didn't budge. She turned toward the crowd, her expression calm yet undeniably sharp. "If you have something to say about Henry, say it to his face."

The courtyard went silent, save for a few nervous coughs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

A few of my fangirls, emboldened by her defense, jumped in.

"Exactly! Henry worked his ass off to get second place!" one of them snapped.

"Right? He was recovering from a coma, for crying out loud!"

"But Nyssa's always been number one," a Dahlia fan argued. "It's not like she needs him."

My fangirls weren't having it.

"Maybe she doesn't, but they're a team," one shot back, glaring.

"Unlike someone else," another added pointedly, casting a glance at Dahlia, who was still sitting prettily on the bench, her face a mask of practiced sorrow.

Dahlia's red eyes filled with crocodile tears, her voice trembling as she finally spoke. "Please, everyone, don't fight because of me. I'm just... I'm just happy Henry is doing well."

The audacity.

"Yeah, right," I muttered under my breath, my patience wearing thin.

"Henry," Nyssa whispered, her hand squeezing mine. "Let's just go."

I nodded, biting back a sarcastic retort as we turned to leave.

Behind us, the crowd erupted into murmurs again.

"Did you see that? Nyssa's actually defending him."

"They're definitely a thing."

"Good for her. Henry's a catch."

Dahlia's fanboys weren't happy about the shift.

"Whatever. Henry's just riding on her coattails."

"At least Dahlia's kind and humble."

My fangirls immediately turned their wrath back on them.

"Henry doesn't need to ride on anyone's coattails. He's rich, smart, and—"

"And hot," another interrupted, fanning herself dramatically.

Nyssa tugged me forward, her cheeks-tinged pink. "Let's eat before they start a riot."

"Good idea," I said, smirking as we finally broke free from the chaos.

As we headed to the cafeteria, I couldn't help but glance at Nyssa. She was frowning slightly, lost in thought, but the way she had defended me back there made my chest swell with pride.

"Thanks for having my back," I said softly.

She looked up, startled, before her lips curved into a shy smile. "You're welcome."

The courtyard might have been a battlefield, but with Nyssa by my side, I felt like I'd already won the war.

Her grip was firm but warm, her tired eyes still sparkling with determination. As much as the exams had drained me, her presence recharged me.

And then, like clockwork, the peace shattered.

A sharp, strangled sob sliced through the courtyard air.

Oh, no. Not again.

I turned my head, and there she was—Dahlia Vayne, standing with the dramatic flair of someone auditioning for an Oscar.

"Henry," she whispered, her voice quivering as she took a delicate step forward.

I groaned internally. Is this the third time this week? Or the fourth? Honestly, keeping track of Dahlia's antics was like tracking a soap opera. Dahlia Vayne: The Queen of Spontaneous Emotional Collapses.

Nyssa's fingers tightened around mine, her jaw visibly clenching. She was about two seconds away from dragging me out of here, and honestly, I wouldn't have minded.

"I'm sorry for earlier," Dahlia began, her wide, watery eyes fixed solely on me. It was as if Nyssa didn't even exist. Classic Dahlia move. "I should have stopped fighting. It's because of me that they became like that... even dragging your name into it."

Cue the shaky breath, the hand clutching her chest, and a mournful look that screamed, Somebody comfort me—I'm so fragile!

Nyssa's grip was steel now, her eyes flashing with confusion and suppressed rage. Meanwhile, I was caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to yell.

Is this performance for me? Or the crowd? A quick glance around told me it was for both. Students were whispering, their eyes darting between Dahlia, Nyssa, and me like we were the main event.

"I didn't know you'd be so cold, Henry," Dahlia said, her voice breaking just enough to tug at the heartstrings of anyone gullible enough to fall for it. "I visited you every day when you were in the hospital. For four weeks. You didn't know, but I was there... watching over you."

My jaw tightened. She did NOT just say that.

"Oh, you visited me?" I replied, arching a brow. My tone was sweet, but the edge in my voice was impossible to miss. "How many times did you say again?"

Her lip quivered, and she glanced nervously at the crowd. "Four weeks, Henry. I was there every single day."

Wow. She just doubled down on the lie.

The students around us murmured, a mix of disbelief and intrigue. My fangirls glared at Dahlia, jealousy flashing in their eyes as the gossip spread like wildfire. Some of the boys exchanged glances, arms crossed, clearly jealous of whatever connection Dahlia implied.

"Four weeks?" I repeated, my voice rising enough for the crowd to hear. I let out a laugh, a sharp sound that cut through the murmurs like a knife. "I was only in the hospital for three weeks, not four."

The courtyard fell silent, the atmosphere charged as Dahlia's eyes widened, her perfect mask slipping. Nyssa's mouth opened slightly, and I saw a flicker of relief cross her features.

I continued, smirking as I glanced at Dahlia, then at the crowd. "There's a visitor log at the hospital, you know. And guess what? Your name wasn't there. Not even once."

Dahlia's face flushed bright red as the truth sank in, the crowd's whispers intensifying. The boys who had been standing up for her looked awkward, shuffling back and muttering amongst themselves. My fangirls, who had been tense with jealousy, now let out small cheers, some even recording the scene on their phones.

"What are you saying, Henry?" Dahlia's voice cracked, her face a mess of fake tears and exaggerated sorrow. "Why did you lie? You were gone from school for four weeks?"

The crowd shifted uneasily, their eyes bouncing between me and Dahlia like we were the stars of some juicy drama. A few of them nodded hesitantly, falling for her teary-eyed act.

"Yeah, why didn't we see you here?" someone piped up, their tone sharp with suspicion.

"Could he be pretending?" another chimed in, their words laced with judgment.

"Wow, Henry's such an ass."

Oh, great. Dahlia's performance of the year had earned me the role of villain. Fantastic.

I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Losing it now would only play into her hands. Raising one hand, I signaled for silence, my expression carefully composed—cool, but not cold. But my ever radiating body hot.

"Before everyone loses their minds," I began, my voice steady, "let me clear this up."

The crowd quieted; their curiosity piqued. Dahlia's wide, watery eyes blinked up at me, probably expecting me to dig myself into a hole.

"I wasn't here last week," I said plainly, letting the words hang in the air for a beat.

Gasps. Murmurs. A girl in the back even clutched her popcorn—where did she even get popcorn????

"I was recovering at home." My voice was calm, firm, but with just a hint of exasperation because, honestly, why was I even explaining this? "And while I was out, Nyssa was helping me with my studies."

Cue the collective record scratch.

Nyssa—standing just behind me—tensed at the sudden attention. Her eyes widened slightly, but then she straightened her shoulders, her expression calm but unwavering. If she felt awkward about being dragged into this, she didn't show it.

The whispers rippled through the crowd again, but this time, the tone had shifted entirely.

"Nyssa helped him?" one girl asked, her voice tinged with surprise—and maybe a little jealousy.

"Wait, Nyssa?" someone else muttered, as if they couldn't believe their ears.

"Wow, she's so lucky!" another sighed dreamily, already imagining what it must be like to tutor Henry Novar, the heartthrob of the century.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Lucky? Me forgetting basic algebra because of a concussion and needing Nyssa to drill it into my head was their definition of lucky? Sure.

I fought back the urge to smirk at the abrupt shift in the crowd's mood. Take that, Dahlia.

Speaking of, Dahlia's face had gone pale, her perfectly rehearsed expression slipping for just a second. She looked between me and Nyssa, her lips parting as if to say something—probably another lie—but nothing came out.

"Anything else you'd like to accuse me of?" I asked lightly, raising an eyebrow at Dahlia.

She snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks turning an impressive shade of pink.

Behind me, Nyssa let out the smallest, almost imperceptible laugh. I glanced back at her, catching the faintest sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

"Guess not," I said, turning back to the crowd. "So, if we're done here..."

I didn't bother finishing the sentence. Instead, I turned and walked off, Nyssa following close behind.

As we left the crowd behind, Nyssa finally spoke, her tone casual but teasing. "You didn't have to drag me into it, you know."

I shrugged, a grin tugging at my lips. "What can I say? The truth has a funny way of shutting people up."

I glanced at Nyssa, who looked up at me, eyes bright with relief and a newfound strength. Her fingers tightened around mine, and a tiny, triumphant smile tugged at her lips.

Dahlia's eyes narrowed, her breathing sharp as she shot a look between us. She let out a shaky breath, eyes darting between us, searching for any sign of weakness. But there was none. Without another word, she turned on her heel, the echoes of the crowd's whispers following her as she walked away, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.