Cruel Prince (Royal Hearts Academy, #1)(31)

That only makes me cry harder. “She’s with Jace having a stupid pool party.”

I can hear the disappointment in her sigh. “Boys seriously suck sometimes. Jace may be the gorgeous, popular boy at school right now, but he’s also a dumbass. Sooner or later he’ll realize his idiot ways and come crawling back.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He’s really angry with me and I have no idea why.”

She cups my cheeks. “You and I both know you did nothing wrong. You guys were best friends. A bond like the two of you had doesn’t just vanish into thin air. He’ll pull his head out of his ass and come around soon.”

The sound of my uncle clearing his throat interrupts our little hug-fest. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Crystal says as we break apart. “We need chocolate.”

“And ice cream.”

I might as well go for gold.

My aunt hands me a tissue and holds up the empty box. “And more tissues.”

Wayne’s eyes widen. “Anything else you two want?”

Yeah. I want to make your son my personal pi?ata.

But mostly?

I want my best friend back.





Chapter 16





Dylan





I feel it the moment my aunt drops me off at school the next morning.

Something is off.

People are staring.

Some of them are laughing.

Everyone is whispering.

And I’ve barely even stepped inside the building.

You’d think the stupid rumor about me hooking up with Oakley would be old news by now, but apparently not.

Sawyer rushes over the second she spots me in the hallway. “Hey. You’re here.”

“People really need to get a life.”

She shuffles her feet. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t fuck my step-cousin,” I hiss loud enough for the people gawking nearby to hear. “Find something else to feed your drama.”

“We already have,” some guy says smugly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sawyer blows out a breath. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. I tried to take as many as I could down, but they keep taping them back up.”

“Taping what—” My knees buckle as we turn down the hallway where my locker is.

This can’t be happening.

“How did they…” I swallow and it feels like glass. “Who?”

My stomach churns as I pass the rows of lockers lined with my dad’s mugshot and an article outlining his court case.

All my dirty laundry, the one thing I wanted to keep private is laid out for everyone to see.

Humiliation burns through me like wildfire as I approach my own locker where the word thief is spray painted in bright red.

Who would do such a cold-hearted, cruel…

I freeze as it occurs to me.

Oakley not only knows about my father being in jail, he dislikes me enough to use the information to hurt me.

Since the moment I stepped foot in Royal Manor, he’s made it clear I wasn’t welcome.

I figured it would blow over soon, but he’s gone too far this time.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who?”

I don’t answer her because I’m too busy pushing my way through the hallway full of people, searching for the asshole responsible for today and yesterday’s spectacle.

My pulse quickens as my Doc Martens hammer the shiny, terrazzo floor. Each step I take is fueled by vehemence.

I’ve been here less than a week and already I’ve reached my breaking point.

I’ve tried ignoring them.

I’ve tried turning the other cheek.

I’ve tried standing up for myself…all to no avail.

And the one person who should have my back in this hellhole—my family member—is the one pulling the strings to this little shit show.

If I don’t do something drastic and put an end to the bullshit now, it will only continue.

I catch Oakley hanging out at the end of the hallway by his locker. His back is turned to me as a visibly agitated girl—who I presume must be his girlfriend—berates him about ignoring her phone calls.

Wait your turn, sweetheart. He’s mine first.

Intuitive people who can smell a fight from a mile away step aside as I approach him.

Standing at just over six feet, Oakley has almost a hundred pounds on me, but it doesn’t deter me from my mission.

I might be scrappy, but I’ve been in enough fights to know the first punch has to pack enough power to disorient him, or at the very least, throw him off enough that I’m able to get a second one in.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I remind myself as I tap his shoulder.

It’s clear my presence is unwanted when he twists around. Feeling’s mutual, douche.

“What do you—”

I don’t think, I just act.

The second I register the sound of my knuckles cracking against bone, I know I landed a good one.

And I don’t stop there. Not even when he raises one of his hands in self-defense.

“Christ. What the fuck is your problem?”

My answer is another punch. This time straight to his throat. “You.”