‘I handed you my blueprint, Ruth. Now, let’s see if you can handle it.‘
***
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**
by and any
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Over the next two weeks, Ruth pulled a full–on vanishing act at school.
Even Jeremy, his doting adoptive dad, was MIA.
Every now and then, men in sunglasses hovered around the school gates, asking if anyone had seen her.
Nobody had a clue where she was.
But I did. She was living the nightmare I knew all too well from my last life–crashing under bridges, roaming the streets, and scraping by on whatever food she could find.
Meanwhile, I was in class every day, soaking up the simple, almost magical joy of studying–something I’d only ever dreamed of before.
It felt unreal, this kind of happiness.
***
Ruth made her big comeback a month later.
A fleet of Maybachs flanked a dark red Maserati as it rolled up to the school gates.
She stepped out like she owned the place–fur coat, high heels, and enough attitude to drown out the whispers
1/2
+25 BONUS
Chapter 5
already spreading through the crowd.
She strutted straight into the administrative office.
Mr. Neill, the ever–strict dean, wasn’t having it. His face twisted into a scowl. “What kind of student dresses like this? Take it off immediately!”
Ruth snorted. “Mr. Neill, please. I used to care what you thought, but now? Mess with me, and Frederick will have you fired.”
The collective gasp outside was almost louder than her heels clicking on the tiled floor.
Frederick Guthrie—the school’s principal. She had the gall to call him by name like they were equals.
Mr. Neill’s face turned beet–red, his jaw clenched so tight he looked ready to combust.
Ruth sneered. “Relax, Baldy. I’m here to drop out. Don’t waste my time.”
By then, half the school had gathered outside, buzzing like bees as Ruth reveled in the attention.
She lifted her chin. “What are you gawking at? Do you even know who my boyfriend is? His name alone would make you shake in your knock–off sneakers.
“You’re all stuck here, clawing for $1,500–a–month jobs. Bet you can’t even afford a $79 eyebrow pencil.
“Not me. I’m marrying rich, baby. Say hello to my penthouse life.”
After wrapping up her withdrawal papers, she waltzed out of the office and spotted me by a street vendor, buying pancakes.
She walked over and kicked me flat onto the pavement.
I looked up, catching a glimpse of her lipstick–stained grin and the red marks peppering her neck.
Leaning over, she smirked. “Suri, aren’t you proud? Thanks to you, I’ve locked in your biggest catch from the last life.
“He told me to drop out and spend every second with him. Bought me a $10 million penthouse in West Hill, too.
“Face it–I’m the one winning this time.”
I stayed quiet, even as she jabbed her manicured finger into my forehead.
When I didn’t respond, she huffed, bored, then kicked me one more time for good measure before strutting away.
