The college newspaper had just released its weekly online edition, and I, like most first-years, was scrolling through it during a quiet moment in the library. My gaze skimmed past articles about campus events and club victories, until a particular headline snagged my attention: "Privileged Prankster Pays Price: Luxury Car Owner Demands Restitution." My heart dropped.
The article, written with an undeniably sensationalist slant, detailed the incident with Felix's car, painting me as a reckless, financially irresponsible student who had damaged expensive property and then tried to evade responsibility. It twisted my apologies into attempts to escape, and even mentioned my "disheveled state" as if it were evidence of my delinquency. While it didn't use my name directly, it gave enough vague details about a "first-year female student" that anyone who knew about the alley incident would immediately recognize it was me. The worst part was a blurry, grainy photo, clearly taken from a distance, of me standing near Felix's car in the alley, looking exactly as panicked as I felt.
My hands started to shake. How did this even get out? And why now? The comments section was already a cesspool of judgment: "Typical entitled rich kid expects hand-out," "Should've looked where she was going," "Hope she has good insurance!"
Just as my face flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation, a shadow fell over my screen. I looked up to see Felix standing over me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on my laptop. He must have seen the headline.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. He wasn't looking at me, but at the screen, his gaze tracing the words of the article.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. It was Lisa. "Elisa! Have you seen the article? What the heck is going on?!"
My initial shock quickly morphed into a furious resentment. This was his world, his car, his powerful family. This was all connected to him. "It's your car, isn't it?" I snapped, pointing at the screen, my voice trembling with indignation. "This is because of your stupid car! Now everyone thinks I'm some kind of irresponsible criminal!"
Felix finally looked at me, and for a moment, his usual arrogance seemed to crack. There was a flash of something unreadable in his eyes – surprise? annoyance? – but then his expression hardened. He took a step back, a wall coming up around him. "This isn't my doing," he stated, his voice now flat, devoid of emotion. "And you think I want this kind of attention?" He gestured vaguely at the article. "My family hates public messes like this."
"Oh, right, your precious family reputation!" I retorted, throwing caution to the wind. "Unlike my reputation, which is apparently fair game for your drama!"
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He opened his mouth, as if to snap back, but then a different look crossed his face. He glanced around the library, noting the few students who were now looking our way, drawn by the rising tension in our voices. Then he looked at the article again, his gaze lingering on the comments. He seemed to take a deep breath, and when he finally spoke, his voice was unexpectedly calm, almost cold. "This is a problem. And it's going to get worse if you react like this every time."
He then did something I didn't expect. He pulled out his phone, already tapping away, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I'll handle it," he said, not looking at me, his focus entirely on his device. "But don't assume you know everything, Elisa." Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me fuming and humiliated, a public villain thanks to an accidental fender bender. And once again, he was "handling" something, leaving me in the
dark.
Felix's POV:
The campus library was, for once, a place I actually sought out for a bit of quiet. I needed to clear my head. The 'discussion' with my father's team earlier had been a new level of infuriating, all about "damage control" and "PR strategy." More financial maneuvers, more tightening of the reins. My family hates a public mess. Hates it.
I was scrolling through my phone, just trying to zone out, when a headline on the college paper's site snagged my attention. "Privileged Prankster Pays Price: Luxury Car Owner Demands Restitution." My blood ran cold. The alley incident. My car. And a blurry, low-res photo of her. Elisa. Looking exactly as panicked as she had that day.
My jaw tightened. This was exactly what I didn't need. My family would see this. It wasn't just about a scratched car anymore; it was public, it was embarrassing, and it touched on the exact kind of "petty scandal" my father despised. This was a leak. A calculated one, probably.
Just then, I felt a familiar flicker of anger. I looked up. And there she was, Elisa, hunched over her laptop, face flushed, eyes wide with humiliation. The article was front and center on her screen.
"What is this?" I demanded, my voice low, laced with the anger rising inside me. I wasn't just angry at the article; I was angry that she was exposed like this, angry that my problem had now become her very public humiliation.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed, vibrating on the table. She looked at me, and her initial shock quickly morphed into a furious resentment. "It's your car, isn't it?" she snapped, pointing at the screen, her voice trembling. "This is because of your stupid car! Now everyone thinks I'm some kind of irresponsible criminal!"
Her words hit harder than they should have. My family's drama had spilled over onto her. That was never the intention. But her reaction, that raw, untamed fury, it was so her. No filter. Just pure emotion. I hated it. And also... found it oddly compelling.
"This isn't my doing," I stated, forcing my voice flat. My usual wall went up. Defensiveness, control. It was easier than admitting any fault, or explaining anything. "And you think I want this kind of attention? My family hates public messes like this."
"Oh, right, your precious family reputation!" she retorted, completely unhinged now. "Unlike my reputation, which is apparently fair game for your drama!"
A muscle in my jaw jumped. I wanted to snap back, to remind her who owed whom. But then I noticed the other students glancing over, heads turned. This wasn't the place. And her public breakdown wasn't helping either of us. This wasn't just a minor annoyance now; it was a visible problem.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to rein it in. "This is a problem. And it's going to get worse if you react like this every time." My voice was calmer now, even cold, a mask. Control the situation. Control the optics.
I pulled out my phone, already tapping away. This needed to be handled. Immediately. Find out who leaked this, and shut it down. "I'll handle it," I said, not looking at her, my focus entirely on damage control. "But don't assume you know everything, Elisa." I walked away, leaving her fuming. Let her be angry. It was better than her being humiliated. And better than her knowing just how deep my family's messes ran. This was my problem, and I'd clean it up. Like always.
(Elisa's POV)
Just as my face flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation, a shadow fell over my screen. I looked up to see Felix standing over me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on my laptop. He must have seen the headline.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. He wasn't looking at me, but at the screen, his gaze tracing the words of the article.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. It was Lisa. "Elisa! Have you seen the article? What the heck is going on?!"
My initial shock quickly morphed into a furious resentment. This was his world, his car, his powerful family. This was all connected to him. "It's your car, isn't it?" I snapped, pointing at the screen, my voice trembling with indignation. "This is because of your stupid car! Now everyone thinks I'm some kind of irresponsible criminal!"
Felix finally looked at me, and for a moment, his usual arrogance seemed to crack. There was a flash of something unreadable in his eyes – surprise? annoyance? – but then his expression hardened. He took a step back, a wall coming up around him. "This isn't my doing," he stated, his voice now flat, devoid of emotion. "And you think I want this kind of attention? My family hates public messes like this."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My family hates public messes like this. Suddenly, the article wasn't just an annoyance; it was a testament to my inadequacy, a confirmation that I was a "mess," a "scandal." His family, with their pristine reputation and endless wealth, clearly saw people like me—clumsy, middle-class, accidentally scratching cars—as little more than inconvenient stains on their perfect lives. The humiliation burned hotter than ever before.
"Oh, right, your precious family reputation!" I retorted, throwing caution to the wind. "Unlike my reputation, which is apparently fair game for your drama!"
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He opened his mouth, as if to snap back, but then a different look crossed his face. He glanced around the library, noting the few students who were now looking our way, drawn by the rising tension in our voices. Then he looked at the article again, his gaze lingering on the comments. He seemed to take a deep breath, and when he finally spoke, his voice was unexpectedly calm, almost cold. "This is a problem. And it's going to get worse if you react like this every time."
He then did something I didn't expect. He pulled out his phone, already tapping away, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I'll handle it," he said, not looking at me, his focus entirely on his device. "But don't assume you know everything, Elisa." Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me fuming and humiliated, a public villain thanks to an accidental fender bender. And once again, he was "handling" something, leaving me in the dark, feeling like a scandalous problem he needed to clean up.
(Felix's POV)
The library argument with Elisa was a mistake. My anger had flared, not just at the article, but at the situation, at the vulnerability of it all. And then I'd said it: "My family hates public messes like this." As soon as the words left my mouth, I saw her face fall. The raw fury in her eyes was replaced by something else entirely – a deep, wounded humiliation. Like I'd just branded her as exactly that: a public mess. My stomach twisted. It wasn't what I meant. Not her specifically. But the damage was done. Her face, usually so expressive, just crumpled into a quiet, painful resignation.
I saw the other students looking. This couldn't escalate. This was precisely the kind of low-level scandal my father would explode over. I had to fix it, immediately. I pulled out my phone, already texting my PR contact, ordering them to find the source of the leak and squash the article. This kind of trash couldn't be traced back to me, not with the larger family issues looming. "I'll handle it," I said, my voice cold, but it was directed more at the situation than at her. "But don't assume you know everything, Elisa." I walked away, needing to put distance between myself and her raw pain, needing to work.
By the next morning, the article was gone. Not just taken down, but scrubbed clean from the college paper's archives. My contact had been efficient, tracing the leak to a disgruntled intern who had been fired just last week. The intern's online presence was now non-existent, and a substantial, untraceable 'donation' had ensured the paper's silence. The culprit was dealt with. The public 'scandal' resolved.
I saw Elisa in the cafeteria later that day. She was with Lisa, quiet, but no longer looking humiliated. The dark circles under her eyes were gone. She looked… withdrawn. When I passed their table, I expected her usual glare, or perhaps even a word of thanks. Instead, her eyes, usually quick to spark with annoyance, simply slid past me, like I was furniture. No challenge. No recognition. Just… nothing.
I tried again after my badminton practice. I saw her packing up her bag, looking tired. "The article's gone," I stated, my voice gruffer than I intended. "I took care of it. And the person who leaked it won't be bothering anyone again."
She paused, her backpack half-slung over one shoulder. She finally looked at me, but her gaze was distant, guarded. "Oh," she said, her voice flat. "Okay. Thanks." She didn't sound grateful. She sounded… empty. She just nodded once, a curt movement, then walked past me without another word, without a glance back.
The problem was resolved. The public mess cleaned up. But the look in her eyes, that stark indifference, told me something else entirely. My words, "My family hates public messes like this," had clearly branded her as a mess, a scandal to be dealt with. And while I had erased the article, I hadn't erased the hurt. The silence, the way she now actively avoided my gaze, the utter lack of her usual feistiness directed at me, stung in a way I hadn't anticipated. It was worse than her anger. She wasn't just annoyed anymore. She saw me, or perhaps herself through my words, as the very thing I'd inadvertently implied. And I had no idea how to fix that.