Chapter 6

Christopher looked at me for a few seconds, then pulled a form out of his drawer. "The school has a financial aid program for students in need. Fill this out. It's not a lot, but it should cover your tuition."

I took the form, feeling a little warmth in my chest, but also a bit conflicted.

Back in my last life, Christopher had offered me this form too, but I turned it down. Back then, I thought taking financial aid was embarrassing, and I didn't want anyone to see me as some charity case.

But this time, I didn't feel ashamed anymore.

There was no shame in reaching out for help when one needed it.

The shame was in stubbornly refusing help and wrecking one's own life over it.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson," I said, taking the form and giving him a sincere bow.

As I walked out of the office, I ran into someone in the hallway.

It was Dylan Lynch.

He was the top student in our grade, captain of the basketball team, and his family supposedly owned several supermarket chains in the city. He was the kind of kid everyone's parents wished they had.

He leaned against the hallway railing, holding a bottle of water. The sunlight hit his face, and honestly, his features were so sharp it was almost unfair.

In my last life, we barely ever spoke. He was the golden boy, always in the spotlight, while I was just a broke kid stuck in the shadows, totally invisible. There was a whole galaxy between us.

But this time, he actually called out to me.

"Jessica?" His voice was a little hesitant, like he was worried he'd gotten my name wrong.

I stopped in my tracks. "What's up?"

He gave me a quick once-over, his eyes lingering for a split second on my faded school uniform before looking away.

Then he handed me a notebook. "I checked your math test. The last problem was a bit off, and you got the right answer, but you skipped a couple of steps. That could cost you points. Here's how I worked it out, step by step. Take a look."

I looked down at the notebook, totally caught off guard.

Dylan's notebook was basically legendary in our grade. Word was that his notes were clearer than the teachers' themselves. Everyone wanted a peek, but no one ever managed to get their hands on them.

And now he was really offering it to me?

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you went from being a dropout to second place in just two months," Dylan said, tilting his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Honestly, I'm curious how far you'll go."

I didn't take his notebook. Instead, I pulled out my own math notebook from my backpack, flipped it open, and handed it to him. "Trade?"

Dylan raised an eyebrow, took my notebook, and gave it a quick look. His expression shifted, and surprise flickered in his eyes.

My notes were nothing like Dylan's. He was all about structure and detail, while I went straight for the essentials and always looked for different ways to solve problems.

Next to every example, I'd written down three or four alternative solutions, plus all the common traps teachers liked to set.

Dylan studied my notebook for a while, then looked up at me, a spark in his eyes. "Honestly, you're better than me."

I took his notebook and grinned. "Hey, you're just as impressive. Guess we both have our strengths."

From that day on, there was this unspoken understanding between Dylan and me. During breaks, we'd swap notes and sometimes go over a few problems together.

Neither of us was much of a talker. We'd just sit there, quietly working on our own stuff, occasionally catching each other's eye before looking away again.

That kind of genuine, drama-free connection, no hidden agendas, no games, just felt really comfortable to me.

It wasn't like being with Lucas, where every second felt like walking a tightrope.

And it wasn't like being with Emily, where every bit of effort I put in just felt like tossing stones into a bottomless pit.

Dylan was as simple as a glass of water, but honestly, that's exactly what people really need.

One Saturday afternoon in November, I was at the city library, buried in my books.

My phone buzzed.

It was an unknown number.

I hesitated for a second, then picked up.

"Hello, is this Jessica Frost?" The voice on the other end was warm and rich, with just the right touch of magnetism, not the kind of voice that feels fake or greasy, but one that was genuinely pleasant to hear.

I knew that voice far too well.

It was Lucas Sterling.

In my last life, he'd call me in the dead of night, always with that same gentle voice, telling me, "Take care of yourself, don't overdo it," and "Someone like you deserves to be treated right."

My fingers curled tighter around the phone, but my voice was steady as a still lake. "Yeah, it's me. And you are?"

"I'm Lucas Sterling," he said, sounding so natural, like we were old friends.

"Sorry to bother you. I heard about your situation, your parents are gone, you're raising your sister alone, and you're still doing amazing in school. I really admire you. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Help. There was that word again.

In my last life, 'help' was where all my nightmares began.

His so-called "help" always started the same way. He'd offer a taste of kindness, make me let my guard down, then slowly, bit by bit, he'd chip away at everything I had.

This time, I wasn't falling for it.

But I didn't hang up.

Because I remembered everything that was printed in that newspaper. If I wanted to change anything in this life, there was no way around Lucas Sterling.

Besides, I still needed more evidence about what was really happening between him and Emily, and I'd personally make sure he got exactly what was coming to him.