Several hands lunged in her direction. Stella held her ground. When one guy rushed at her, she moved fast-blocked his arm and delivered a solid punch straight to his jaw.

The man never even managed a sound before collapsing, knocked out with a single blow.

Shock flickered through the group, but in an instant, they erupted, charging at her in a frantic rush.

Stella weaved through the chaos-she ducked one attack, then spun and landed a brutal kick right into another's ribs. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing and clutching his side. The rest hesitated, fear breaking through their boldness.

It felt unreal. Stella-quiet, invisible Stella-fighting back? Fighting like this?

She stood quietly in the aftermath, adjusting the rumpled hem of her crisp white dress, her face cool and almost indifferent.

Her eyes skimmed the group, pausing on Owen, and her lips curled into a taunting smirk.

Owen's jaw clenched. He clearly hadn't expected her to push back. Struggling to recover, he cleared his throat, voice forced and shaky. "If you want everyone's attention so badly, go ahead and flaunt that dress. Next time, just say what you need instead of embarrassing yourself for cash. Don't let this happen again."

He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing nervously at his friends groaning on the floor.

One of the students staggered up, tears streaming down his face. "Owen, don't just stand there! She attacked us!"

"Yeah, man! Are you really going to let her get away with that?"

"She always did whatever you said before. Just yell at her, and she'll fold!"

Hearing that, Owen's posture eased. Of course. In his mind, Stella was still the loyal shadow who did whatever he wanted.

"Stella," he called out smoothly, "they didn't mean any harm. You roughed them up, so it's only right for you to say sorry. Anyway, it's almost lunch. Why don't you take everyone out to eat and patch things up?"

Confident as ever, he turned his back on her and started walking, never doubting for a second that she would fall in line behind him, just like she always had.

A quiet, amused chuckle slipped from Stella's lips.

Owen wouldn't be caught dead in the cafeteria. He always insisted on fancy lunches off campus, and she was the one paying the bill every time.

Without her money, the most he could afford was a sad sandwich from a vending machine.

She had no interest in playing along anymore. Still, she remained silent and strode right past the campus gates.

A few students snickered in the background. "No surprise. She still jumps when Owen snaps his fingers."

"All that just for a scrap of Owen's attention."

Stella picked a spot and sat down at the restaurant.

Moments later, Owen strolled in, Jenna clinging to his arm, their friends trailing behind in a noisy pack. They marched straight to Stella's table, but Owen made sure to settle just far enough away to keep up appearances.

He didn't bother asking for her opinion. With a flick of his wrist, Owen took the menu that was set in front of her, tracing his finger down the options. "I'll have the foie gras, the caviar, the escargot, truffle ham, and let's add the lobster pasta," he said, all smooth confidence.

Turning to his crew, he grinned. "Order anything you want. No limits today."

His friends dove in, rattling off the priciest items without hesitation. One boy scoffed, "If she can't cover all this, she might have to wash dishes in the back. Hope you're ready, Stella."

Owen's smirk deepened, clearly entertained by the whole charade.

Soon, servers filled the table with one luxurious dish after another, silver lids lifted with a flourish. The group feasted, laughter and snide comments echoing through the restaurant.

All the while, Stella sat quietly, a study in patience, simply watching them enjoy their little performance.

When the table finally quieted, plates empty and everyone lounging in satisfaction, Stella lifted her napkin with deliberate care and wiped her hands.

Owen, lounging in his seat, waved a hand at the server. "She's picking up the tab."

The waiter placed the bill in front of Stella. Without even glancing down, she let a faint, knowing smile play across her lips.

"I didn't touch a thing," she replied, her voice calm and even. "Why would you expect me to pay for your meal?"

Owen's confidence faltered, a flush creeping up his neck. "Stella! You promised to patch things up. Isn't this how you planned to apologize? Why are you backing out now?"

She kept her tone cool and unhurried. "We just happened to choose the same restaurant. Not once did I offer to treat you."

Embarrassment deepened the color in Owen's cheeks. His mouth opened and closed, but no retort came out.

The waiter looked uncertain. "So... who's actually covering the bill, then?"

Owen stiffened, hands diving into empty pockets. He didn't have the cash-and he knew it.

His friends glanced at the bill, only to recoil in shock. The amount was enough to wipe out everything they got for the month-maybe more.

Jenna hurried to the front, her voice dripping with false pleading. "Stella, why not just pick up the tab? Owen's always treated you so well. Surely you can cover a meal."

The rest chimed in right away, "Exactly! You've been riding his coattails forever."

"All those expensive things you show off are thanks to him, and now you want to act like you're broke? Pathetic."

"Owen must have the worst luck ever, putting up with you."

Stella's laughter was sharp and joyless.

How absurd. The guy they thought was her benefactor-the same one whose school bills she paid, whose designer watches and shoes all came from her pocket, whose entire rich-boy image was her creation-sat there, letting everyone believe he'd been the generous one?

"Is that so? He claims he's spent money on me?" she said, her voice suddenly sharp and cold. "Then go ahead and ask him to pull up the proof. Let's see the bank transfers, the receipts, anything at all that shows he actually paid for something on my behalf."

With a glare, she fixed her eyes on them. "If nobody can do that, I'll have every right to drag all of you into court for defamation."

Owen's hands smacked against the table as his temper flared. He leaned in, shaking with anger. "Are you out of your mind? I'm warning you for the last time-either pay the bill right now, or we're finished. And don't come running back to me when you regret it!"

A cold, amused smile tugged at her lips. "That works just fine for me."

She lifted her head high, locking eyes with him. With deliberate emphasis, she responded, "We're done. From now on, there's nothing connecting you and me. We're finished."

"What did you just say?" Owen stood stock-still, stunned by Stella's words. His eyes grew wide with disbelief, and all that arrogance he'd worn just a moment ago melted away, leaving only a glimpse of panic.

His friends, packed in around him, burst into laughter and whispers. A few of them jeered, their words full of contempt.

"Stella, are you really so desperate for Owen to notice you that you'd pull a stunt like this? There's got to be a limit to how pathetic you can act."

"Yeah, right! Who do you think you are, talking about leaving him?"

"Owen actually gave you the time of day. You ought to be grateful for that much!"

Stella paid them no mind. Without missing a beat, she lifted the menu and began to order her meal, as if none of them existed. Once she finished, her gaze returned to Owen. His face was now ghostly pale.

She met his eyes with a look as cold as ice. "Are you just going to stand there all day? Get out of my sight. You're making it hard for me to enjoy my food."

She couldn't deny it—she used to think Owen was attractive. There was a time when his figure and those deep-set eyes had made her pulse race. The story he'd sold her about being humble and hardworking was just convincing enough to make her feel sorry for him, but she was done believing in lies.

Time had changed everything. Watching Owen now, flustered and cornered, she found it impossible to recall what had ever drawn her to him. Whatever value she thought he once had was long gone.

Fury twisted Owen's features. His jaw tightened until it seemed his teeth might crack, and he fought hard to keep himself from exploding.

"If that's how you want it, then have it your way," he snapped. "Don't come running back when you regret this."

Instantly, his friends rallied to his defense.

"Get real! Owen could have any woman he wants. People would kill for a shot at him!"

"Wait till tomorrow—he'll have more love letters than he can count!"

"She'll be crawling back before he even thinks about her!"

Jenna slipped forward then, her voice coated in honey. "Stella, why are you being so difficult? Just say you're sorry. Everything will be fine." Her hand reached out for Stella's arm.

Revulsion sparked in Stella's eyes, and she jerked away.

A flash of irritation crossed Jenna's face. Her legs buckled, sending her crashing onto the floor. The slap of her fall rang through the restaurant, and blood quickly beaded from a cut on her knee.

Owen lurched toward her in alarm, catching Jenna and gathering her close, shielding her as if she might break.

A wave of outrage swept through the group.

"Unbelievable! How can you be this cold? Say you're sorry to Jenna, right now!"

"Seriously! You're just bitter because Jenna outshines you in everything!"

Without warning, Stella let out a laugh. "Jenna, I never laid a finger on you. What did you do—trip over your own shadow?"

A sharp glare from Owen cut across the room. "Everyone saw what you did! If you hadn't moved like that on purpose, she would still be standing. How can you sit there and lie about it?"

Jenna wrapped her arms around Owen, looking as fragile as a wilted flower. "She's probably still mad about me saying she stole my research results," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Owen... maybe you should give her another chance?"

Owen responded with a harsh, bitter laugh, "Another chance? She'll be begging me for forgiveness before the sun sets. That's how it always goes."

He had grown used to Stella's endless efforts to please him, expecting she'd never actually walk away. For that reason, he dismissed her outburst as nothing more than a temporary fit.

With a voice like ice, Owen issued a command. "Stella. Get up and grab a first-aid kit for Jenna. Do it now."

Just as the server arrived with her meals, Stella barely glanced up. She picked up her utensils, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

She spoke in a steady, detached tone. "I'm about to have my lunch. If Jenna needs first aid, whoever caused her fall can help her out."

Chaos erupted around the table. Owen's friends unleashed a torrent of shouts, their fingers stabbing at Stella like accusations.

"Are you even human? You're completely heartless!"

"Seriously, Stella? Jenna's over here in pain and you're just going to sit there stuffing your face?"

"Who do you think you are now? You used to hang on Owen's every word, and suddenly you act like he doesn't even exist?"

"Still the same trashy woman—no empathy, no shame!"

While insults flew, Stella never so much as blinked. Owen's jaw tightened until it looked painful. Scooping Jenna up, he made for the exit.

But before Owen could get far, the restaurant owner stepped in with two security guards at his side. "Not so fast. You all need to pay before you leave," he said, his tone unyielding.

Owen turned sharply, fury in his eyes. "Stella!"

Unbothered, Stella continued eating, her tone calm and almost amused. "Call whoever you want. I won't be paying. The bill has nothing to do with me."

Someone in the group shuffled nervously and mumbled, "Let's just drop it... Maybe she's broke. But Jenna really needs a doctor."

Another quickly added, "Owen, this is nothing for you. Your family's loaded. Just pay up and let's go."

Frozen in place, Owen's anger gave way to silent humiliation as sweat began to bead along his hairline.

Nestled in his arms, Jenna whimpered softly, her eyes filling with tears, "Owen... I can't stand the pain..."

All eyes in the restaurant landed on Owen as he froze, looking small and colorless beneath the harsh lights.

With a measured movement, Stella placed her fork and knife on the table and finally glanced his way. Her tone was cold and mocking. "What's the matter, Owen? Don't tell me footing the bill is too much for you now."

Owen felt the heat of his friends' stares burning into him. Without another word, he yanked the shining Patek Philippe off his wrist and shoved it into the restaurant owner's palm. "No cash on me today. Take the watch. I'll come by tomorrow and pay what I owe."

A flash of surprise crossed the owner's face as he examined the expensive timepiece. After a pause, he motioned for them to pass.

Stella caught the exchange out of the corner of her eye. The watch was the one she'd given him, now pawned off without hesitation.

If he wanted to treat her generosity so carelessly, then she'd be sure to reclaim everything he'd ever gotten from her—piece by piece.

...

Afternoon sunlight washed over the school gates as a rush of students surged out.

Excitement bubbled up in the crowd. "Is that Owen's car?"

"That's a Bugatti! He must be absolutely loaded!"

Glossy black paint gleamed on the Bugatti parked by the entrance. A driver in a crisp uniform sprang from the front, opened the rear door, and offered a courteous bow. "Mr. Miller, the car is ready for you."

Owen found himself at the center of attention. Every student's gaze followed his every move, awe and envy swirling in their whispers.

Smoothing down his collar, Owen flashed a polished smile at Jenna. "Let me give you a ride. My driver will take you home," he suggested, his tone easy and warm.

Jenna's face lit up, her voice soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Owen. That's really sweet of you."

He ushered her into the Bugatti, drawing an even louder chorus of whispers.

"Now that's a couple everyone's talking about!"

"Way better than the girl who sold herself online for cash."

"Can you believe Stella dumped him? What a joke."

"Just make it official with Jenna, Owen. Somebody has to admit defeat eventually!"

Stella lingered at the curb, letting the scene play out, then strode straight for the Bugatti without a word.

Her hand barely brushed the door handle before Owen's hand shot out, slamming the door shut, his expression cold and unyielding.

"We're finished, Stella. There's no place for you in this car anymore." He drew out his next words, each syllable dripping with contempt. "Walk home if you want. Or maybe—if you get down on your knees and apologize—I'll think about letting the driver take you."

That was all the crowd needed to burst into laughter.

"She's got nerve, doesn't she? Dumped him and now wants a free ride!"

"Does she really believe she's still his girlfriend? Look at her—she never belonged in his world."

Instead of anger, a faint, amused smile flickered across Stella's lips.

Her eyes moved past Owen and landed on the man in the driver's seat.

Edmund Miller—Owen's father—sat behind the wheel.

Owen had once complained his dad was too old and sick to hold down a job. That was when Stella had hired Edmund herself, offering double the standard salary.

"Edmund," she called out, her tone cool and crisp. "You know exactly who's been signing your checks all this time."

Edmund's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He was too uneasy to look at her, and a nervous chuckle slipped out. "Stella, please... don't make things harder for me. Mr. Miller needs to get home first."

The laughter from the crowd only grew, the ridicule sharper now.

"So she really is just the driver's daughter! He only drove her around because Owen allowed it. Now that she's out, look—he won't even defend her!"

Fury welled up in Stella's chest. "Everyone—out of the car. Now."

"Drive," Owen instructed sharply.

And with a heavy heart, Edmund did as he was told.

The car shot ahead without warning, and Stella was caught off balance. The pavement rushed up to meet her as she hit the ground, jarring pain slicing through her leg. Blood trickled down from her scraped knee, the sting sharp and immediate.

A wave of laughter crashed over her, the crowd gleeful at her misfortune.

"That's what she gets for trying to act like she belongs with the elite!"

"As if dating a guy with money could ever change who she is!"

"Does she honestly expect the driver to risk his job for her? Get real."

Stella bit back the ache and forced herself upright. She glanced at her injured knee, a dry, sardonic laugh escaping her lips.

From her pocket, she fished out her phone and dialed, keeping her tone calm. "Dad, could you do me a favor? I need a new driver. The last one I hired just refused to take me."

She didn't raise her voice, but her words cut through the noise, turning all eyes her way.

For a moment, silence settled over the onlookers—then the mockery began anew, louder than before.

"Who's she fooling this time? She's got a wild imagination!"

"Her father's the one behind the wheel for Owen. Who does she think she's calling?"

"Seriously, still playing some kind of wealthy lady? Maybe she should just get a job like everyone else and buy a bicycle."

But before the sneers could build further—the glossy Bugatti that had sped off earlier returned, gliding back to the curb in front of the school.

Every whisper vanished as Edmund practically tumbled out of the driver's seat, his urgency obvious. He hurried to Stella, bowing low, voice shaking. "Miss Dawson... I'm so sorry for what just happened. Please—let me drive you home."

The crowd fell utterly silent, every trace of laughter wiped away.