"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.

An abrupt hush swept over the entire area. Every mocking grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed astonishment as everyone tried to process what they were seeing.

The Millers' chauffeur, normally eager to please Owen, now stood before Stella, his posture bent low. His shoulders trembled, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

A voice slipped out from somewhere in the stunned group. "What is happening?" someone muttered. "Why is Owen's driver bowing to Stella?"

Sitting in the car, Owen felt his heart lurch; every ounce of warmth seemed to drain from his body.

He threw open the door and called, panic and anger tangled in his shout, "What do you think you're doing? Pull yourself together!"

His tone exposed just how rattled he was.

Edmund jerked at Owen's voice, lifting his head only to freeze when he met Stella's cold, merciless stare.

His entire body locked up; even though he tried, he couldn't force himself upright. Sweat kept pouring down the sides of his face, and though his mouth opened, no words followed.

Stella took in the pathetic scene of father and son, and a faint, amused smile touched her lips. Her eyes drifted lazily across her shocked classmates before she spoke in a steady, unhurried voice. "You all paying attention? This Bugatti belongs to me. And this man is nothing more than a driver hired by my family."

Her eyes lingered on the worst offenders among the crowd as she added, a smirk curling her mouth, "You lot need to quit making things up. If your heads aren't working right, get them checked out, don't make the rest of us suffer for it."

Her voice hit them like a crack of thunder.

"What? That car belongs to Stella?"

"That's her family's driver, right? So, Owen... "

"Impossible. How is this even happening?"

While shock rippled through the crowd, Stella swung open the car door and slipped inside with a smooth, practiced grace. Settling back in her seat, she elegantly crossed her legs, her fingertips resting nonchalantly on her lap.

From the slightly lowered window, she noticed how Owen's complexion went pale, with Jenna frozen stiff beside him.

She remained silent; there was no need for words when her gaze spoke volumes, brimming with both humor and scorn. Taking pleasure in their humiliation, she ordered the driver to take her home.

Owen found himself unable to move, feeling every stare around him like sharp pins pressing into his skin.

Determined to save face, he forced a tired, almost tolerant smile as he addressed, saying, "Hey, don't misunderstand. Stella really is the daughter of our driver. She's basically grown up in our home, so we're close. She likes to tease everyone by claiming the car is hers; it's just something we let slide."

He sighed, "Her dad's worked for my family forever. I can't blame her for having a little fun."

Jenna immediately agreed, her voice soft and soothing, "That's right. Owen's always been so supportive of Stella. Maybe things have just been rough on her lately. Please don't hold it against her."

She added, displaying a practiced concern, "Honestly, it's a little sad seeing Stella like this."

Their quick act convinced the crowd in no time.

"Ah, I get it now. No way Stella could really own a car like that."

"Owen's honestly so patient, he doesn't even mind jokes from his driver's kid."

"Jenna's always been the sweetest for sticking up for her."

"Can you believe Stella? Pretending she's an heiress when she's just the driver's daughter!"

"No wonder she acted so smug before, she just loves putting on a show!"

As the whispers of mockery swelled even louder, Owen and Jenna traded a small, satisfied glance.

In the back seat, Stella leaned her head against her palm, a chill of amusement sparkling in her eyes as she watched their charade unfold from behind the tinted window, completely unfazed.

"Keep it up," she mused to herself. "The harder you pretend now, the worse it'll sting when the truth comes out."

Edmund caught her gaze in the rearview mirror, a faint knowing smile tugging at his lips.

He convinced himself that Stella must have been jealous of Jenna, which explained why she had targeted Owen.

He cleared his throat and addressed her, saying, "Stella, I don't mean to criticize, but your behavior today was honestly immature."

Stella didn't bother looking at him.

Assuming his words had finally shaken her, Edmund's tone grew even more severe. "You're not a child anymore. Making a spectacle of yourself like this, in front of so many people, don't you care about your reputation? Let me tell you, a real woman is gentle and well-mannered. With the way you act, who'd ever want to be with you? Owen only tolerates you because he's too kind for his own good."

Noticing she still refused to answer, Edmund pressed, "Back in my day, someone with your attitude would've been kicked out in an instant. If you want any hope of Owen forgiving you, you need to apologize right now and prove you're worth his time."

As soon as the car rolled to a stop in front of the villa, Stella finally opened her eyes, and an icy sharpness replaced any trace of calm. She got out, approached the waiting butler, and spoke in a firm, unyielding voice. "Samuel, collect every last piece of the Millers' luggage and get it off the property. And... " She paused, fixing her gaze on Edmund. "Fire him. Now."

Her command landed with the force of a lightning strike. Both Samuel and Edmund were caught off guard, frozen in place.

Disbelief swept across Samuel's face. "Miss, but… Owen... "

Everyone in the house remembered how fiercely Stella used to defend Owen and how much she had always spoiled his family.

"Are you deaf?" Stella snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. "Get everything out. I mean it, now."

"Yes, Miss." Samuel agreed, quickly leaving to relay her instructions.

Edmund only began to process the situation after Samuel hurried away. His complexion turned ghostly pale. "You can't do this. Does Owen even know? You have no right to fire me."

"Owen?" Stella arched an eyebrow. "And what power does he think he has over me?" Without another glance, she strode inside the house.

Fuming, Edmund shook with anger. He muttered curses, spat at her retreating figure, and immediately reached for his phone.

"I'll show her," he growled under his breath. "I'll have my son deal with you. What's so amazing about being some billionaire's daughter anyway? In my eyes, you are still a dog under my son's floor!"

The moment Owen received the call, he exploded with fury. He stormed back into the villa and called, voice trembling with rage, "Stella! How could you fire my dad? Have you lost it? Stop whatever stunt this is. You're humiliating yourself!"

Unbothered, Stella lounged on the sofa, her face covered with a mask, and lazily peeled open one eye.

"Perfect timing," she replied, her voice languid. "I had Samuel clear out everything that belonged to your whole family. But all the gifts I ever bought, clothes, shoes, watches, your parents' presents, they stay here. None of it leaves with you."

She then turned her head toward the servants and instructed, "Somebody, take everything Owen's wearing right now."