Scarlett hadn't told anyone about what happened at the hospital.
Not Mason.
Not the cooks.
Definitely not Ryder.
She kept it to herself like a precious, fragile secret — a glimpse of a boy the world didn't know. A boy she was starting to think she might really like.
Which, in itself, was terrifying.
So when Monday came and the school buzzed with its usual chaos, she told herself she'd go back to being careful.
Low profile. Focused.
Emotionally untangled.
Until he walked in.
---
It happened during lunch.
Scarlett had just sat down with her tray — far from the chaos of Ryder's table — when she heard someone call her name.
A voice she hadn't heard in over a year.
"Scarlett?"
She looked up.
And there he was.
Ezra Blake.
Taller than she remembered. Still wearing that too-cool-for-effort look — ruffled black hair, hood up, dark eyes that saw more than he said.
Her mouth opened. "Ezra?"
He grinned, lopsided and familiar. "Wow. You still eat lunch like you're hiding from the world."
"Old habits."
Ezra sat beside her without asking. Just like always.
"Since when do you go to Cresthill Academy?" she asked, stunned.
"Since this morning. Transfer. Dad got relocated for work." He leaned back, watching her. "Didn't expect to see you here, though."
Scarlett glanced around, tension climbing. "Yeah, well... life's been weird."
"I can see that," he said, raising a brow. "You're wearing designer shoes and your hair doesn't look like you cut it yourself anymore."
Scarlett laughed — actually laughed — and for a moment, it felt like she was 15 again.
"You look the same," she said.
"Charming and misunderstood?"
"Delusional and dramatic."
He grinned. "Still my favorite insult artist."
---
Across the Cafeteria
Ryder froze mid-bite.
"What the hell?" Mason muttered beside him.
Ryder's eyes were locked on Scarlett — or more accurately, the guy sitting next to her. Laughing with her. Talking to her like he'd known her forever.
Because apparently, he had.
"Who's that?" Ryder asked, too casually.
"No clue," Mason said. "But he's touching her tray. That's basically a marriage proposal in cafeteria terms."
Ryder stared harder.
He didn't like the guy's smile.
Didn't like how Scarlett's shoulders had dropped like she was at home.
Didn't like how he felt his jaw tighten for no reason.
Mason side-eyed him. "You good, lover boy?"
"I'm fine."
"You're brooding."
"I'm observing."
"You're observing like a vampire who hasn't fed in centuries."
Ryder stood up.
"Uh-oh," Mason muttered.
Ryder didn't walk over to them. Not yet.
But the fire in his chest was new.
Jealousy? Probably.
Territory? Maybe.
Or maybe it was just the realization that someone else knew her better than he did.
And that was something Ryder Sinclair wasn't used to.
---
Scarlett didn't mean to spend every free moment with Ezra.
But it happened.
Naturally.
Effortlessly.
He knew how to make her laugh without trying too hard, knew when to be quiet, and when to say the thing no one else would dare say. Like how she used to hide candy in her pillowcase. Or how she once cried watching a car commercial because the music was emotional.
Ezra knew her before she ever stepped foot in the Sinclair mansion. Before Cresthill. Before wealth and drama and a playboy boss who messed with her heartbeat.
And maybe that's what made it dangerous.
Because around Ezra, Scarlett didn't need to be guarded.
She was just Scarlett.
---
That Afternoon – Campus Courtyard
Scarlett and Ezra sat on a low stone bench near the courtyard fountain, sharing a bag of sour gummy worms like it was still middle school.
"You remember when we tried to build a zipline between our bedroom windows with a garden hose?" Ezra asked, squinting against the sun.
Scarlett snorted. "You broke your arm."
"You pushed me."
"You volunteered."
Ezra grinned, gummy worm dangling from his lip. "God, I missed you."
Scarlett's heart flipped unexpectedly.
"I missed you too," she said quietly.
---
Across the Courtyard – Ryder's POV
Ryder had never liked sour candy.
Too much sugar. Too fake.
But in that moment, watching Scarlett laugh with Ezra, he hated it with an unexplainable fury.
He leaned against a tree, earbuds in but not playing anything.
Just watching.
And boiling.
Mason walked up behind him, glancing between Ryder and the gummy worm lovebirds.
"Still observing?" he asked, biting into an apple.
Ryder didn't answer.
"I googled him. Ezra Blake. Local guy. Parents divorced. Smart. Quiet. Rebel vibes. Former straight-A student turned brooding transfer."
Ryder still didn't respond.
Mason looked at him. "You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"You're growling."
"I'm not jealous."
Mason tossed the apple core. "Then stop watching them like you're planning his disappearance."
---
Later – Scarlett's Room in the Mansion
Scarlett was folding laundry, humming under her breath when there was a knock.
She opened the door.
Ryder.
Looking... different. Still Ryder. Still tall, smug, sharp-jawed Ryder — but the confidence in his eyes looked a little cracked.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He leaned on the doorframe. "You weren't around much today."
"I was showing Ezra around campus."
He nodded once. "Right. Ezra."
"You say his name like it's an allergic reaction."
"I say his name like I'm not used to you smiling that much unless I'm the one making you."
Scarlett blinked. "What?"
"You're smiling more," he said simply. "I noticed."
She didn't know what to say to that.
So she said nothing.
He took a breath, then stepped back. "Anyway. I just came to say goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He walked off down the hall.
But that night, Scarlett found herself thinking more about him than Ezra.
And Ryder? He didn't sleep at all.
---
Ryder Sinclair didn't do jealousy.
He did parties. He did charm. He did whatever-the-hell-he-wanted.
But for the past three days, Scarlett had been spending every spare minute with Ezra Blake — the new guy who looked like he wrote poetry under moonlight and listened to sad music unironically.
It was starting to mess with Ryder's rhythm.
Scarlett had stopped snapping at him.
She didn't blush at his flirty remarks.
She didn't yell when he left his laundry in the kitchen again — she just calmly picked it up like she was used to him.
That bothered him more than anything.
She was slipping away… and he didn't even know how he had gotten close enough to lose her.
So, he did what Ryder Sinclair did best.
He made a scene.
---
Tuesday – Cresthill Academy, Courtyard
Scarlett was walking with Ezra, mid-conversation about favorite childhood books, when a shiny black motorcycle pulled up near the front lawn.
Helmet on. Leather jacket. Boots. Swagger.
Ryder.
Scarlett blinked as he pulled off the helmet, shook out his messy hair, and swung his leg off the bike like he was modeling for a magazine ad titled Reckless and Rich.
Ezra sighed. "He's being dramatic."
"I'm used to it."
Then Ryder did something truly ridiculous.
He walked up to them, looked right at Ezra, and said, "Borrowing Scarlett for a sec."
Before either of them could object, he grabbed her hand.
"Ryder—what are you—?"
"Come on," he smirked. "Live a little."
And with a stunned laugh, Scarlett let herself be dragged away.
Ezra called after them. "She doesn't like motorcycles!"
"She will in ten minutes!" Ryder shouted back.
---
Ten Minutes Later – Hill Overlook Above Cresthill
Scarlett had never screamed so much in her life.
"I hate you!" she shouted, breathless, clinging to Ryder's back as the bike came to a stop on the cliffside overlooking the entire town.
"No, you don't," he replied calmly.
She smacked his helmet. "I almost died!"
"You're fine. Look at you. Not even a hair out of place."
She shoved him lightly, still catching her breath. "What was that? Why would you just grab me like that in front of Ezra?"
Ryder took off his helmet and finally looked her in the eye.
"Because," he said, "you were slipping."
She stared.
He shrugged, voice quieter now. "You used to yell at me every time I breathed wrong. Now you're just... polite. And polite isn't you. Not with me."
Scarlett's chest tightened.
"You're the one who's been acting different," she said. "You're... less annoying. Less cocky."
"Less flirty?"
She didn't answer.
Ryder stepped closer. "Maybe I don't want to flirt with you anymore."
Scarlett's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"
"Maybe," he said, his voice dropping, "I want something a little more dangerous than flirting."
Scarlett's heart did a wild, inconvenient flip.
Then, she blinked and stepped back. "You're ridiculous."
"I know."
"But thank you... for the ride."
She started to turn away, but Ryder's voice stopped her.
"Scarlett."
She turned.
He smiled — soft and real. "You looked cute in the helmet."
She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. "Idiot."
But later that night, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
Not Ezra.
Not anyone else.
Just Ryder Sinclair, and the stupid, reckless, infuriating way he made her feel.
______
The motorcycle ride had ended hours ago.
Scarlett had told herself she'd forget it.
Forget the feel of the wind in her hair, her arms around his waist, the way his voice had dropped when he said something more dangerous than flirting.
Forget the way her heart had thudded, not from the speed — but from him.
She didn't forget.
---
Back at the Mansion – 8:07 PM
Scarlett sat in the kitchen, reviewing an essay draft for class, when the silence broke.
A loud thud echoed from upstairs, followed by a "Scarlett!" that was drawn out in the most dramatic way possible.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."
Another thud, followed by a faint, "Emergency."
She made her way upstairs and found Ryder lying on the floor of his room — wearing plaid pajama pants, no shirt, and a ridiculous look of fake agony.
She crossed her arms. "What now?"
"I'm dying."
"You're shirtless and bored."
"Same thing."
Scarlett walked to the door. "I'm leaving."
"No, wait!" Ryder jumped up. "I mean — okay, I'm not dying, but I'm emotionally unwell."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Ezra," he said solemnly, placing a hand on his chest. "He's stealing my nanny."
She threw a pillow at him. "You're such an idiot."
"But I'm a cute one."
"Debatable."