His Second Chance Obsession

Chapter Three: HAYLEY'S POV

My palm stings like I’ve slapped a wall, not a person... Not him.

The ballroom is a frozen snapshot of horror. Every single face is turned toward us... Comical wide eyes, mouths hanging open, phones raised like weapons. The camera flashes pop nonstop, capturing the moment Tyrell Academy’s untouchable king got slapped by the school’s favorite punching bag. In front of everyone.

I just hit Xander Thorne.

The Xander Thorne! That's equivalent to a death wish.

My hand trembles so badly I have to curl it into a fist to hide it. My lips still burn from his kiss... both of them. My heart feels like a trapped animal slamming against my ribs. I can feel the sticky punch drying on my skin, the tear in my hem catching on my heel with every shaky step backwards. I suddenly wish I'd just stayed at home, none of this would've happened. My life wouldn't be ruined.

I whisper the words before I can stop them, voice cracking like glass underfoot.

“Don’t. Ever touch me again.”

They come out quieter than I mean, but they carry. Xander seems frozen in place. Unmoving and rigid like a statue. The silence is so thick I can hear my own pulse in my ears. Hushed murmurs break out around us.

Kathryn’s face is a mask of pure fury. Her ice-blue eyes were blazing, lips peeled back in a snarl. She looks ready to claw out my insides right now. Ethan’s jaw is slack and for the first time his smug grin is nowhere to be found. Rohit’s arms are crossed, his dark gaze flicking amusedly between me and Xander like he’s trying to solve a murder mystery in real time. Mila’s hand locks around my arm, nails digging in. She's filled with terror. For me.

The quartet doesn't dare to start playing again. No one moves.

I can’t breathe under all these stares.

I need to get out of here.

Now!

I wrench my arm free from Mila and force my legs to work. My feet feel like they’re moving through water, knees threatening to buckle, but I lift my chin the way I’ve done a thousand times before and walk. Not run. I walk like I’m not falling apart. Like the entire school isn’t filming my meltdown.

The crowd parts slowly, reluctantly, like I’m contagious. The scholarship kids back at the drinks station look on, horrified. They were better off than I was right now, better off than I would be for the rest of my senior year. The hushed whispers echo around me followed by a few snickers. Someone mutters “w***e” under their breath.

I keep my eyes forward. Don’t look back. Don’t look at Xander.

I make it through the double doors.

The second they swing shut behind me, I break into a run, my heels clacking wildly on marble steps, my gown flapping behind me like a broken wing. The cold night air hits me like a slap when I burst outside. I run across the garden with its exotic plants, roses and manicured hedges. The gravel crunching loudly under my shoes.

I’m halfway to the carpark when I hear it.

“Hayley!”

Xander's voice, low, rough and desperate—cuts through the night behind me. He's following me, his footsteps fast and getting closer.

What the hell does he still want from me?

Panic explodes in my chest.

No. No no no.

I hike up my ruined gown and sprint harder, lungs burning. Why is he following me? The kiss replays in sickening flashes. His firm hands, his mouth, the growled “don’t walk away from me again.” What the f**k did that even mean?

I round the corner toward the carpark. I was hoping to get a taxi, I realize how foolish that is now. No taxis wait for students at Tyrell Academy's events. Most of the students here own cars or have chauffeurs. Mila's mom had dropped us both off earlier since I couldn't drive and I hated coming to school with my mother's chauffeur.

I slow down, trying to catch my breath as I scan desperately for anything—an Uber dropping someone off, a friend’s car, a f*****g miracle.

Blinding headlights flare suddenly.

And a sleek black sedan pulls up right in front of me, blocking my path.

A guy leans over from the driver’s seat and rolls down the window. He wore dark-framed glasses over striking hazel eyes, his tousled chestnut hair falling across a sharp jaw.

“You okay?” he asks calmly, his eyes flicker to the hedges behind me. “Need a lift?”

I glance back. Xander’s silhouette is rounding the corner, searching the shadows.

I don’t even think.

I yank open the passenger door and slide in.

“Drive!” I gasp.

He doesn’t hesitate. The car pulls away smoothly, tires whispering over gravel.

I twist in the seat, watching through the tinted window. Xander stops in the middle of the path, hands running through his hair, scanning the gardens like he’s lost something irreplaceable. He doesn’t see me leave. He doesn’t see the car.

I exhale, shaky.

My hands are still vibrating. My lips still tingling... Traitorously warm.

The stranger glances over. “Rough night?”

I laugh—a short, broken sound. “You have no idea...” he hums thoughtfully in response.

The leather seat is cool against my bare legs, and I suddenly realize how soaked I still am. Some of the leftover punch drips from the hem of my gown onto the pristine beige upholstery, leaving dark, sticky spots.

I cringe.

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, shifting awkwardly. “Your seat… I’m making a complete mess. I didn’t even think—”

He glances over, eyes crinkling behind his glasses with an easy smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says calmly. “It’s just a car. Plus you look like you’ve had a worse night than my upholstery has.”

I let out a small shaky laugh in spite of myself, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

“Still... I owe you one. Can I at least pay to have it changed?"

He shakes his head, his soft chuckle filling the quiet space between us.

“It's fine. Consider it my good deed for the year. Besides, I’ve had worse passengers. You’re not even the first to bleed punch all over the interior. I have three chaotic little sisters if you can believe it.”

I manage a small, grateful smile, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction.

We drive in silence for a minute. The city lights streak past in a blur and my pulse slowly drops from nuclear to merely frantic.

“Thanks,” I say finally. “For the ride. I needed it."

“Anytime.” He shrugs. “ I was in the area to see an old friend and was leaving anyway.”

I study him properly now. He’s attractive in an almost effortless way. Clean jawline, kind hazel eyes and glasses that make him look smart instead of just nerdy. His voice is warm and steady. Nothing like Xander’s rugged intensity.

“You okay?” he asks again, softer.

I swallow, My head swirling. “I… don’t know.”

He nods like he gets it. “Want to talk about it?”

I hesitate. Then the words spill out, sounding strange and incredulous even to my ears.

“So... The guy who’s spent years making my life hell just kissed me in front of the entire school. Twice! He kissed me twice! And then he chased me after I slapped him. It just happened. My hand just moved on its own and I slapped him!"

His brows lift in surprise. “Damn... Okay. Not what I thought you were gonna say at all. That's rough."

“Yeah. It's messed up.” I groan. "And that's not even the worst part, my life is practically over now... I had planned to get through senior year without a hitch and keep a low-profile just until graduation. You can guess how that's gonna go now."

He’s quiet for a beat. “I got bullied pretty bad at my old school too. So… I get the running part. It gets better after you leave the cage.” He gives me a small reassuring smile and something in my chest loosens. Just a little.

We talk the rest of the drive. Light conversations that provide an easy distraction. He’s funny without trying too hard. I tell him where to stop and by the time he pulls up a block from my house i’m almost calm.

“Thanks,” I say, hand on the door. “Seriously.”

“Anytime, Hayley.” He gives me a small smile. “Hang in there, okay?”

I freeze with my fingers on the handle.

He said my name. I don't remember telling him my name.

My pulse skips. “How do you know my name?”

He glances over, hazel eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “I heard the guy chasing you yell your name back at the car park. I mean—he was loud enough to wake the dead.”

Relief washes through me. That's logical... No creepy stalking here. Just a desperate voice carrying across the garden.

“Right,” I murmur, cheeks warming. “Of course.”

He extends a hand across the console. “I’m Jethro, by the way.”

I shake it briefly. His grip is warm and firm but not overpowering. “Nice to meet you, Jethro.”

“Nice to meet you too.” His smile turns a little mysterious. “Something tells me this won’t be the last time.”

The words are soft, almost teasing, but there’s an undercurrent—like he knows something I don’t. Before I can ask what he means, he nods toward the street.

“Get home safe, Hayley. I’ll see you around.”

I step out, the night air cool against my damp skin. He gives a small wave, then the car pulls away smoothly, the taillights fading into the dark.

I stand there a second longer,

Then my phone buzzes. It's a text from Mila. I can sense her frantic tone even through the text.

'Hayley are you ok? I hope you got home safe. DO NOT check the platform... Seriously!!!'

Of course I open it immediately.

Tyrell Academy's elite gossip platform was called 'The Pulse' aptly named as it was the heart of all the school's gossip. Reputations were made or marred in seconds by posts, comments and clicks.

The platform is currently on fire. Numerous posts and videos all with my face plastered over them. There were photos of the slap and the kiss— from every angle. The captions were nasty as usual.

"Golddigger alert!!! Hayley Gordons just locked lips with Xander Thorne in front of the WHOLE school. Queen Kat who???"

"Elena Gordons’ daughter pulling the same moves as momma. The apple doesn’t fall far... #TyrellTea"

“Slut of the year award goes to…#winterballdrama."

My stomach drops.

My quiet senior year... the one where I coast under the radar, graduate and disappear is gone. I'm hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion.

My phone rings. An Unknown number. I answer without thinking.

Kathryn Romanov's voice fills the speaker, icy and lethal.

"Enjoy your moment in the spotlight. b***h!" There’s a pause, heavy with the kind of silence that feels like a blade pressed to my throat. I can practically see her signature sneer.

“Because after I’m done with you… you’re going to wish you never touched what’s mine.”

My pulse starts to pound, loud and violent in my ears.

Then she laughs. Low. Mocking and Cruel.

“Oh—and one more thing. Gordons.”

There's another small pause, like she’s savoring it.

“Welcome to senior year.”

The line goes dead.