Sugar Coated Bullets

4. Education

“Huh…?” She confused as she doesn’t quite understands.

The amusement slid off Desmond’s face instantly, replaced by a sharp, quiet self-reproach. He had forgotten—or rather, his mind had selfishly tried to gloss over the yawning chasm that separated their pasts.

While the Scott family had immediately plugged him into elite private tutors, intensive boarding school prep, and a relentless curriculum designed to groom heirs of industry, Aurelia had spent those same years bouncing through underfunded state facilities where basic literacy was sometimes considered a luxury.

His expression softened, the playful edge evaporating as he leaned in just a fraction closer, lowering his voice so it was a private shelter just for the two of them.

"I'm sorry," Desmond said, his tone entirely devoid of condescension, filled instead with a quiet, grounding sincerity. "I didn't mean to rattle off things that sound like a foreign language. Forget Mr. Harrison and his memoirs."

He gently slid the pristine notebook closer to her and picked up the silver fountain pen, holding it out between them like an offering.

"The truth is, the education here is mostly padded nonsense wrapped in expensive gift paper," Desmond continued, his dark eyes steady and encouraging. "Whatever gap you think exists between what they teach in these halls and what you learned, it doesn't matter. You are sharper and more resilient than anyone sitting in this room. And if any teacher gives you a hard time—or if any class feels like it's moving too fast—you tell me. I'll tutor you. We can start from scratch, or we can skip the boring parts entirely. Whatever you need."

“Hahaha it’s okayyy Desmie!! I…I’ll try my best to study…haha…”

A soft, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of Desmond’s mouth at the casual nickname. Desmie. No one—not his adoptive parents, not the board executives, and certainly not the sycophants trailing after him in the halls—had ever dared to shorten his name with such light, disarming familiarity. It felt entirely foreign, yet impossibly warm.

"Desmie," he repeated softly, letting the syllables roll quietly off his tongue as if tasting them for the first time, a faint glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "I suppose I can live with that. Though if Bianca hears you call me that, she might actually burst into flames, which would admittedly save us a lot of trouble."

His gaze lingered on her, softening completely as he watched her bravely brush off her insecurities with that same resilient, sunny optimism that had kept him anchored all those years ago in the shelter. He knew how terrifying it was to step into a world that felt entirely out of your depth, but looking at her determination, he knew she was vastly underestimating her own strength.

"You won't just try your best, Aurelia," Desmond said, his voice dropping into a low, steady register of absolute, unshakeable certainty. "You're going to ace it. And you won't have to do it alone."

Before he could say more, the loudspeaker above the classroom crackled to life with a sharp static pop, followed by the headmaster’s crisp, booming voice announcing the official start of first period.

The rest of the classroom scrambled to gather their bags and stand up, but Desmond remained seated for a moment longer, casually sliding his own notebook into his leather satchel while keeping his shoulder turned protectively toward her.

He stood up, towering over the desk, and offered her his hand to help her up with his books tucked securely under his other arm.

"Come on," Desmond said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet, reassuring warmth. "Let's go face the lions. Stick close to me, and if anyone looks at you sideways, just tell me and we'll unleash the peppermint barrage."

“Hahaha yes yes! Oh wait—“

She pulled out her pads from her bag;

“I’ll be backkk…”

Desmond’s hand paused mid-air as Aurelia abruptly halted, a sudden flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she fished around in her bag. Before he could process the swift gear-shift, she flashed a quick, shy nod and bolted toward the classroom door, murmuring her hasty exit.

"Oh—wait, right," Desmond muttered, letting his hand drop slowly back to his side as a faint, understanding smile touched his lips.

The lingering amusement vanished the second he turned back around, his dark gaze cutting sharply across the room. Bianca Will and her two closest shadows were already whispering, their heads huddled together with knowing, cruel grins plastered across their faces. They had clearly caught the frantic retreat and the telltale shape of the item Aurelia had tried to shield in her palm.

Desmond’s jaw tightened. Without a word, he picked up his leather satchel, swung it over his shoulder, and planted himself squarely in front of Aurelia’s desk, deliberately blocking the view of the prying, malicious eyes across the room. He leaned his hip against the wood, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled in to wait. Let Bianca and her cronies try anything while she was gone; they’d have to go through a brick wall first.

Desmond caught the synchronized movement out of the corner of his eye. Bianca and her two shadows sliding out of their desks, their matching predatory grins locked onto the hallway leading to the girls' restroom.

Before Bianca’s designer heels could click past the second row of desks, Desmond pushed off Aurelia’s chair with a slow, deliberate motion. He didn't rush, but his stride was long and absolute as he stepped directly into their path, blocking the doorway entirely.

The heavy, suffocating aura of authority radiating from him stopped the trio dead in their tracks. Bianca slammed to a halt, her triumphant smirk twisting into a mask of pure frustration and spite as she stared up at him.

"Move, Desmond," Bianca snapped, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage as she tried to angle around his shoulder.

"Some of us actually need to use the facilities. Or are you going to stand guard outside the stalls now, too? How pathetic is that?"

Desmond didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply looked down at her with a chilling, clinical indifference, his dark eyes like shards of winter ice.

"Take one more step toward that hallway, Bianca," Desmond said, his low, quiet voice carrying just enough for the nearby students to strain their ears, "and I promise you your father’s next quarterly report won't just be audited. It’ll be systematically dismantled by every regulatory board in the state before the bell rings for lunch."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and lethal. Bianca’s face drained of color, her chest heaving as she realized he wasn't bluffing. She looked ready to scream with humiliation, her friends gripping her arms in a silent, panicked plea for her to back down.

"You're disgusting," Bianca hissed, her voice shaking with impotent fury as she glared daggers at him. "Defending a nobody just because of some pathetic sob story from a shelter..."

"Try me," Desmond cut her off softly, his gaze narrowing just a fraction.

Trapped and cornered by his absolute authority, Bianca let out a furious, choked breath, whipped around on her heel, and stormed back toward her desk, her followers scurrying nervously behind her.

Desmond didn't move an inch. He planted himself right there in the corridor, a silent, unmovable wall waiting for Aurelia to return, making sure no shadow of cruelty could touch her while she was gone.