Chapter 7
The ride home was silent.
Betty sat in the back seat of the SUV, arms folded, staring out the window. Tasha chatted casually in the front with Henry, the old driver, who offered his usual dry jokes. But Betty barely registered them. Her mind was looping the teacher’s voice from earlier.
“Miss Lockhart.”
She wanted to rip the name off her uniform, wanted to throw it back at her mother and demand: Who gave you the right?
But when they arrived home, Laura was already in the kitchen, humming and chopping fruit like nothing had changed.
Betty lingered in the doorway, watching her. The apron looked ridiculous on Laura — she was always so polished, so composed. Domesticity didn’t suit her. Neither did motherhood, really.
“Sweetheart,” Laura said, noticing her. “How was your first day?”
Betty shrugged, keeping her tone light. “Fine.”
Laura tilted her head. “That’s it? Just ‘fine’?”
“What did you expect?” she asked, biting into a slice of apple from the counter. “Fireworks? A welcome parade?”
Laura smiled tightly. “Well, I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm.”
“You mean like when you gave me a new name without asking?”
Laura blinked. “Excuse me?”
Betty dropped the apple back on the plate. “At school — they called me Elizabeth Lockhart. I guess that was your doing.”
Laura’s expression shifted, just slightly — the tightening of her jaw, the twitch in one brow. “It made sense. You’re living here now. It’s just easier for school records.”
“Easier for who?” Betty asked, voice low.
Silence stretched between them, tense and thin.
Laura smoothed her hair and looked away. “I thought you’d be happy to have a fresh start.”
Betty’s eyes narrowed. “A fresh start doesn’t mean pretending I’m someone I’m not.”
Before her mother could reply, Betty turned and walked away. She didn’t trust herself to stay in that room. Her anger wasn’t loud — not yet — but it was deep, and it was growing.
---
Later that Evening
Betty sat on the small balcony off her room, legs curled under her as dusk settled over the estate. The garden below was lit by soft golden lights, neat and perfect — too perfect.
She was still stewing when she heard footsteps behind her.
Chris.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his tie undone and shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. “You survived your first day?”
She didn’t look at him. “Barely.”
He walked over, hands in his pockets. “Let me guess. They gave you the Lockhart treatment.”
Betty glanced up. “You knew?”
He shrugged. “Laura mentioned it at dinner last week. Said it would ‘make things simpler.’”
Betty snorted. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
Chris studied her for a moment, then sat beside her on the bench. Not too close. “It’s not fair. But that’s how Laura works. She moves pieces to keep the picture neat. Even if it means cutting corners.”
There was a pause. Betty looked over at him. “Did she do that to you?”
Chris let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I stopped being a ‘piece’ a long time ago. Now I just play along.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then he added, “Don’t let her define you. Not with a name. Not with anything.”
Betty leaned her head back against the wall, watching the first stars appear. “Too late. The label’s already on.”
Chris looked at her then, eyes unreadable. “Labels can be peeled off.”
She felt a strange flutter in her chest — something between gratitude and curiosity.
Maybe she wasn’t alone in feeling out of place.
Betty had planned to stay under the radar — again.
But “low profile” and Dean Mwansa didn’t seem to exist in the same universe.
She was heading toward the courtyard after class, scrolling through her phone, when she heard him.
“Still pretending you don’t notice me?”
She looked up, heart skipping — and there he was, leaning casually against the brick wall, blazer half-on, that same lazy grin on his lips.
Betty didn’t break stride. “Still pretending you’re irresistible?”
Dean chuckled and pushed off the wall to walk beside her. “Not pretending. Just observing. You didn’t seem bored the last time we talked.”
“Maybe I was being polite.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “You’re not very good at polite.”
That made her smile despite herself. “Then stop mistaking sarcasm for interest.”
They reached a quiet patch of grass near the outdoor benches. Dean moved in front of her, slowing her pace.
“So tell me, Betty,” he said, using her name with a deliberate softness. “Do you always walk away from people who are actually paying attention?”
“Only the ones who think I owe them something,” she said, but her voice had lost some of its edge.
Dean stepped closer, just enough for her to feel his presence more than see it. “I like that you talk back. Most girls don’t.”
“Most girls probably have better taste,” she replied.
Before he could answer, a voice cut through the air behind them.
“Unbelievable.”
They both turned.
A girl in heels and red lip gloss stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her ponytail was perfectly slicked back, but her expression was anything but calm.
“Of course it’s you,” she said, glaring at Betty. “You’re the new girl, right? Makes sense. He always finds someone to latch onto.”
Betty blinked. “I’m sorry—”
“She doesn’t owe you an apology, Macy,” Dean interrupted, stepping in front of Betty slightly.
Macy scoffed. “You dropped me last week, Dean. No explanation. Then I see you cozying up to some transfer girl like I was just practice?”
Betty tried to move around him, but Dean caught her wrist — not rough, just enough to make her pause.
“Let go,” she said quietly.
“I will,” he said, voice low. “After I deal with this.”
He turned back to Macy. “Whatever you and I had is over. Don’t drag her into it.”
“Oh, please. You don’t even know her.”
Dean’s grip loosened, and his hand slid from her wrist to her palm. “I know enough.”
Betty’s breath caught.
That’s when she heard footsteps behind them.
“Let go of her.”
Dean turned.
Chris stood a few feet away, hands at his sides, eyes sharp and unreadable. His tone wasn’t loud — but it cut like a blade.
Betty pulled her hand back immediately. Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Relax, big brother,” Dean said, smirking. “We were just talking.”
Chris didn’t smile. His gaze shifted to Betty. “You okay?”
She nodded, but her voice didn’t come.
Dean looked between the two of them and laughed under his breath. “Interesting.”
Macy looked confused. “Wait… brother?”
Chris ignored her. “Let’s go, Betty.”
Betty followed him in silence, leaving Dean and Macy behind. Her heart was thudding, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the confrontation… or the fact that Chris had showed he cared what happened to her.
Chris didn’t speak as they walked across the school parking lot toward his car. His jaw was set, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Betty followed a few steps behind, matching his pace but burning inside.
Why had he shown up like that?
Why had he spoken for her — like she couldn’t handle Dean on her own?
When they reached the edge of the lot, he finally turned, his tone clipped.
“What were you doing with him?”
Betty blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His voice was low, but it had an edge — not anger, exactly, but something harder. “You know what kind of guy he is, and you were just standing there—”
“Talking,” she cut in. “I was talking to him.”
“While he was holding your hand?”
Her heart jerked, but her face stayed cold. “So what? You jealous or something?”
Chris’s jaw tensed. “No. I just don’t want to see you dragged into something stupid.”
“Dragged?” she snapped. “Do you hear yourself? You don’t own me, Chris.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I don’t need saving. If I wanted help, I’d ask for it.”
He stepped closer, voice tight. “He was trying to get a rise out of you. He used that girl to stir drama, and you stood there letting him.”
“I didn’t let him do anything!”
Chris stared at her, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, arms crossed. “You think just because I’m the new girl, I’m some clueless charity case you can lecture.”
“That’s not what this is—”
“No?” Her voice shook. “Then what is it? Why do you even care what I do?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. The silence between them felt like a held breath.
Then he said, “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
That landed like a slap. Her anger collapsed into something rawer. She looked away, trying to hold on to the wall she’d just built.
Chris exhaled hard. “You’re impossible.”
“Better than being controlling.”
They stood like that — breathing hard, staring at the space between them like it might explain what just happened.
Then Chris shook his head, turned around, and walked away without another word.
Betty stayed frozen, the last words hanging heavy in the air.
She didn’t know what made her more angry — the fact that he’d walked away, or the fact that a small, stupid part of her wished he’d stayed and fought harder.