falling for my hot highschool bully

1

Zara POV

"Zara, promise me you aren't going there for revenge. Promise me you'll make use of the opportunity well."

Mum’s fingers trembled against mine, her skin paper-thin and cold. A single tear slipped down her cheek and disappeared into the folds of the hospital sheet.

I swallowed hard and forced my lips into a smile. "Mum, I’m not going there to fight anybody. I just need to prove Father’s innocence." My hands shook as I said it. I tucked them behind my back so she wouldn’t notice.

She searched my face for a long second, then let out a shaky breath. "Just focus on school. Don’t worry about me. I’m getting better."

I leaned down, pulled the thin blanket up to her chest, and fluffed the flat pillow behind her head.

Her eyes were already drifting shut when I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Sleep tight."

The moment I stepped out of the room and the door clicked shut behind me, the fake smile dropped. I was set on proving my father's innocence. Let hell be loose, I don't care.

The iron gates of Blackwell Academy looked like they belonged on a castle, not a high school in Chicago. They swung open silently as my Uber rolled through, the driver muttering something about “rich kids” under his breath.

My hands were too busy clutching the strap of my worn backpack, the one with the fraying zipper I’d duct-taped twice last year.

Blackwell wasn’t just a school. It was a fortress. Gothic stone buildings stretched toward the sky, ivy crawling up their walls like it was trying to claim the place for itself.

Manicured lawns rolled out perfectly green even in early September. Students in crisp navy blazers and plaid skirts moved in clusters, laughing as the world had already been handed to them on silver platters.

I hated it instantly, but I needed it more than anything.

For Dad, I reminded myself as the car stopped in front of the main building.

For Mom. For every night she cried thinking I couldn’t hear her.

Three months ago I’d found the box in our tiny apartment attic. Old case files of my father.

Reading through them I found Inconsistent witness statements. A company name scribbled in the margins over and over again: Hartwell Industries. My father hadn’t been a criminal. He’d been a linkage to a crime the industry had been involved in.

And Mr Hartwell had sentenced him with a prison cell.

Now I am here as a scholarship transfer junior. On paper, I was just another bright little girl trying to escape her circumstances.

In reality, I was a Trojan horse with a mission. On a mission to burn down the Harrington empire.

I stepped out of the car and adjusted my blazer. It fit okay, but nothing could hide the fact that I wasn’t built like the willowy girls floating past me.

My stomach pressed against the waistband of my skirt. I’d stopped trying to shrink myself years ago.

The main corridor was even more ridiculous inside—marble floors, chandeliers, and a vaulted ceiling painted with some Renaissance looking scene of angels and scholars. Lockers lined the walls as they belonged in a museum. I kept my head high, scanning the crowd for the administration office.

Already had my first day mapped out, on the list was to know my schedule and keep my mouth shut until I figured out how to move.

That plan lasted exactly four minutes.

A group of boys dominated the center of the hallway like they owned the space itself.

Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with that bold entitlement that screamed money. The one in front had dark hair that fell messily over his forehead and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

He wore the Blackwell blazer open, his tie loosened, like rules were suggestions.

I had tried to slip past them.

His voice stopped me cold. “Damn. They’re letting anyone in on a scholarship these days?”

The group's eyes turned to look at me, with visible disgust and curiosity all over their faces.

The speaker stepped closer. Up close he was stupidly handsome, with his sharp cheekbones. A stormy gray eyes, and a mouth that looked like it had never heard the word “no.” Zane Hartwell.

I didn’t know his name yet, but I would learn it soon enough.

He tilted his head, a smirk curling. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue, or are you just overwhelmed by all the… finer things in life?” His gaze dropped deliberately to my chest, my hips, my thighs. “It must be hard fitting into our world when you’re carrying so much… extra.”

His friends snickered. One girl with perfect blonde hair and a short skirt leaned against a locker, watching like it was premium entertainment.

Heat flooded my face, but not from shame. From rage. Pure, clean rage.

I smiled sweetly at him. “Extra?” I said, loud enough for the growing crowd to hear.

“That’s cute. Coming from a guy who looks like he compensates for everything with daddy’s money and a superiority complex.”

The hallway quieted. A phone camera flashed, someone had already taken a photo. Which I didn't care about by the way.

Zane’s smirk faltered for half a second. Then it turned deadly. “You’ve got a mouth on you. Bold for someone who clearly doesn’t belong here.”

“Oh, I belong here just fine,” I shot back. “More than you, apparently. Tell me, do you always walk up to girls bigger than your fragile ego and try to knock them down? Or is that only when your little followers are watching so they don’t notice how small you actually are?”

I let my eyes drop pointedly to his crotch, then back up. “One-minute guy, right? All bark, no stamina. Must be why you pick on people who can’t fight back the same way. Weako.” Laughter exploded around us. Real laughter. Not the polite kind. Phones were out now, recording the very scene. The blonde girl’s expression twisted. "Zane, let go. She definitely has not heard of the Hartwell influence." She taps his shoulders lightly.

Zane Hartwell stared at me as I’d slapped him. For a moment, something else shimmered behind those gray eyes. Possibly cold fury, surprise, or something else.

He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the scent of his sweet cologne and winter air.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, voice low to a whisper. “I promise you, new girl. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you’d never opened that fat mouth of yours.”

I lifted my chin high and stared back at him. “Big threats from a small man. I’m shaking.”

He held my gaze another beat, then turned and walked away, his crew falling in behind him like loyal dogs. The crowd parted for him instantly.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Adrenaline sang in my blood. I’d just painted a target on my back in my first hour here. My very first rule was already broken a few minutes before entering the school.