For the first ten minutes of the drive, the silence inside the cabin was unbroken. I stared blankly at the back of Marcus’s headrest, my mind playing the sequence of events over and over again. The anger in her eyes. The sheer, irrational hatred.
You do not belong here.
Money buys nothing in my band.
Call your father.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the familiar suburban streets blur into a gray smear. I had always known my father was powerful. Arthur Vance didn’t just run companies; he conquered them. He was a phantom to the press, a titan in the boardroom, and to me, he was just... Dad. A man who worked too much, who bought me whatever I wanted to compensate for his absence, and who insisted on a security detail because he had enemies.
I had always thought those enemies were corporate rivals. Faceless men in suits fighting over market shares.
I never thought one of them would be my high school band director.
“Marcus,” I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly small in the quiet cabin.
“Yes, Miss Vance.” He didn't look back, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, but his tone was gentle.
“She knew. Before you even pulled up. She knew who I was.”
Marcus’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a brief second. “I know.”
“How?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I’ve gone by my mother’s maiden name at school since freshman year. I’m registered as Chloe Miller. None of the teachers know. The principal promised my dad he would keep the file sealed.”
“People who hold grudges tend to dig deeper than principals,” Marcus said quietly.
“What grudge?” I asked, leaning forward, the heavy suit jacket slipping slightly off my shoulders. “What does she have against my father?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately. His hands gripped the steering wheel a fraction tighter, the leather creaking softly under the pressure. “Your father will explain everything when we get home.”
“Marcus, tell me.”
“My job is to keep you safe, Chloe. Not to discuss Arthur’s business history.”
I sank back into the seat, a cold knot forming in my stomach that had nothing to do with the freezing weather outside. I thought back to the parking lot. The way she had looked at me. It wasn't the look of a strict teacher enforcing a rule. It was the look of someone trying to destroy something. She had brought the scissors to the parking lot on purpose. She had orchestrated the crowd. She had wanted an audience.
Why?
My phone buzzed in my bag. I reached inside with trembling fingers and pulled it out.
It was a text from Sarah.
Chloe, what the hell was that? Are you okay? Jason posted the video.
My breath hitched. I opened the social media app. There it was. The video, already climbing in views, showing the terrible moment the scissors cut through my dress, the tears on my face, and the arrival of the black SUVs. The comments were already spiraling. People were asking who I really was. People were calling me a spoiled brat, assuming the SUVs meant I was some arrogant rich kid throwing a tantrum.
I locked the screen and let the phone drop onto the leather seat.
We turned off the main highway, winding up the long, private road that led to my father’s estate. The massive wrought-iron gates swung open silently as we approached, revealing the sprawling stone mansion that felt more like a fortress than a home.
The SUVs pulled into the circular driveway. Before the car even came to a complete stop, the front door of the house flew open.
My father stood on the stone steps. He wasn’t wearing his usual perfectly pressed suit. He was in slacks and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his tie discarded somewhere inside. His face was a mask of barely contained fury.
I didn’t wait for Marcus to open my door. I pushed it open myself and stepped out into the biting cold, Marcus’s jacket still draped over my shoulders.
“Chloe,” my father said, his voice cracking slightly. He hurried down the steps and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me tight against his chest, completely ignoring the fact that his head of security was standing right there. “Are you hurt? Did she touch you?”