I sat there, staring at Wesley's face as he waved his phone in front of me, showing off the standing-room ticket he'd "generously" arranged for me. The audacity of it all—after everything I'd done to secure those business class seats.
"Valery?" Wesley's voice pulled me back. "Did you hear what I said? It's really not that bad."
I took a deep breath, feeling something shift inside me. The wall I'd carefully constructed around my identity trembled again, this time more insistently.
"Don't worry about my travel arrangements," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'll handle them myself."
Wesley's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean? I already booked your ticket."
"I'm sure Isla will appreciate the business class seat more than I would," I replied, reaching for my phone. "And I'm sure I can find something more suitable for myself."
I pulled up my contacts and found James, my father's executive assistant. We'd established a protocol for emergencies—not that Wesley would know what constituted an emergency in my world.
"James? It's Valery," I said quietly, stepping away from the table. "I need the jet prepared for tomorrow evening. Yes, just me. Returning home for the holidays."
Wesley's eyes widened as he overheard my conversation. I caught Isla's gaze from across the coffee shop where she'd been watching our interaction with poorly concealed interest.
"Is everything alright?" James asked on the other end.
"Yes," I replied, maintaining my composure. "Just a change of plans."
As I returned to the table, Wesley exchanged a look with Isla, who had moved to sit beside him during my call.
"Was that... your dad's assistant?" Wesley asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
I nodded, slipping my phone back into my pocket. "I'll be taking my father's private jet home tomorrow."
Wesley and Isla exchanged glances again, this time with matching expressions of pity tinged with mockery.
"A private jet?" Isla repeated, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "How... extravagant."
"Valery," Wesley said, leaning forward as if speaking to a child, "there's no need to make up stories just because you're upset about the ticket."
"I'm not upset," I replied truthfully. "I'm simply making alternate arrangements."
Isla snorted, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just... a private jet? Really?"
Before I could respond, Wesley burst into laughter—not his usual charming laugh, but something harsher, more dismissive.
"Valery, this isn't like you," he said between chuckles. "Making up ridiculous stories to save face? A private jet?"
I watched them both, suddenly seeing how alike they were—Wesley with his judgmental arrogance, Isla with her calculating eyes and false innocence.
"I'm not making anything up," I said quietly.
Wesley shook his head, already texting someone. "You know what? I think we need to lighten the mood here." He turned his phone toward me, showing a group chat where he'd just posted: "Valery just claimed she's taking a private jet home. Emergency delusions of grandeur?"
I watched as notifications popped up one after another:
"OMG no way"
"That's wild"
"She's losing it"
Isla leaned over to look at the messages, giggling as she added her own comment: "I always knew she was a bit... off."
"Wesley," I said, interrupting their amusement, "there's something else you should know."
He looked up, still smirking. "What's that?"
"You should prepare for some changes to your scholarship funding," I said, keeping my voice level.
His smile faltered momentarily before returning with even more dismissiveness. "What are you talking about?"
"The Morrison Scholarship," I clarified. "It might not be available to you next semester."
Wesley exchanged another glance with Isla, who placed a comforting hand on his arm.
"Is this some kind of threat?" he asked, his tone hardening. "Because it's not a good look, Valery."
Isla nodded solemnly. "Wesley, I think she might be having some kind of breakdown. First the private jet, now this?"
"She's always been jealous of you," Isla continued, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Maybe she can't handle that you chose to help me instead."
Wesley patted her hand, his eyes never leaving mine. "Don't worry about Valery's threats," he told her. "They're just words."
I stood up, gathering my things. There was nothing left to say—at least not to them.
"Enjoy your business class seat, Isla," I said quietly. "And Wesley... you should really prepare for those scholarship changes."
As I walked away, I heard Isla's voice behind me: "She's definitely losing it. Did you see her face?"
Their laughter followed me out the door, but I didn't look back. By tomorrow, they'd understand exactly how wrong they were.
