Chapter 4- Shove Your Entitlement Up Your Ass.
LILA =+=
Two Days Later…
It all happened so fast, like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.
Who would've thought—just two freaking days ago—I'd be standing right here, in front of these massive, fancy gates of Sterling Academy, with a full scholarship slapped in my name?
If anyone had tried to tell me that, I would've smacked them right across the face to knock that crazy idea out of their head. Maybe even followed it up with another slap for good measure. Because me? At a place like this? Come on, be serious.
I already hated it. Every single bit of it.
The shiny gates looked like they were mocking me, all gold and polished, screaming "You don't belong here!" And they were right.
I wished with every bone in my body that Alexa had won this instead. She's the one who's been dreaming about Sterling since we were very young.
She's the one who talks about it nonstop, like it's some magical kingdom. Heck, she even printed out pictures of past winners and stuck them on her mirror, staring at them every morning like they were her heroes.
Not me. I never cared about any of this.
So why me? Why did I have to get stuck with this?
I didn't want it. I never asked for it. All I wanted was my bed, my endless supply of potato chips, and my drama series marathons.
But no, now I'm here, carrying this stupid scholarship like a heavy backpack I can't drop.
And get this—I actually tried to say no.
When that lady from the academy called to confirm, I begged her to pick someone else. "Please," I said, my voice all shaky, "you've got the wrong person. I didn't even apply myself. It was my sister—she's the one who's been trying for years. She deserves this way more than me. Can't you just give it to her?" I even suggested Alexa by name, like I was handing over a gift.
But the woman just sighed, all professional and cold. "I'm sorry, Ms. Harper, but the rules are clear. The selection is final. No transfers, no replacements. You've been chosen, and that's that. Congratulations."
Congratulations? Yeah, right.
I should've been jumping up and down, screaming with joy like a normal person. But instead, I hung up the phone and burst into tears. Ugly tears.
Because I knew what this meant. It meant saying goodbye to my cozy life. No more lazy days in bed, no more binge-watching until my eyes hurt, no more doing absolutely nothing.
It meant actually trying. Pretending to care about classes and grades and all that crap. It meant stepping out of my comfort zone, and I hated that more than anything.
Alexa wouldn't let me turn it down, though.
She cornered me in the kitchen that night, her eyes all teary. "If you don't take this chance, Lila, I'll never forgive you," she said, her voice cracking a little. "You might not want it, but you need it. And I… I want this for you. Even if I can't have it myself." She hugged me tight, and I could feel her shaking.
It broke my heart a bit, seeing her like that.
Our parents were no help either—they were over the moon. "This is a miracle!" Mom kept saying, wiping her eyes. "We could never afford a school like this on our own. Don't waste it, Lila." Dad just nodded along, beaming like I'd won the lottery for real.
How could I fight all of them?
So here I was, dragged into this nightmare.
Now, standing at the gates, I looked like a total mess. Oversized hoodie that had seen better days, nails chipped from nervous biting, hair thrown up in a messy bun I hadn't even bothered to brush properly.
I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed. Which, honestly, I had.
Ugh, I hate it here. Did I say that already? Because I really, really do.
I felt like a fake, an imposter sneaking into a party I wasn't invited to. All I wanted was to turn around, go home, curl up with my chips, and pretend I was falling in love with some hot male lead in a drama.
Those guys never let you down—they're all brooding and perfect, with zero real-life drama.
But nope, fate had other plans.
I trudged up to the security booth at the gate, my sneakers scuffing against the perfect pavement. The guards—two big guys in crisp uniforms—eyed me up and down, their faces full of doubt.
One of them raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're in the right place, kid? You look a little… lost."
I almost laughed. That was exactly the vibe I was going for—look so out of place they'd send me packing. "Yeah, I'm lost alright," I muttered under my breath.
But instead of playing along, I swallowed hard and pulled out my file with the official acceptance letter. "Here. Lila Harper. Scholarship winner or whatever."
The guards exchanged a look, like they couldn't believe it.
The taller one took the papers, flipping through them slowly. "Huh. Alright, checks out. Head straight to the admissions block over there. They'll get you sorted." He handed them back with a nod, all polite now.
I sighed, heavy and dramatic, and started walking away super slow, like a ghost heading to its own funeral.
My hoodie was pulled low over my face, casting shadows so I didn't have to make eye contact with anyone.
I kept hoping someone would stop me, say, "Hey, you don't fit here—go home." Maybe even bully me a little, give me an excuse to quit.
Or heck, maybe I'd fail on purpose, flunk every test just to get kicked out and back to my room, my bed, my shows.
But as I dragged myself deeper into the campus, I started hearing the whispers.
They followed me like annoying little bugs, buzzing in my ears. People's eyes were on me—I could feel them burning into my skin, judging every inch.
"Why does she look so… tattered?" someone murmured from a group of girls nearby, their voices all high and snooty.
"Is she even from around here?" another voice chimed in, a guy this time, snickering softly.
"She must be one of those lucky lottery winners," a third person said, like it was an insult. "Poor thing doesn't belong."
I kept my head down, gripping my acceptance file tighter. A small, bitter smile tugged at my lips under the hoodie.
Perfect. Keep whispering. Say it louder. Hate on me more. Make it super easy for me to hate this place right back and bail.
I was so lost in my thoughts, shuffling along the path, that I didn't see him coming.
BAM—I collided right into someone, hard enough to make me stumble back.
Hot liquid splashed everywhere—across my hoodie, my chest, even a bit on my arms. I gasped, jumping away as the heat soaked through the fabric.
My eyes shot down to the big, dark coffee stain spreading like a blob on my clothes. Then I noticed the guy's blazer in front of me—it was stained too, coffee dripping down the front.
Anger hit me like a wave. Who the hell doesn't watch where they're going?
I was about to snap something rude when I looked up.
And… whoa.
My voice got stuck in my throat.
He was like a guy straight out of one of my dramas. Tall, standing there all poised and effortless, with this obsidian-black hair that fell just a little messy, but in that expensive, styled way. His jaw was sharp, and his skin had this smooth, golden glow that made him look unreal.
His eyes were cold and piercing and that cold eyes of him made him look more handsome and hot.
Stupidly handsome. Like, fictionally handsome.
I never thought I'd see someone as handsome as this in my entire life. I thought to myself.
But Lila, get a grip, I told myself. You're supposed to be mad, not drooling over his cheekbones.
When he suddenly opened his mouth, all the dreamy thoughts I had vanished.
"Aren't you supposed to apologize?" he said, his voice all calm and arrogant, like I was the one at fault.
"Excuse me?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my stained hoodie. "Apologize? To you? You're kidding, right?"
"You ran into me," he replied plainly, wiping at his blazer with a napkin like it was no big deal.
"And you were the one holding the coffee," I fired back, my voice rising. "It spilled on me too, genius. You're not the only one soaked here. Maybe you should've been paying attention instead of strutting around like you own the place."
His brows furrowed, and he looked at me with this mix of amusement and annoyance. "Who raised you?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Watch your mouth," I snapped, feeling my face heat up. "Don't you dare talk about my parents. Matter of fact, whoever raised you should be the ones getting questioned. Clearly, they skipped the lesson on basic manners—like saying sorry when you spill hot coffee all over someone."
He blinked at me, totally caught off guard, like no one had ever talked back to him before.
"You really don't know who I am, do you?"
I crossed my arms tighter and smirked, not backing down an inch.
"No. And I don't care. You can shove your identity and your ego straight up your entitled ass."