Chapter 6

Miguel's penthouse in Los Angeles screamed with understated luxury. Clean glass walls caught the gold of the bright moonlight. Designer rugs muffled every of his footsteps. A scent diffuser misted hints of sandalwood into the air, clashing awkwardly with the thick, rising discomfort in his chest.

He sat on the leather couch, shirt unbuttoned, eyes half-lidded as the maid kneeled before him. Mouth wrapped around his length. Her movements were slow, practiced, eager to please. But Miguel’s gaze didn’t focus on her. His mind wasn’t here.

Not really.

The chandelier above glinted in his hazed vision. He stared at it absently, until a sharp gag from the girl below pulled him briefly back.

“Enough.”

The word dropped like a stone. His voice was hollow.

The maid looked up, startled. "Did I—?"

"I said enough." His voice grew colder. And louder. He stood, zipping up with a snap of irritation. "Get out."

She hesitated, clearly confused, lips swollen, mascara smudged. Then she scurried out the room with a whisper of defeated heels.

Silence flooded in.

Miguel rubbed his temples, jaw tightening. His mind wasn’t supposed to be this noisy. He strode to the glass bar and poured himself whiskey. It burned down his throat, but it didn’t chase the memory.

The boy’s voice. Drake’s voice. It kept echoing.

Same voice he heard years back. That same innocent voice. Nothing changed.

"I'm Drake. Not Mr. Thrift Store."He smirked.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

And then...He remembered the slap Drake had given to Steve.

He wished Drake had spoken up years ago, the same way he had done earlier at the academy…maybe…just maybe. Then there wouldn't be any past to haunt him.

Or maybe…them.

The way Drake stood up to Steve despite everything, It stirred something buried deep inside him. Something Miguel had spent years trying to suffocate under fame, women, control, and expensive distractions.

He made his way into the closet, reaching into the drawer behind rows of tailored suits and crisp shirts. A silver case of imported cigarettes sat untouched. He opened it, pulled one out, and lit it with trembling fingers.

Smoke filled his lungs.

But it couldn’t choke the guilt.

He shouldn’t have stood by. Not again.

But what could he have done?

Fuck!

He slammed his fist against the glass table. Shattering the glass under the force of his fist. Then it dawned on him that Drake's presence at the academy would ruin them both. It'd so fucking ruin them that he had to do anything within his power to make him leave.

And Drake, being on a scholarship program was going to be an easy task getting him out of the academy. He wouldn't want history to repeat itself again.

Not when someone else was being destroyed.

**

The next morning...

Drake stood before the entrance of Brian’s Academy, his breath fogging slightly against the cool air, despite the California sun beginning to rise.

6: 30 am, the SMS said. But here he was, 7: 14. He had cried himself quietly to sleep that he couldn't even hear the alarm clock blare loudly as usual.

He tugged his hoodie further down his head, but nothing could hide the tension in his frame.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

He didn’t know what awaited him.

After losing his journal yesterday, he’d barely slept. One question kept ringing loudly in his mind.

What if the journal was in the wrong hands?

He swallowed a lump of dried saliva in his throat as his ribs still ached from the beatings he got from both Steve and his uncle. The bruise on his side throbbed with each breath.

He remembered Miguel’s voice, slicing through the noise like a blade: "Is he really worth your madness?"

Was that protection?

Or pity?

Drake didn’t know what scared him more.

He walked slowly through the courtyard. Students glanced his way, some whispering, some laughing, and others just watching. His feet moved forward anyway.

He was certain the contents of his journal was no longer a secret and every step was a fight not to turn around and run back to his crumbling apartment.

He pushed open the classroom door.

Silence.

They were already inside. Steve wasn't in his seat. Neither was Miguel. The air was thick with something unspoken. Drake walked straight to his desk, head high, even though his hands trembled slightly.

Then, from behind him, a voice:

"Didn't think you'd come to class”

He turned.

It was Thea, one of Steve's closest friends and minions. She leaned back on a desk, one leg crossed over the other. She wasn’t smiling.

"But you're late," she said.

Drake didn’t answer.

"That’s brave. Or stupid. Or both. And Steve’s not here today” She paused, running her eyes over his face. Brows furrowed like she was scanning for any dent, then continued, “You failed your promise of doing whatever I wanted. You couldn't even stick to your part of the deal?”

He exhaled slowly. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Doesn't matter. People are watching now." Her eyes flicked toward the windows where a couple students lingered, pretending not to listen. "I don't usually get involved with... situations like this. But since Steve's involved, that changes things. It means we both have same goals, and If you had come earlier, things wouldn't have been this bad”

Before Drake could ask what she meant, the door opened.

Miguel walked in.

He looked tired. But hot! Of course.

Hair slightly damp, sunglasses on despite being indoors. But the moment he stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned. Conversations stilled.

He walked straight past Drake without a glance, but leaving him with his expensive cologne. Migurl sat in his seat. Pulled out his tablet. Business as usual.

Drake’s fingers curled into fists. His heart was beating faster than normal. Beads of sweat suddenly formed on his forehead.

So... what if?

What if Miguel had seen the journal too?

He desperately wanted to whisper, “ have Miguel seen it..too?” But he couldn't get those words out of his mouth.

Thea chuckled under her breath, taking her voice into a whisper, as if reading his thoughts. "Don’t stare long at Miguel. That’s dangerous."

Drake wasn't concerned about asking why, he just wanted to ask if she had seen his journal too, but class began just immediately, and Drake barely heard the teacher. His mind was on Miguel. On the journal that was still missing. On the girl from the store, Thea, and the deal he agreed to out of desperation.

He could feel his world slowly tilting sideways.

What if the entire school had gotten to know all about him. If not, why all the side stares and conversations?