Chapter 4: Consequences

"My god, what have you done?" Mom’s voice cut sharp as she pressed her temple after hearing it all.

I sat silently on the edge of the dean’s office. Mom sat beside me. My eyes barely lifted when I saw it: the dean was holding printed photos— my ruined painting, Wade’s stall with his gear gone. They were the evidence of the mess we both had made.

Across from me, Wade sat too calmly in his Kingsley hoodie, legs spread, and his gaze was locked on me. I chose to drop my eyes.

“I said this clearly, Ms. Anderson and Mr. Scott,” the dean started. “Someone had destroyed a student’s scholarship-level artwork. And someone had missed a scheduled game with scouts and sponsors waiting.”

I forced myself to look away from all of them and stare at the floor instead. I couldn’t look at Wade right then. I was already pissed and angry enough without it getting worse. And I couldn’t face the dean like a normal person either, not after what we had done.

“This situation reflected poorly on both of you. Very disappointing.”

“I didn’t destroy her painting, Dean,” Wade defended himself.

“You had said that several times,” I snapped back, still refusing to look at him.

“Enough.” The dean sighed. “Ms. Anderson’s scholarship was under review because of recent academic and conduct issues. And Mr. Scott’s athletic eligibility was being questioned right then, and there was a possibility that he might be removed from the team.”

“What? That was impossible. Was there another way to fix this? My son’s future depended on his game,” Richard sounded disappointed.

He was a retired NHL star. Rich, with connections. Honestly, he could have pulled strings. But from the dean’s reaction, it looked like he would not let fame and money decide this for his son.

“Mr. Scott, when accusations of sabotage kept flying between the two of you, it was very complicated to fix, especially when both futures and the university’s reputation were on the line.”

“I didn’t —”

“Layla…” Mom gripped my arm to stop me.

“I told you, I didn’t sabotage anything,” Wade argued back.

“Wade, stop,” his dad cut him off.

“Whether either of you did it or not didn’t matter to the school anymore. The damage was done.”

I let out a heavy sigh. Now, we were both doomed.

“What were they proposing?” Mom asked.

“Both of you only had two months left,” the dean looked at us. “You would cooperate under supervision. Wade Scott would help Layla Anderson rebuild her artwork, materials, studio access, and anything else she needed. Mr. Scott would make sure she finished her submission properly.”

“What?! You're joking!” Irritation spiked in me. “I didn’t want to work with him! Did he even look like someone who knew anything about art?!”

“Yeah, you were joking,” Wade said too, like he was about to laugh while shaking his head. What was so funny?

“Let me finish. In return, Layla Anderson had to submit a formal written statement confirming Wade Scott wasn’t involved in destroying her painting.”

We went quiet. I looked at Wade, and he stared at me in disbelief, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Wait, wait — so you were telling me I could only save my scholarship by working with him?” I couldn’t believe it. Great. Another reason for us to be tied together.

“And you were telling me I had to babysit her for two months?” Wade asked like it was an insult.

I glared at him. “What did you mean, babysit?”

“I already said it clearly. If either of you refused, the consequences would be applied immediately, scholarship revoked and athletic suspension, maybe both.”

I laughed, sharp and sarcastic. “Unbelievable! So you wanted me to save his future by lying for him?”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Wade said flatly.

“Layla, please just cooperate,” Mom said softly. I gritted my teeth.

I watched Wade rub his flushed face and take a deep breath.

No! I didn’t think I could do this. So they were telling us we basically had to be together for two months? That I had to rely on him?

Spending even a few hours with him was torture. Now they were giving me two months? Two whole months? That felt like a life sentence.

“Were we clear? Ms. Anderson? Mr. Scott?” No one answered. The dean rubbed his forehead. “I would take that as a yes.”

I exhaled sharply. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

They dismissed us after almost half an hour of talking. I walked out of the office in silence without saying a word, and I felt Mom follow behind me.

“Mom, you heard what Wade did?” I asked her, turning to face her. “That’s one reason you shouldn’t marry his dad. Wade wouldn’t make a good brother.”

“Our marriage would be fine, thank you. And it wouldn’t be affected by what you two did, Layla,” she said, her voice turning dark.

“You really wanted us to be a family after this? You wanted to watch World War Three happen?”

“There wouldn’t be any war in our family if both of you got your act together, Layla Anderson.” I closed my mouth shut. She was angry, even her calm voice couldn’t hide it.

Wade and his father followed behind us. We stayed silent for a few seconds, like no one knew who should speak first or what to start with.

“We needed to talk, hon,” Richard said and put his hand on my mom’s waist. “Stay here, you two.”

I stayed silent. I took a seat on a bench outside, and Wade followed, sitting at the other end, leaving a large distance between us. Then he broke the silence.

“Try not to make this harder than it already was.”

“Yeah? Well, good luck with your new job,” I said, crossing my arms against my chest. “You were responsible for everything now.”

“Well, thanks for also ruining my life.”

“I didn’t ruin your life.”

He was the one ruining my life, actually. Being Wade Scott’s enemy all my life felt like living next to the sun while staying hidden in the shadows. People worshipped him like he was their god — effortless charm, and the pride of the Scott family.

And then there was me: the stray in his life, with unruly red hair, oversized glasses, and a face nobody remembered twice.

Because of everything that had happened, it was even more impossible to ignore him now.

I leaned my head against the wall. Not far from us, I saw Mom and Richard were still talking; Richard had his hand gently on Mom’s back, like he was trying to comfort her.

And it hit me again just how unreal this whole situation was. Would their marriage have problems if Wade and I kept this war going? If they found out we would never get along?

Part of me said I needed to fix this, for Mom’s own happiness, so she could marry the man who truly loved her. But another part of me said I needed to find a way to make sure Wade didn’t become my stepbrother.

Because the truth? I could never live under the same roof as the guy I hated the most.

“Let’s go, Wade. We would talk about what happened at home,” Wade’s dad said. He approached us, his face serious, but he still forced a smile — especially when he looked at me.

And my mom followed behind him. “I hoped you both thought about what you did,” Mom said.

“I was sorry, Auntie,” Wade said politely.

I bit my lower lip and stood up.

“Layla, we were going home, and you needed to explain things to me,” Mom muttered like a threat.

Why would I even explain when she had already heard everything from the dean?

Before they left for good, Wade looked at me again.

“Two months, Layla,” he said, his voice low, just enough for me to hear it. “Don’t forget, that was enough time to change things in ways you wouldn’t be able to undo.”

I met his gaze, but I didn’t say anything.

Yeah, right. Like there was anything I could do to stop him from becoming my stepbrother.