Miranda stood frozen in the lavish living room of the Dennis mansion, her eyes glued to the man she once loved.
Elon Dax.
He had changed…drastically.
No longer the average-looking boy who once wore knock-off sneakers and cheap colognes.
Now, Elon exuded wealth, class, and polish. He wore a white Balmain slim-fit shirt tucked into Alexander McQueen tailored pants, paired with a sleek Dolce & Gabbana black trench coat.
On his feet were spotless Christian Louboutin studded sneakers, and his left wrist flashed with a Rolex Submariner…a luxury piece she had once seen in a magazine but never in person.
He even had a small silver hoop earring on his left ear…something he'd never dared to try when they were together.
His jawline was sharper, his skin clearer, and he smelled like luxury…probably Bleu de Chanel or something more expensive she couldn't pronounce.
Miranda's eyes burned, not from jealousy, but from betrayal.
So this is what cheating upwards looked like.
She watched silently as Elon wrapped an arm around Joanne's waist and the two of them giggled their way up the staircase. Her heart clenched involuntarily as she realized where they were headed…probably Joanne's room.
Miranda quickly bowed her head, whispered a soft "Thank you" to Mr. Daniel and Kennedy, and walked out of the mansion with her delivery bag slung over her shoulder.
Her bicycle was still parked by the gate, standing like a loyal dog waiting to take her back to the real world…the world where she wasn't a guest, or a part of the rich. Just a girl trying to survive.
She hopped onto it, pedaling down the quiet neighborhood roads.
But her mind refused to be silent.
As so many Images of Elon swirled in her thoughts…his laugh, the way he looked so confident, so well-fed, so... changed and even how he didn't care that she was around as he went ahead to mention who he came to see.
"Did I really mean so little to him?" she whispered.
She remembered how they used to share boiled corn and sit on broken benches under the tree near campus.
And now, here he was…in designer brands, snuggling with the very girl who bullied Miranda every single day.
So deep in thought she was, she didn't realize that she was veering off-center on the road.
Then came the blinding flash of headlights and a loud honk, then another.
Miranda blinked rapidly and jerked the handlebars too late. Her hands scrambled for the brakes, but she was already too close.
Her heart lurched into her throat.
Just when it seemed inevitable that she'd crash into the car, the glossy white Lamborghini Huracán came to a sudden screeching halt…mere inches from her bicycle.
She slammed her feet into the ground and skidded sideways, crashing onto the pavement with a grunt.
The driver's side door flew open.
A tall, caramel-skinned guy in his early twenties stepped out. His black Versace hoodie hugged his muscular arms, and his jeans were Givenchy, hanging just right on his lean hips.
His sneakers? Yeezy Boosts, crisp white. His hair was styled in a messy but fashionable fade, and his brows were furrowed in a mixture of anger and disbelief.
"What the hell?!" he shouted, walking toward her. "Do you not have eyes? Are you blind?! Or did you think playing chicken with a Lamborghini was a fun idea?!"
Miranda stared up at him, her mouth slightly ajar, still recovering from the fear and slight scratches.
But suddenly, screams and squeals erupted from behind them.
"OH MY GOD, IT'S JERRY!"
"JERRYYY! I LOVE YOU!!"
"Take a selfie with me!"
Within seconds, a crowd of teenage girls and young women appeared out of nowhere, phones in hand, shoving each other, giggling, and screaming his name.
Miranda blinked, utterly confused.
Who was this guy? Was he famous?
Some of the girls rushed him, brushing his arm, some trying to take selfies, others blowing him kisses.
A girl even threw her scarf at him.
One of them screamed, "JERRY, MARRY ME!!"
He looked frustrated, quickly pointing to Miranda.
"You see what you've caused?" he scolded, shooting her a glare.
"This is exactly why I don't drive in peace anymore!"
Then, tugging at his hoodie to shield his face, he pushed through the crowd, squeezed back into his Lamborghini, and with a powerful roar of the engine, sped off.
Miranda sat on the ground in stunned silence.
"…Who the heck is Jerry?" she muttered.
Was he a celebrity? A billionaire? A sports player? Whatever he was, he was a very big deal.
Shrugging off the confusion, she picked up her bike…scraped, but thankfully still functional…and resumed her ride to the small electronics store where she had her part-time job.
The moment she entered, her manager tossed her a disapproving look.
"You're late, Lambert," he grunted.
"I'm sorry, there was an accident on the road. Which caused a lot of traffic."
Before he could snap back, something on the store's display television caught Miranda's eye.
Her heart skipped and there he was.
Jerry, the same Jerry she had accidentally met with.
On screen. Wearing the same Versace hoodie. The headline read:
"JERRY STORM RETURNS TO THE COUNTRY: Billionaire's Son, Fashion Mogul, and Socialite Spotted Driving in the Suburbs."
Miranda gasped audibly.
"He's… him?"
She couldn't believe it. She had nearly collided with Jerry Storm, the notoriously private heir of the Storm Empire, one of the biggest luxury conglomerates in the country.
The screen cut to a clip of him in a fashion event, women fawning over him just like they did moments ago.
Miranda stood there, stunned, her thoughts racing.
First was Kenned and now is Jerry.
" Oh God… I pray I don't get into trouble with a wealthy elite, else I will be done for.'' With those words coming from her, she then hit her palm on her face as she walked back to continue her work.
Her world was starting to spin…and she had no idea what fate had just dropped at her feet.
Then her phone rang, it was an unknown number… Miranda became scared because she already knows who the caller is even without picking up the phone yet.
" Have I been tracked
? Did they see me?" As she wondered to herself and the phone was clutch to her chest as she contemplated if to pick the call or not.