Chapter 44 The Gold Digger's Funeral
Mila's POV
The interior of Theodore’s car was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt pressurized, like we were sinking into the deep, dark trenches of the Atlantic. The tinted windows turned the bright afternoon into a muted, gray landscape, shielding me from the world but trapping me with my own thoughts. The smell of expensive leather and Theodore’s clean, woodsy cologne usually would have been a comfort, but now it just felt like another layer of the "Heir" world that was slowly suffocating me.
"Nate isn't going to let this go, you know," Theodore said softly, his hands steady on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. "He doesn't know how to handle things he can't quantify. Right now, you’re an error in his code, and he’s going to try to delete the file."
"I'm not a file. I'm a person who just wants to pass my exams and keep my job," I replied, leaning my head against the cool glass. "I don't want to be anyone’s 'war.' I just want to disappea."
"People like you don't disappear in places like Alverstone, Mila. You’re too bright. You make everyone else look dim by comparison."
He pulled the car to the curb half a block from the cafe. I expected the usual sidewalk bustle of Brooklyn. Instead, there was a curated nightmare. A group of girls, all wearing the tell-tale pleated skirts and expensive wool coats, were huddled near the entrance. They weren't there for coffee. They were holding their phones like weapons, their faces tight with a cruel, expectant glee.
"The welcoming committee," I whispered, my heart sinking into my stomach.
Theodore’s jaw tightened. "Stay in the car. I'll walk you in. I’ll make sure they don't say a word."
"No. If you walk me in, it just confirms the 'social climber' narrative. They’ll say I’ve moved on from Nate to you before the library seats have even cooled down." I took a deep, shaky breath, clutching the straps of my bag until my knuckles turned white. "I have to do this alone."
I stepped out of the car, and the air hit me like a physical blow. The silence from the girls was instantaneous, followed by a flurry of muffled snickers and the aggressive click-click-click of phone cameras.
"Oh, look," Bianca Cole said, her voice dripping with mock surprise. She was leaned against the brick wall, her twin sister Savannah flanking her. "The scholarship girl hitched a ride in a Bentley. I guess the subway is too 'common' for her now that she’s slept her way into the North Suite."
"Did you get the shot of her getting out?" Savannah whispered, though loud enough for me to hear. "The caption has to be about the 'Price of Admission.' I wonder what she had to promise Theodore to get him to drive her to her shift at the bean-grinder."
I kept my head down, my eyes fixed on the cracked pavement, moving toward the door. I could feel their eyes like heat lamps on my skin. But Vivian Thorne stepped into my path, her arms crossed over her designer blazer.
"Hey, Stone. How much did the stay-over cost?" Vivian asked, blocking the entrance. "Is Nate paying you in used textbooks, or did you get a nice little bonus from the Salvatore estate? You should really check your bank account; I hear the 'tutor' rate goes up after midnight."
"Leave her alone, girls."
The voice was sharp, authoritative, and strangely familiar. I looked up to see Scarlett stepping out from the shadow of the cafe’s awning. She looked effortlessly chic in a tan trench coat, her eyes flashing with what looked like righteous indignation. She walked over and put an arm around my shoulders, drawing me into a protective embrace.
"Bianca, Savannah, move," Scarlett scoffed. "You’re being embarrassing."
"Scarlett, please," Bianca rolled her eyes, adjusting her headband. "We’re just having a conversation about campus ethics. We all saw the photo."
"No, you’re being bullies," Scarlett said, her voice loud enough for the gathering crowd to start looking over. She turned to me, her expression softening into something pitying. "Honestly, girls, have some heart. Mila can’t help that she’s in over her head. She hasn't been raised to understand the rules of—well, of discretion."
The Cole twins went quiet, but their smiles didn't fade. They widened.
"Mila is a hard worker," Scarlett continued, her tone shifting into that high, melodic "charity" voice. "She comes from a very... difficult home situation. She’s trying so hard to better herself and escape her circumstances. If Nate chose to spend time with her, it was clearly out of a sense of duty. You know how the Salvatores love their philanthropic projects."
The words felt like a shower of needles. Scarlett wasn't defending my character; she was highlighting my lack of it. She was telling the world I was a "project," a charity case that Nate was indulging out of pity.
"It’s okay, Mila," Scarlett whispered loudly, patting my arm as if I were a frightened stray. "I told them you didn't mean any harm. I explained to everyone you probably just got confused by the attention. People from her neighborhood aren't used to being around someone as magnetic as a Salvatore, right? It’s only natural she’d get a little... star-struck."
"Scarlett, stop," I whispered, my face burning with a heat that felt like it would leave scars.
"Oh, honey, I'm helping you!" she said, her eyes wide with false innocence, her grip on my shoulder tightening just a fraction. She turned back to the twins and Vivian. "Go on, now. Let her get to her shift. She actually has to work for her money, remember? She doesn't have a trust fund to fall back on if she spends too much time daydreaming about being a princess."
Vivian laughed—a sharp, synchronized sound with the twins that echoed off the brick walls. They began to disperse, tapping away at their phones, no doubt updating the "Spotted" thread with Scarlett’s new narrative. They weren't mocking me anymore; they were laughing at me.
"There," Scarlett said, turning to me with a bright smile once they were out of earshot. "They won't bother you for the rest of the day. I made sure they know you're under my protection."
"Your protection?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Scarlett, you basically told them I was a charity case. You told them Nate was doing 'philanthropy' by being near me."
"Well, it sounds better than 'social climber,' doesn't it?" Scarlett reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. "I’m just being a friend, Mila. I’m managing your expectations. You shouldn't get too attached to the idea of being more than what you are. It’ll only hurt more when the 'project' ends."
She squeezed my hand and walked away. I stood in front of the cafe door, feeling more exposed than I had when the girls were yelling at me.
Eliza wasn't here. Theodore was still watching from the car. And as I pushed open the door to start my shift, the bell jingling with a mocking cheerfulness, I realized that Scarlett hadn't saved me from the funeral. She had just provided the eulogy.