Chapter 9

I froze, my fist mid-air, my body trembling with rage.

 I slowly turned to see Mr. Martins, the school director, storming toward us. His expression was clearly annoyed, his gaze fixed squarely on me. 

Diana stood behind him, her arms crossed and a smug smile playing on her lips. Yeah, she called him. 

But who cares anyways.

Diana stepped forward, her voice filled with false concern. "Mr. Martins, thank goodness you’re here. Jordan just attacked Mikky out of nowhere like a wild animal. He’s been holding a grudge ever since that fight in the dorms, and now he's taken it too far. Look at Mikky!” Her tone was all too sweet, her words carefully chosen to paint me as the villain.

Mikky groaned dramatically from the ground, clutching his side as if I’d broken every bone in his body, well I guess I did. “He went crazy! I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just jumped me—he's out of control, Mr. Martins!”

I clenched my fists, still fuming with rage, yet somehow, a part of me felt satisfied. I wanted to tell Mr. Martins how they’d humiliated my grandmother, how Mikky had spat on her, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t matter.

 The truth didn’t matter to people like him. 

I stood there, holding my grandmother, watching him. 

Despite her fragile frame, my grandmother stepped forward, her hands clasped in a humble plea. "Sir, please... it wasn’t like that. Jordan was provoked. They—"

"Don’t, Grandma," I interrupted, my voice sharp, surprising even her. "You don’t need to beg him." 

My eyes, fierce with defiance, locked with Mr. Martins’. For a brief moment, I let all the disgust and frustration I’d been bottling up seep into my stare. "He doesn’t care about the truth anyway. He’s their puppet." 

Mr. Martin's face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Watch your tone, Jordan. You’ve already caused enough trouble today.” His eyes flicked to Mikky, then back to me, judgment already passed before I could say a word.

“Caused trouble?” I scoffed, my voice filled with disdain. “I defended myself. I defended ‘her’, it's self defense.” 

I pointed to my grandmother, my anger burning hotter with every word as I recounted the humiliation in my mind. “But you don’t care about that, do you? You only care about siding with whoever’s got the money to keep this place running.”

His eyes flashed with fury at my boldness. “You’re out of line, Jordan,” he snapped. “You think you can come here and cause chaos, assault students, and get away with it because you think you’ve been wronged?”

My grandmother tugged on my arm, trying to pull me back. "Jordan, please, don’t make it worse," she whispered.

Mr. Martins’ face reddened with anger. He stepped closer, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve just sealed your fate, Jordan. Your arrogance will get you expelled. I was willing to let this go with a suspension, but now... now I think expulsion is more fitting.”

My grandmother looked crushed, her hands trembling as she reached out toward the director. “Please, sir, don’t—”

“No,” I said, stopping her. “We are not going to beg for their mercy.

Mr. Martins' eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms, a smirk forming on his lips as he addressed the crowd. "You know, Mikky’s father has generously donated to this school for years. This year alone, he’s donated a whopping $2 million," he boasted, his tone oozing arrogance.

 "That’s more cash than you’ll ever see in your lifetime. Honestly, I doubt someone like you could ever earn that much, even if you worked your fingers to the bone for a century."

A low buzz spread through the crowd as they processed the director's comments, many throwing sympathetic looks my way. Mikky, standing next to Diana, shot me a smug smile, clearly relishing the director's attempt to put me down.

The crowd was watching, expecting me to back down, to shrink under the weight of their words. But instead, I smiled, looking directly at the director. "Two million, huh?"

 I said with a raised brow, my tone cool and steady. "That’s impressive, but tell me… what if I donate ten times that amount?"