Sky Maddox's Point of View
I'm fifteen minutes early.
I'm never fifteen minutes early.
Hell, I'm never even the one doing the school pick-up.
But here I am, in my black Pagani Huayra with the top down, pulling into the lot like it's a Milanese catwalk. The purr of the engine turns heads instantly. Even before I step out, I can feel it—the curiosity, the pause, the unfiltered gaze.
My heels hit the pavement first. Then my dress settles, clinging just right, swaying just so. Black silk. Hair cascading down my back to my knees, fresh from an overpriced Parisian blowout. Red lipstick, diamond earrings, Dior shades perched perfectly.
I know how I look.
That doesn't mean I'm ready for what hits me.
The second I close the car door, boys—actual children—start migrating toward me like I'm some kind of alien species sent from a hotter, richer planet.
"Hey."
"You new here?"
"Are you lost?"
"Need help finding your class, beautiful?"
"Damn, you look like trouble."
"You in college or…?"
I blink. Once. Twice. What?
Oh God.
They think I'm a student.
They think I'm their age.
One of them steps closer—broad shoulders, jawline doing too much. "You waiting for someone, sweetheart? I could keep you company while you wait." He grins like this line has never failed.
I freeze. I don't know whether to laugh or call the school board.
Another guy whistles, openly eyeing my legs. "She gotta be a transfer. Or a model. Or like… someone's sugar mommy."
Jesus.
I clear my throat, paste on the polite smile I use in fashion board meetings when someone suggests beige for a summer line.
"I'm… just waiting for someone."
He smirks. "Lucky guy."
Before I can even attempt a graceful exit, I spot him.
Sebastian.
My heart flutters in my chest like it always does, completely ignoring the fact that he's six-foot-two and probably has more abs than common sense. His hoodie's up, jaw tense, stride sharp. His eyes scan the crowd until they find me.
And then—
I light up.
"Oh my God," I gasp, the awkwardness of the flirtation swarm vanishing like smoke. "Sebastian!"
I bolt toward him in my heels like I'm chasing the damn sunset. He barely has time to react before I throw my arms around his neck.
"I missed you so, so much," I gush, smothering him with kisses on his cheek, forehead, hair. "Did you eat? You look thinner. Baby, I brought you so much from France—cologne, chocolates, those sneakers you wanted from that little boutique in Paris—God, you didn't text me back after Tuesday! Are you okay? Do you need anything? Have you been sleeping well?"
I pull back just enough to cup his face, checking him like he's made of porcelain. "Look at you—your hair's longer. You didn't cut it! I love that. It suits you, baby."
Sebastian sighs. Quiet, soft. But his arms wrap around me like he's missed this. Missed me.
I barely notice the silence around us until I look up.
Dozens of students, standing frozen.
Phones out. Recording.
Whispers spreading like fire.
"Wait… that's his mom?"
"No, no—he said mom. That's gotta be a joke."
"She looks twenty-two."
"She's his sister."
"She's his girlfriend, bro. He's just into calling her—"
"Or a sugar mommy?"
"Yo, what if that's why he's so loaded?"
Sebastian glares toward the crowd like he's about to commit murder in broad daylight. I tug him closer instinctively.
He leans in and mutters in my ear, "Never doing this again."
I giggle into his hoodie. "Well, I did miss you."
He groans, muttering something about my timing and chaos, but he doesn't pull away.
He never does.