Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The rumors were too fresh. The whispers about her father. The scandal circling the Blackwoods. No one wanted to be the idiot to bring it up in front of her. Not because they feared retaliation—Annabelle didn't need to lash out. Her silence could cut deeper than words.

Yet beneath that unbothered facade, there was a sharpness to her expression, a tightness around her eyes that betrayed the weight she was carrying.

She made her way to her usual seat, the same spot near the front where she always sat with a perfect view of the entire room. Before she could settle, though, a group of her friends leaned in with hushed excitement, phones subtly angled in her direction. One of them, a girl with dark lipstick and a smug grin, tilted her screen just enough for Annabelle to catch the video.

A photo.

The Rolls Royce.

Naomi stepping out first. And then Parker.

Sharp uniform. Designer sneakers. Jawline carved out like he belonged on some high-end fashion ad.

Her gaze flicked over the headline:

"Parker Black's Return: From Ghost to Glamorous?"

Annabelle blinked. Once. Then, in a voice so cool it practically frosted the air, she said, "I know."

Like it was nothing.

But it was something.

Because just days ago, Parker had practically disappeared after that whole mess at the Blackwood estate. No one expected him back so soon on his feet after what Robert had done, let alone in that car, looking like... that.

She didn't approve the way her father handled things, Parker was a nuisance and a good target for a mischiefs but... attacking him? Nah, she wasn't violent like her father and brother.

Annabelle didn't comment further which disappointed her friends. She just shifted her attention toward the back of the classroom—the seat Parker had always occupied, tucked into the farthest corner, almost invisible back then.

It was empty.

Waiting.

This class wasn't just any ordinary group at Silverbrook. It was the biggest class in the school, Grade 12—the graduating year. Except, due to the sheer number of students (and the school's obsession with balancing chaos and control), it was split into two elite sections:

Class A and Class B.

Class A was stacked with academic overachievers, some very smart rich legacies, and quiet power. Naomi was there. Evelyn Harper too, along with Chione and a few others with last names that practically dripped privilege.

Class B? That was where the drama lived. The most popular, the most influential. Maya Winslow. Annabelle herself. Icarus. Ryan.

The school kept the groups separate—sort of. They shared some advanced courses, blending the most brilliant minds with the most... difficult ones. It was Silverbrook's way of keeping balance. A controlled social experiment.

Annabelle, still watching Parker's vacant seat, drummed her manicured nails against her desk.

Where the hell was he?

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Naomi and Parker split after reaching their lockers, parting with nothing more than a subtle nod of acknowledgment. No words. No drawn-out goodbyes. She had her own classes, her own life. So did he.

But the moment Parker crossed the threshold into Class B, it was like someone had hit play on a chaotic soundtrack.

The whole room fucking exploded.

Desks banged. Shoes stomped the tile floor like some medieval war drum. Whistles pierced the air. Hands slapped tables so loud it sounded like a college frat party instead of a senior classroom.

"YO, LOOK WHO FINALLY DECIDED TO SHOW UP!"

"Bro, did you level up IRL? Parker? That you??"

"Someone tell me where this man got the cheat codes—for real!"

"NAH, what you tryna prove dressing like that?!"

Parker didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just kept walking, calm as hell, eyes steady, giving zero reaction to the noise like it wasn't even happening. His bag hung from one shoulder, sneakers so fresh they practically reflected the classroom lights.

But they weren't done.

"Yo, why isn't anyone talking about the fucking car he pulled up in?"

"Deadass, who let him flex in a Rolls? Ain't no way."

"He got a stylist or some shit? Parker never looked like this before—swear to God."

"Maybe Annabelle was right. Kid did go to some self-improvement camp or something."

"Where? I need to sign up, like, yesterday."

And then the doors for another drama opened again.

Maya Winslow.

Blonde waves. Pink sweet lips. That perfect uniform with the tie just loose enough to look rebellious but intentional. Skirt a little too short but not enough for the dress code to actually give her detention. She walked in like she owned the room, practically radiating that main character energy.

And she went straight for him.

"Hi, love. Long time."

No hesitation. She just took his hand. Like that. Fingers curled around his wrist, the smile on her face pure audacity.

The class?

Fucking feral.

"OOOOOOOH!!!"

"Bro, kiss her already! Quit playing!"

"NAH, Maya been loyal since freshman year! Respect her!"

"Yo, Ryan, you seein' this shit?! Man's gonna explode—LOOK AT HIM!"

Ryan, seated toward the back with his arms folded way too tight, looked like he was moments from committing a crime. His jaw clenched so hard it might as well have been wired shut.

But Parker? Not a damn reaction.

Maya pressed closer, practically pressing herself into his side, latching onto his arm like they were some official power couple or something.

'Was she crouching somewhere waiting to pounce at me the moment it enter?' he wondered.

"C'mon, I'll help you to your seat," she practically purred, voice all soft and sugary, batting her lashes like this was some teen rom-com and not a high school zoo.

Parker let her. Not because he gave a shit about Maya's theatrics, but because pulling away would be stupid. Too many eyes. Too many phones already out, half the class probably live-streaming this mess for clout.

She hadn't done anything wrong, so there was no reason to embarrass her.

Let her have her moment.

The commentary kept flying, loud and chaotic.

"Yo, Parker, drop the skincare routine!"

"Bro, share the glow-up secrets! You holding out on us?"

"Hope your grades shine as hard as your shoes, man! Hahahaha!"

He ignored it all, face calm, expression that same unreadable, cold mask. But Ryan? Dude looked like he was dying.

And Maya knew it.

She leaned in, gripping his arm tighter, voice dripping with that teasing confidence. "I'm helping you sit, Parker honey. Relax, you're too tense."

They finally reached his desk. And Parker, voice low, controlled, finally spoke.

"Get off me." The words were sharp. Barely a whisper. Not loud enough for the peanut gallery to catch, but Maya definitely heard it.

Her smile? Didn't even crack. If anything, it got sharper.

"Still cold, huh?" she whispered back, leaning in just enough for her breath to tickle his ear. "Kinda turns me on, not gonna lie. Makes me like you even more.*"

She let go—but sat right next to him. Elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in her palm, eyes glued to his face like he was the only thing interesting in the entire universe.

And the class?

"HOOOOOOOH!!!"

"Yo, Ryan! Maya just declared war, dude!"

"Parker got girls simping hard—what timeline are we in?"

"Bro's got rizz without even talking. Teach us your ways!"

Parker didn't respond. Didn't even glance at Maya, who was still grinning like she'd won a damn trophy.

The door swung open.

"Alright, alright! Enough. Everyone shut it before I start handing out extra work—SIT DOWN."

The teacher's voice finally killed the noise. Barely.

But the looks? The phones? The whispers?

Yeah. They weren't done watching Parker Black and the chaos he brought back with.