He Paid Me to Break His Heart / Chapter 3: Breaking the Script
He Paid Me to Break His Heart

He Paid Me to Break His Heart

Author: Johnny Berry


Chapter 3: Breaking the Script

I stood at the edge of the rooftop. My phone was still buzzing.

The city stretched out below, the wind tugging at my hair. My phone vibrated in my hand, relentless. I could see my reflection in the dark glass, eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched tight.

Jason’s voice message, laced with laughter, stabbed right into my ear: "Jump. If you die, it’s on me."

His words echoed in my head, cold and careless. I stared out at the city lights, the world spinning beneath me. My fingers tightened around the railing, but I didn’t let go.

But since this was my story now, I wasn’t about to follow the original plot.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. If they wanted a tragedy, they’d have to look somewhere else. I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

I wanted to snuff out the light in his eyes, inch by inch.

A slow, cold resolve settled in my chest. I wiped my eyes, squared my shoulders, and turned away from the edge. The story wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

I showed up right on cue—just as Jason was making his big confession under the dorm—yeah, our school had dorms.

The next day, I timed it perfectly. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the quad. Jason lounged against his Harley, surrounded by his friends. The air buzzed with anticipation, everyone waiting for the next act.

At dusk, he was slouched against a tricked-out Harley. When he saw me at the entrance, he straightened up fast.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual, but I saw the nerves flicker in his eyes. The crowd parted as I walked up, every step measured.

The motorcycle’s headlight snapped on. The red rose in his hand stood out, almost glowing.

The beam cut through the twilight, spotlighting him like a scene from a movie. The rose looked almost fake in the harsh light, petals trembling in his grip.

"Autumn Riley, be my girlfriend."

He said it loud, his voice carrying over the crowd. Heads turned, cameras flashed. I felt the weight of every stare, but I kept my chin high.

He gave me that cocky grin. "I want to go to Stanford with you."

He held out the rose, the smirk back in place. I could see Savannah Lee watching from the sidelines, arms crossed, lips pressed tight.

According to the script, I should’ve blushed and taken the rose, missing the smug glance he tossed at the main girl, Savannah Lee.

I saw the flicker of triumph in his eyes as he glanced at Savannah. The crowd held its breath, waiting for my reaction. I let the moment stretch, enjoying the suspense.

"Sure! As long as you’re willing to study, I guarantee your grades will skyrocket."

My voice was clear, no hesitation. A few people snickered, but I didn’t care. I pulled out my phone, holding it up for all to see.

I whipped out my phone and pulled up my Venmo. "Tutoring fee’s a thousand. I guarantee a 400-point jump in a year. You can pay the first two months up front—try it out."

A few jaws dropped. Savannah’s eyes narrowed. Jason’s smile faltered again, his confidence slipping.

He looked from me to the phone, then back again. The crowd started whispering, some people laughing outright.

"Can’t even cough up the tutoring fee."

I plucked a rose from the bouquet and tapped it against his chest. "Doesn’t seem like you’re that serious about Stanford, Jason."

The rose left a faint mark on his jacket, and he glanced down, flustered. I caught Savannah smirking behind her phone, snapping photos.

He smirked, sliding his finger across his phone like it was no big deal.

With a flick of his thumb, he pulled up his own Venmo app, fingers flying over the screen. He shot me a look, daring me to call his bluff.

Someone in the crowd read the notification out loud, voice ringing out: "Three thousand dollars received via Venmo!"

The crowd erupted—some kids whooping, others whistling. Jason shot me a cocky grin, like he’d just won some invisible game.

"Money’s paid. Now you’re my girlfriend." He reached for my waist.

He stepped closer, hand outstretched, like he expected me to just melt. The crowd leaned in, breathless.

"Jason, you only paid for summer tutoring."

I stepped back, dodging his hand. "This isn’t a girlfriend subscription."

The laughter that followed was sharp and delighted. Jason’s cheeks reddened, but he covered it with a shrug.

"See you at the library at eight tomorrow."

I tossed the words over my shoulder, turning on my heel. The crowd parted for me, a hush falling in my wake.

Jason grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. "Why the library? Just stay at my place for the summer."

"Jason!"

Savannah’s shrill voice cut in at just the right time.

She stormed up, face twisted in anger. The crowd shifted, eager for the next scene. I slipped free, using the distraction to make my exit.

My heart pounded as I slipped through the dorm doors, the noise of the crowd fading behind me. I didn’t look back.

Back in my dorm, my phone lit up.

The screen glowed with Jason’s name. The notification banner pulsed. I hesitated, then unlocked it.

Jason sent a location and a message: "If you want to tutor me, come find me."

His tone was cocky, but I heard the challenge underneath. He was daring me to play his game, to meet him on his turf.

I opened the rental app.

My fingers moved fast, scrolling through listings. I wasn’t about to let him control the setting. I found a place, cheap and close, and booked it with a swipe.

Three hours later, I was standing in a dingy apartment right across the street from his.

The hallway smelled like old carpet and takeout. I dragged my suitcase up three flights of stairs, sweat trickling down my back. I peered out the window—Jason’s building was right across the street, his Harley parked out front.

This time, the security camera in his living room would only catch a professional tutor.

I set up my laptop at the kitchen table, stacks of review books lined up like soldiers. I wasn’t here to play house. Not this time. I was here to work—and to win.

Those scenes from the book—me kneeling to scrub his floor, ironing his shirts—weren’t happening again.

I glanced around the cramped apartment, determined. No more doormat. No more free labor. This time, I was setting the terms.

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