Urban Harem God: Harem With My Ultimate Copy & Paste System!

Chapter 19 - Birds of a Feather

Her state was bad. Like, real bad. That kind of bad where even strangers stop pretending not to see.

Jayden turned his head slightly, not dramatic or anything—just enough to look her way.

"You good?" he asked, voice low but clear enough to cut through the silence.

No answer. She looked up, just barely, and that's when he saw it—messy blonde hair clinging to her face like a curtain, trying to hide everything... but not quite doing the job. Her eyes? Swollen. Red. Makeup smeared like someone took a paintbrush to heartbreak.

He tilted his head. "Miss?" he asked again, gently, more out of habit than real softness. "Something wrong?"

Still no answer.

But when she turned her face away, trying to avoid him like he was one more pair of eyes she couldn't handle, that's when he saw it—

the bruise. Right on her neck.

Faint, but ugly. The kind that tells a story no one wants to hear.

Jayden's gaze lingered on it for half a second before he looked back at the street. He didn't need to stare. He already knew.

She'd been hit. Bullied. Probably beaten down more than once. And not just physically—he could feel it. The pain that eats away in silence.

Something he was very familiar with.

He sighed, resting both elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely, eyes locked on the traffic across the road.

"You know keeping it to yourself doesn't help, right?" His voice wasn't loud, but it had weight. "The longer you let it keep happening, the more it chews you up from the inside. Like... slow murder."

Her head lifted slightly. Eyes still guarded, but they flicked his way. Something about the way he spoke—like it wasn't theory. Like he knew.

Because he did.

Jayden didn't look at her, didn't need to. His voice dropped a little lower, pulled from somewhere dark and old. "It's a heavy thing to hold..."

"How... how was it for you?" she asked, and her voice was messy, after-cry voice—raw and soft, all scratch and sadness. Like her throat had been screaming in silence all day.

"Uhh... I grew up as the only thing I knew. As long as I can remember," he said, tone laced with that cold melancholic burn, the kind that only comes from living it. "It never really stopped. Not because they were stronger or smarter. Just... because I never stood up. I let it happen. Home, school, life—didn't matter. Same fucking cycle. Different faces."

She blinked, lips trembling just enough to show the crack in her mask.

Jayden chuckled lightly. Not in a mocking way. Just that sad, sarcastic laugh you let out when reality's been kicking your teeth in for too long.

"You know," he said, tilting his head her way finally, "you don't look like the type who gets bullied. All rich and pretty and well-fed."

He smirked dryly. "Guess I always thought that shit only happened to broke rat kids like me. Surprise, surprise... misery's class-blind. C'est la vie, huh?"

She didn't answer, but he could feel it in her silence. The connection. The way her shoulders dropped just slightly, like someone finally said the words she's been choking on.

Jayden leaned back on the bench, stretching an arm behind it again, phone still silent in his lap.

She leaned back against the cold metal of the bench too, arms folded, head tilted up like she was trying to exhale the pain out of her bones.

"Not when you go to a school filled with only the rich," she said, voice soft but tight. "Trust me, money doesn't stop people from being assholes. Sometimes it makes them worse."

Jayden nodded slowly, a little smirk curling at his lips. "Damn. So rich kids bully each other too. Cute."

He flicked a glance her way. "Can't you, I dunno... report it to daddy? Wouldn't he like... buy the school or something and rain hellfire on whoever messed with his princess?"

She rolled her eyes. Hard. Like, full Olympic spin. "Right. You mean I tell my dad his boss's daughter's the one slapping the soul outta me between third and fourth period? What exactly do you think comes next? A warm hug and family therapy?"

Jayden let out a dry chuckle. "Okay yeah, point taken. I didn't grow up rich, but even I can see how that plays out. No wonder you're stuck. Damn."

He reached down casually, picking at a couple random straws and yarn threads scattered by the edge of the bench. No idea what he was doing, but his hands just moved. Busy fingers while his mind chewed on the irony.

She side-eyed him rolling her yes. "You don't have to be rich to figure that out. It's called common sense, genius."

Jayden gave a fake gasp and laughed. "Oof, harsh. I see how it is. Save the girl, get roasted. Love that."

She snorted. A tiny laugh slipped out. Just a breath. But it was there. Like her sadness cracked enough for one little chuckle to escape.

Jayden glanced over, finally giving her a full look. "So... are you gonna tell me your name or do I just call you 'Bruise Girl' in my head forever?"

She raised a brow. "What's next? My number?"

He blinked. Then his eyes went wide, face twisting into exaggerated offense.

"Have you seen my face?" he asked, pointing at his jaw like it was sacred art. "Actually, scratch that—have you seen my body? Do I look like some dude tryna hook up with a crying teenager in the dark? A bully victim at that?"

She lifted a brow, dry and deadpan. "I heard Drake was into that."

Jayden laughed. Loud. "Damn, you're dark. I like that. But no—keep your name, mademoiselle méfiante. I don't have agendas. I'm not 'Drake'," he said, quoting her with a shrug, "and I'm way too hot to be creeping on trauma girls in parks. Even if your eyeliner's doing the sad girl aesthetic very convincingly."

She rolled her eyes again—but this time, it was lighter. Less pain, more banter.

Jayden smiled to himself. Not a flirt. Not a savior. Just a random god-tier pretty boy who knew what she was going through, now here with her coincidentally in the right place at the wrong time... or maybe the other way around.