CHAPTER 2

He was here. The guy at the bar I hit up last night, sitting on our couch like he owned it, looking just as relaxed but looks better than last night.

He wore a black turtleneck cardigan with matching slacks and black leather oxford shoes. At first glance, you could already tell he was neat and organized. His thick eyebrows and naturally rosy lips stood out, and his neatly styled hair only added to the clean, controlled look. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe Henry Graves Jr. Supercomplication watch—the same one Dad had. He must be a big shot to afford that kind of watch. 

But that’s not the issue right now. My heart pounded so fast I thought it might burst. 

What if he told them what happened last night at the bar? What if that’s the reason he’s here?

Mom and dad don’t even have ny idea that I was at the bar last night. If anyone will find out about it, the most respected heiress title will be a hot topic in social media. Reina Eliara Sollivierre, the hot model and heiress of Sollivierre corporation just fuck with a random guy at he bar for fun.

I'm totally screwed.

“Here you are!” Dad beamed, pulling me down beside the guy.

My heart skipped a beat when their attention focused on me. His eyes landed on me. That look made me even more anxious.

He was… so handsome. In fairness, he looked even better than last night. Obviously, because we’re both drunk that is why we look messed up and a bit troubled.

I stared at him and before I realized it, I was smiling and blushing like a total idiot. Damn this guy. I wasn’t completely drunk last night, so I remembered him clearly. He had been deadly drunk, though, so I guessed he forgot. I guess. Maybe I'll just be the one to pretend that I don't remember him.

“What is this all about now? Don't tell me you will just pick some stranger from the streets just for your marriage idea?”

“Ah-well,” Mom stuttered.

“Cut it off, Reina. Mr.—”

“Margaux,” he supplied smoothly.

Margaux? I blinked. The name didn’t ring any bells. He didn’t look popular. And judging by his clothes, he definitely wasn’t from one of those old-money families my father liked to associate with. That watch on his wrist? Please. It’s probably a knockoff.

“This is my eldest daughter, Reina,” Dad continued, shooting me a warning glance. “Reina, this is Mr. Margaux, and he—”

“I applied to be your personal tutor,” the man said, cutting in before Dad could finish.

Tutor?

The word took a second to sink in.

“Tutor?!” I exclaimed, the disbelief slipped out.

Dad sighed while Mr. Margaux’s lips twitched, like he’d been expecting that reaction from me all along.

“Yeah… well,” he said after a brief pause, rubbing the back of his neck, “to be honest, my salary isn’t enough to cover my day-to-day expenses. So I took a risk and applied personally.”

He lifted his gaze, meeting mine without flinching. “I heard the Sollivierre family was looking for a personal tutor for their eldest daughter, and I grabbed the opportunity immediately.” A faint, humorless smile crossed his lips. “I’m having a hard time paying rent, and I still have loans to deal with. I needed the money.”

I raised a brow at his almost touching story. It sounded rehearsed for me because it was too neat and convenient. Still, at least it wasn’t because of what happened last night.

Or so I hoped.

But the timing nagged at me. Of all days, he had to show up now—the morning after last night, like the world was cruelly small, intent on forcing our paths to cross again. Coincidences like that never meant anything good. And I hated that a part of me couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“No. You can go home now,” I said. “I don’t care if you’re having a hard time right now. The truth is, your story doesn’t convince me. It sounds made up.”

I didn’t hesitate as I said it. I had already reached my conclusion, and I wasn’t interested in hearing another excuse wrapped in careful words. Whatever he was trying to sell, I wasn’t buying it.

He chuckled in response, as if my refusal amused him more than it annoyed him. “How can you say so, Miss?” he asked.

“First of all,” I said, keeping my voice even, “I admire the fact that you were willing to risk so much. It’s touching, in its own way.” I paused, then continued, “But as you claimed, you’re a professor. So tell me, how careless does a professor have to be to apply in person, risk his reputation, and invite embarrassment without even bringing a résumé or presenting a portfolio?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. “Second, if you truly are a professor, you would have stood up and introduced yourself properly. Instead, you stayed seated and waited for my father to do it for you.”

I crossed my arms. “So how could I not assume this was a setup for marriage? I’m not stupid, Professor.”

I met his gaze, certain of this much at least. “And you’re clearly not the kind of man who’s desperate for money.”

“Oh?” he said, a faint challenge in his voice. “Care to explain how you can be so sure?”

“The watch you’re wearing,” I replied, “is a Patek Philippe Henry Graves Jr. Supercomplication. It’s one of a kind and worth more than most people will ever earn in a lifetime.” I paused, then continued, “If you were truly desperate for money, you would have sold it long before stepping into my life. You could have started a business, rebuilt yourself, and moved on.”

I held his gaze, finishing my thought without hesitation. “Instead, you’re here, wasting time in a chapter of my life you don’t belong in.”

He shrugged, an amused curve playing on his lips. “Well, I suppose that’s an impressive observation, Miss. But I didn’t come here as a first-time applicant. I came to start immediately. I knew the risk,” he added calmly, “even after your father warned me that dealing with you wouldn’t be easy.”

He glanced at his wrist, then back at me. “And this watch? It’s a knockoff. You don’t mind poor people enjoying imitations, do you?”

I met his gaze head-on. He didn’t look away. Not even for a second. That was when it hit me. He wasn’t defending himself nor explaining. He was provoking me, deliberately testing how far he could push before I snapped.

Fuck this guy.

“So…” Dad finally spoke, cutting through the silence between us.

“What?” I snapped, already irritated.

“Mr. Sollivierre,” he said calmly, turning to him, “just tell me when you’ll start tutoring her.”

I stared at them both. I was sure we had already made this clear that I didn’t need anything, and I certainly didn’t need help from a complete stranger.

I laughed, unable to stop myself. “Tutor? Are you serious? What am I supposed to be? A kindergarten student?”

“I thought you were happy,” he replied mildly. “You were smiling just now.”

“What? No. I—I thought—”

“—that this was about marriage to Luxmooré again?” he finished for me, clearly amused.

Mom spoke next. “I know you don’t want to settle down yet. That’s why we decided to let you attend college first before even thinking about marriage. But if you prefer,” she added carefully, “you can also decide now, since you’re already at the right age.”

No. Freaking. Way. I am not getting married. Not now. Not ever.

Still, a thought crept in despite myself. If I took this deal, I’d gain time. Time to figure out how to avoid marrying Luxmooré altogether. I hadn’t even met the man yet, but I was already convinced he was ugly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and forced a smile. “Yeah.”

“So,

” Mom asked again, “do you agree?”

“Well,” I said slowly, “it’s only a few months. Right?”

Before either of them could respond, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You sure? I’d hate to see you mess up during lessons.”

My eyes widened. Did he remember me or was he deliberately provoking me again?

I shot him a glare. “Can you shut up?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “So you do remember me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I clenched my jaw. “Zip your fucking mouth, or I’ll stitch it shut myself.”

“Were you whispering?” Dad asked, glancing between us.

“No,” I said quickly. “I just asked what the first lesson would be.”

Dad laughed. “Too excited, huh? Then you can start today.”

“What? No—I’m not—”

“Perfect,” Mom cut in smoothly. “Reina, take Mr. Margaux to your study room.”

“But Mom—”

“Go on, little miss,” he said, clearly enjoying himself.

I clenched my fists. Fine. I guess you’re enjoying this, huh?

I marched to my study room, him following close behind. When we stepped inside, I winced. Books were scattered everywhere, papers crumpled on the floor, and chairs were pushed out of place. It was a complete mess.

“I didn’t think someone with such a pretty face could have such a messy room,” he said, amused.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or compliment but you are very welcome to shut your fucking mouth.”

“Guilty?”

“I was busy, okay?” I snapped.

“You’re really stupid,” he said flatly.

“Rich people call it training,” I shot back.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Maybe because you’re not like us,” I scoffed, “I already told them I don’t want marriage. They said fine—then I need to finish my studies first. I hate marriage. It’s toxic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you're just tired and stressed out not because being an heiress exhausted you but because no one loves you without that title.”

“You're talking too much. I hate men who yap more than girls do.”

“Miss independent and man-hater now? As far as I remember last night—”

“I did not say I am,” I cut in fast.

Damn it. He remembers? He was completely drunk last night. Or so I thought.

“That’s how it sounded,” he said with a shrug.

“Whatever. Where do we start? Just ignore the mess.”

“Ignore?” His tone hardened. “You work yourself to death for everyone else but can’t clean your own space? We’re not studying in a pigsty.”

Oh. He did not just insult my study room. Oh he did.

“I’m used to it,” I said, stepping closer on purpose. “Don’t mind it.”

He reached out, brushed my hair aside, and tucked it behind my ear. “We’re here to study, not to get wild,” he said, calm and firm. “Young lady.”

“Then shut up,” I scoffed.

I turned toward the door. “If my parents hear about this, I’ll make you regret it.”

But he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. His voice dropped, quiet but sharp. “Really?”