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?

I'm totally screwed.

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

My heart skipped a beat when their attention focused on me. His eyes landed on where I am standing and that 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 finished.

Margaux? He’s not popular though and it seems like he’s not from a wealthy family. I guess that watch is just some knockoffs.

“This is my eldest daughter, Reina. Reina, this is Mr. Margaux and he—”

“I applied to be your personal tutor,” the guy finished what Dad was about to say.

Tutor? 

“Tutor?!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, I am. Right, Mr. Sollivierre.”

“Oh—well, yes.”

So this is why this so-called bar guy is here—to sideline as my personal tutor, huh. And this is why they’re being sokind and gentle to me again.

I thought we already agreed that I don’t need anything or any help from anyone especially from a total stranger.

I laughed. “Tutor? Are you kidding me? What am I? A kindergarten student?”

“I thought you were happy because you were smiling just now.”

“What? No. I-I thought—”

“—that it was about marriage to Luxmooré again?” he finished, amused.

Mom added gently, “I know you don’t want to settle down yet. That’s why we decided to get you into college first, before thinking about marriage. If not, then you can decide now if you’re ready—since you’re already the right age.”

No. Freaking. Way. I’m getting married. Not now. Not ever.

But I was thinking that if I take this chance, I still have time to figure out how not to marry that ugly Luxmooré. I haven't met him yet but I guess he's kind of ugly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah.” I smiled fakely.

“So, do you agree?” Mom asked again.

“Well, it’s just a few months. Right?”

Then he leaned toward me and whispered, “You sure? I’m afraid you’ll mess up during lessons.”

I glared. “Can you shut up?”

“So you do remember me.”

“No.”

“Hm, is that so?”

“Just zipper your fucking mouth or I'll stitch it for you.”

“Were you whispering?” Dad asked.

“No, I just asked what the first lesson,” I lied quickly.

“You’re too excited huh,” Dad chuckled, “Then you can start today.”

“What? No, I’m not—”

“Perfect,” Mom cut me off, “Reina, take Mr. Margaux to your study room.”

“But Mom—”

“Head on, little miss,” he teased.

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?”