Chapter Three

If there was a "How to Ruin Your Life in 60 Seconds" tutorial on YouTube, I’d be the featured creator.

I was sprawled across my bed, fully rotting in my room, which is my favorite weekend activity. I had my headphones on, blasting a playlist that was 90% "sad girl indie" and 10% "I could fight a bear," and I was deep in an I*******m scroll hole. You know the one, where you start looking at a recipe for 15-minute pasta and end up watching a video of a woman in Vermont who knits sweaters for her pet ducks? Yeah, that.

My room was a vibe—LED strips set to a soft purple, textbooks pushed into a corner where they couldn't judge me, and the smell of a vanilla candle trying its best to mask the fact that I hadn't opened a window in two days.

Then my phone buzzed. It was my mom.

"Kelsey, honey, I’m at the estate and I’m in a total panic," she said, her voice sounding like she was one minor inconvenience away from a breakdown. "I forgot my specialized pastry kit on the counter at home. The owners are having a huge dinner tonight and I cannot—I repeat, cannot—make the dessert without it. Please, can you bring it to me? I’ll send you the address."

"Mom, I’m literally in my pajamas," I groaned.

Please, I’ll buy you those expensive noise-canceling headphones you wanted if you bring them to me. I’ll send you the address. Just put them in my black toolkit."

Noise-canceling headphones? Okay, she knew my weakness.

"Say less. Sending the GPS now."

I threw on a baggy hoodie, grabbed the black toolkit from the kitchen, and drove toward the "Old Money" part of town. You know the area—the houses have names instead of numbers, and the grass looks like it’s been trimmed with nail scissors.

The GPS led me to this massive, white-stone mansion. It looked like a castle, but without the cool dragons. I parked at the back entrance like Mom told me and let myself in. The house was dead quiet, smelling like expensive floor wax and "I don't have student loans."

I walked through the foyer, looking for the kitchen. The place was like a museum. I turned a corner into a massive sunroom, and that’s when my heart stopped.

Sitting in a high-backed velvet chair, his leg propped up on a stool and encased in a massive medical brace, was Marcus Halverin.

He was wearing a silk robe, staring out the window like a broody prince.

I gasped, my hands going completely limp. My phone—my literal life-line, my 256GB baby—slipped from my fingers.

CRACK.

It hit the marble floor face-down. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.

"No!" I shrieked, diving for it. I flipped it over. The screen was a spiderweb of shattered glass. Green lines were flickering across the display like a glitchy horror movie. "Oh no, no, no! I spent my entire savings on this phone! I worked all summer at the bookstore!"

A low, familiar chuckle came from the chair.

"Relax, Kelsey," Marcus drawled. He didn't even look surprised. He looked like he’d been expecting me. "It’s not even an iPhone. What are you getting so upset about? It’s basically a calculator with a SIM card. "

I looked up, my eyes stinging with tears of pure rage. "It was my calculator, Marcus! What are you doing here? Did you follow me? Are you stalking me now?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "Stalking you? Grease Monkey, this is my house. You’re the one standing in my living room."

The world tilted. Halverin. Marcus Halverin. My mom worked for the Halverins.

I think I actually turned a shade of grey.

"You..." I stammered. "Your family... my mom..."

"Is currently in the kitchen, probably making me those mini-quiches I like," Marcus finished for me. He leaned back, the arrogance radiating off him in waves. He looked at my shattered phone, then back at me. "So. You’re the chef’s daughter. The one she’s always bragging about. 'The brilliant engineer.'"

"Marcus, please," I whispered, the weight of the situation crashing down on me. "Don't say anything to her. About the mop bucket. About the skirt. She needs this job. She loves working here."

Marcus’s eyes darkened. The "Golden Boy" mask slipped, replaced by something much colder. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked. "You publicly humiliated me. You made me the laughingstock of the athletic department. I could walk into that kitchen right now and tell my mother that her employee's daughter is a menace who attacks people on campus. My mom hates drama, Kelsey. One word from me, and your mom is packing her knives and looking for a new job by sunset."

"You wouldn't," I breathed.

"Try me," he snapped. "I’m stuck in this chair because of you. My season is a question mark. My grades? Also a question mark. Engineering is a nightmare, and I’m currently failing your little 'Statics' course."

I gripped my broken phone so hard the glass pricked my palm. "What do you want?"

Marcus smirked. It was a victory lap in a single expression.

"I need a tutor," he said. "Someone who knows the material. Someone who is going to make sure I don't lose my eligibility while I’m sitting on the sidelines. You’re going to meet me in the library every single day after my rehab sessions. You’re going to do my prep work. You’re going to make sure I pass."

"I hate you," I spat.

"I don't care," he said, turning back to the window. "Meet me in the library tomorrow at four. If you’re even a minute late, I might accidentally mention that pink skirt to my mother over dinner."

Just then, my mom walked into the room, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Kelsey! There you are!" she beamed, oblivious to the fact that I was currently being blackmailed by a boy in a silk robe. "I see you’ve met Marcus! Isn't it wonderful that you two are in the same class?"

"Yeah, Mom," I said, my voice sounding hollow. "Wonderful."

"Kelsey was just leaving, Mrs. Vale," Marcus said, his voice returning to that fake, polite "Golden Boy" tone. "She has a lot of... studying to do. Right, partner?"

"Right," I muttered.

I grabbed the toolkit and practically ran out of the house. I didn't stop until I was in my car, staring at my shattered phone.

I’d won the bet, but Marcus was winning the war. He didn't just want me to play for him in secret; he wanted to own my time, too.

I looked at the mansion in the rearview mirror. I had to save my mom's job. I had to pass my own classes. And now, I had to spend every afternoon staring at the face of the guy I hated most in the world.

I pounded my steering wheel in frustration.

"I am going to make his life a living hell," I whispered to the empty car.