The arrogant arrival

Ivy Pov

It was 5:30 p.m.

Thirty minutes gone… and he still wasn’t here. Nor had he replied to my text.

I tapped my foot against the floor, glaring at the empty chair across from mine like it had

personally offended me. “Really, Hale?” I muttered under my breath. “Not only am I stuck

babysitting you, but apparently you think ignoring me is a good idea?”

I checked my phone again. Nothing. No “sorry, running late,” no “don’t bother me, nerd,”

nothing. Just the cruel, cold silence of the unread.

I leaned back in my chair, sighing, trying to calm my blood pressure before I completely lost it.

Thirty minutes late wasn’t that bad… right? Except this was Ronan Hale we were talking

about… the golden boy, the arrogant goat. If anyone could make being ignored feel like a

personal attack… it was him.

I grabbed my notebook, flipping through the first page of my carefully prepared study plan.

For Linear and quadratic equations … all ready. Just needed him to show up.

Another sigh. “He better have a good reason,” I muttered, glaring at the empty space across from

me. “Or I swear, I’m charging him for therapy sessions after the math tutoring ends.”

I was just about to leave when my phone buzzed.

“Meet me at the bus station in 10 minutes.

RH”

What the…?

I stood there, dumbfounded and furious.

Did he just…?

I snatched up my phone and called him.

No answer.

Then it buzzed again.

“Can’t talk right now… meet me where I texted.”

Wow. Just… wow.

I sank back into my chair, staring at the wall. Calm down, Ivy. You need this. Calm down. I

muttered the words over and over, like repeating could make the anger disappear.

Gripping my notebook and bag, I forced myself to stand. Heart pounding, jaw tight, hands

shaking just a little, I packed up and headed toward the bus station.

I got to the bus station, but there was no sign of him.

I’d been sitting for fifteen minutes, tapping my foot, checking my watch, staring at every car that

drove past. Nothing.

I picked up my phone and called him… once, twice. No answer.

“I’m done. I can’t do this. I just can’t…” I muttered, my voice rising. “I should just tell Professor

Reyes to get someone else. I can’t… I can't deal with him.”

I was about to get up and leave when a car pulled up, like it had appeared out of nowhere. A

black Bugatti Chiron, gleaming, menacing… the kind of car that screamed Hale.

It stopped right in front of me. The engine purred, and the window rolled down, revealing a

smirk that made my brain short-circuit.

“You must be the tutor girl?” His voice was calm, confident, making my insides go weak like I

wasn’t the one who’d been waiting, fuming, for thirty minutes.

I stared. I froze.

I might have forgotten to mention something important: Ronan Hale is… a demigod.

If the gods had come down to Earth and mated with humans, creating dangerously perfect

offspring… he would be the result. He was wickedly, stupidly, unnervingly handsome. And he

knew it. Every inch of him radiated confidence, arrogance, and trouble.

I forced myself to take a breath, clutching my notebook like it was a shield. This was going to be

a very, very long tutoring session

“Are you getting in or what?” His voice came again, sharper this time… irritated.

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. Stepping forward, I opened the car door and slid in.

“Seat belt,” he said, eyes on me for a split second that made my chest tighten.

“Oh… yeah,” I muttered, fumbling as I buckled it.

He didn’t say anything else as he started the engine. The car hummed beneath us, black leather

and expensive metal, and we drove in silence. For the first five minutes, I wondered if he was

just ignoring me or if he was actually thinking about how much of a nightmare I was.

“You sure do call a lot,” he said finally, voice irritated. “Sixteen missed calls… eight texts…

what the hell?”

I muttered under my breath, barely audible. “If you had picked up the first time, you wouldn’t

have gotten so many calls.”

“What was that?” His eyes snapped to me, cold and sharp.

“It’s your fault,” I blurted before I could stop myself. “For someone who’s failing a class, you

sure don’t give a fuck that you need it to graduate. How ignorant can one person be?”

He stared at me for a long second, jaw tight, and then his eyes flicked back to the road. Cold.

Sharp. Dangerous.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he said finally, voice low and deliberate, like he was testing me…

or irritated at the fact that I had just crossed a line.

I swallowed, heat rushing to my face. “I… just… someone has to say it.”

He didn’t answer, just gripped the wheel tighter, and I could feel that silent challenge between us

settle like a storm in the car.

He drove in silence. A long, awkward thirty minutes passed before the car finally slowed and

stopped.

I blinked when I realized where we were.

My apartment.

The one I shared with Max.

Shock hit me all at once. My fingers tightened around my bag. “How…?” I started to ask.

“I did my research,” he cut in smoothly. “Had to know. The weirdo Professor Reyes picked to

tutor me.”

His cold blue-hazel eyes were on me now, steady and unreadable.

My heart began to beat faster.

I opened my mouth again, but he didn’t let me speak.

“Ssh.” His voice dropped, firm. “This is how this works between us.”

I held my breath without realizing it.

“I talk. You listen,” he continued. “You tutor me at my convenience. Any time. Any day.”

“This…” I tried to protest.

“I don’t like my rules being broken,” he said, cutting me off again. “I talk. You listen.”

My pulse was pounding now, loud in my ears. He leaned closer, and suddenly the space between

us disappeared. I froze, barely breathing, my heart racing so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“I’ll keep in touch,” he murmured.

His eyes dropped… slowly… to my lips… then lifted back to my face.

“Now,” he said calmly, reaching over to open the door, “get out.”

He leaned back as the door swung open, leaving me sitting there, stunned, heart still racing,

lungs burning like I’d forgotten how to breathe.

I got out of the car, my legs shaky.

And then he drove off.

I stood there for a second, staring at the empty space he left behind, my heart still beating too

fast. “What a douchebag,” I muttered under my breath.

I was just about to turn toward my apartment when the sound of an engine made me freeze.

The car came back.

The black Bugatti rolled to a stop in front of me again, like it owned the street. The window slid

down.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said casually. “Don’t ever ignore me. When I call, you pick up by the third

ring.”

Before I could say a single word, he rolled the window back up…

And drove off.

Again.

I stood there, completely dumbfounded, my mouth slightly open, my brain struggling to catch up

with what had just happened.

Who did he think he was?

I exhaled slowly, clutching my bag tighter as I turned toward my apartment. One thing was

painfully clear now…

Tutoring Ronan Hale wasn’t just going to be hard.

It was going to be war.