All Chapters of Living With the Boy Who Hated Me: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Aya's POVHow many times have you packed up your entire life and moved across the country in a single year? I’m willing to wager my savings that your track record doesn’t even come close to what my family managed to achieve. Honestly, I used to love the upheaval. For me, changing zip codes wasn’t a chore; it was a shot of adrenaline. Every fresh destination carried the weight of a quiet expectation. It was a blank slate—a brand-new opportunity for things to finally fall into place and for my family to rediscover what genuine happiness felt like. It certainly helped that my entire household was a beautifully chaotic circus. Our caravan consisted of the ultimate cool dad, a classic varsity athlete, a brilliant academic prodigy, a stereotypical cheerleader, and then there was me. I was the wild card, the one still floating around trying to figure out exactly where my pieces belonged on the board. Venturing into unfamiliar territory, whether it was an unknown town or a completely diffe

Aya's POV The moment the engine cut out, my brothers and I stepped down onto the pristine asphalt, heading straight for the rear of the Civic to handle the cargo. Alastair possessed a naturally athletic, muscular build that the rest of us simply lacked; he was easily the powerhouse of the family, so he naturally took charge of wrestling the heaviest containers out of the trunk. Our entire life for the next two quarters was packed into a single rolling suitcase and a handful of canvas duffel bags fitted with basic over-the-shoulder straps. For most people, a six-month relocation requires a literal moving truck, but our family had long since mastered the art of packing light. As we stood there sorting the straps, a sharply dressed young man approached us. He introduced himself as the estate's valet and politely requested the keys, explaining that he needed to adjust the Honda's positioning so it was aligned perfectly within the designated parking zones. Apparently, Alastair had brough

A violent, unceremonious jostling yanked me directly out of the fragile sanctuary of my deep unconsciousness—marking the second time in a mere span of twenty-four hours that my rest had been aggressively compromised. My initial, hazy instinct was to blame Beatrice, or perhaps one of the younger pack of siblings who usually lacked any concept of personal boundaries, but a sudden clearing of my fogged senses confirmed that none of my usual relatives were responsible for this current intrusion. An involuntary, guttural groan escaped the back of my throat as I blindly reached across the vast, sprawling expanse of the king-sized mattress, desperately clawing for a secondary down pillow. Once my fingers clamped around the fabric, I slammed it over my face, pressing the heavy material tightly against my skull in a futile attempt to seal off my ears from the outside world. Yet, the relentless, bone-rattling electronic bass bleeding through the floorboards did not diminish in intensity for ev

"Who was he?" I inquired, deliberately executing a conversational deflection to avoid his interrogation. The truth was, an intense, burning curiosity was consuming me, completely overriding the fact that the man had just explicitly broadcasted that I didn't fit his personal preferences. "Callum." Marcus grumbled the moniker with deep dissatisfaction before elevating a singular brow at me, stubbornly remaining anchored in place as he waited for a legitimate explanation. I let out another heavy sigh; evasion was clearly a mechanical impossibility at this point. "He thought I was crashing his party or something." I offered, knowing my brother would never abandon the topic otherwise. Marcus’s brows knitted together tightly, his characteristic, overbearing guardian expression reasserting itself across his features. "Did he hurt you?" He demanded, applying a firm, reassuring squeeze to my hands while staring down at me with an overwhelming level of protective intensity. I let out a genu

The first thing I noticed when I woke up wasn't the room—it was the quiet. Golden morning light drifted through the tall glass doors leading to the balcony, warming the blankets wrapped around me. A cool breeze slipped inside, carrying the scent of damp trees and fresh grass. Somewhere nearby, birds were singing without interruption, their cheerful calls replacing the blaring horns and loud arguments that had been the soundtrack of my mornings back in Charleston. For a few peaceful seconds, I simply lay there. No traffic. No neighbors yelling through thin apartment walls. No cramped bedroom shared with Tabby. Just silence. The realization settled over me slowly, and instead of making me happy, it left an uncomfortable ache in my chest. I could get used to this. That thought alone made me feel guilty. I pushed the blankets aside and stretched until every stiff muscle relaxed. The marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet, making me shiver as I wandered toward the balcony. La