004.

~ BRIELLE ~

The next day, after my sleepless night of thinking and studying, I wake up in the morning not feeling so good.

More precisely, I am not sick. I am just not happy.

After getting ready for school in a pink T-shirt that yells ‘fuck off’ boldly written in front of it, and paired with blue boyfriend jean trousers with yellow flower designs, I pick up my bag and books before leaving my room.

Why do I have this feeling that today is going to suck big time?

Anyway, I quickly trash the feeling and attend my first class. All through the class, I try to pay attention.

However, I can't fully focus without my mind drifting back and forth about Kade Merrick being my tutor.

By now, he must have known about me since I am popular around here. What does he think of me? Will this arrangement work out well between us?

After the class, I spend the morning going through my statistics textbook, highlighting, annotating, and committing formulas to memory. I will not give this Kade Merrick any ammunition if he turns out to be a rude person just like the rumors say he is.

I like to think that I am a good person, and even though I am messed up, I believe I still have some goodness left inside me, and I will not let any rude fellow trample on it.

According to the email notification I received regarding the tutoring program, my first tutoring session with Kade Merrick is scheduled for 3PM in Study Room 7, one of the seldom-used study rooms in the oldest wing of the campus library.

My father probably handpicked the location, thinking the secluded spot will minimize the "scandal" of his daughter being tutored by the university delinquent.

The irony isn't lost on me.

As the clock ticks towards 3PM, I find myself heading there and feeling more nervous than I want to truthfully admit to myself.

But I can do this.

After a few minutes of walking and fighting my nervousness, I finally arrive at the library wing earlier than the stated time. The air here is filled with the scent of both new and old books, mixed with the pineapple scent of the air fresheners usually used in making here smell nicer.

This isn't my first time being here in the library. The study rooms are separated by frosted glass panels that are also soundproofed, offering privacy for the users without complete isolation.

I begin searching for Study Room 7 among the study rooms and find it not too long after.

“Oh well…” I murmur to myself as I stare at the room number pinned right there into the wooden panel of the door. Shifting my eyes away from the number, I look through the frosted glass and right then, I see a figure already seated at the table inside.

Kade Merrick.

A lump forms inside my throat. He is here already.

Taking a deep breath, I pull away from the glass and adjust my bag hanging on my shoulder.

Just like Ollie said, everything will be alright.

I push the door open and enter inside. Fully in, I close the door behind me, not locking it in case I need to escape for my life because yep, my tutor is a criminal on parole.

Still at the door, my eyes land on him, and now, I can see Kade Merrick clearly even though he doesn't look up at me immediately. The light inside here is a little dim, and he seems to be reading a beat-up textbook that is open on the table.

God help me… he is a magnetic sight for sore eyes. Instantly hypnotic and dangerously handsome.

His hair is dark, a little too long, and falls across his forehead like dreamy tendrils. A thin scar bisects his left eyebrow, giving him a savage, ‘stay away from me’ kind of dark look. He is wearing a faded band black t-shirt, ripped dark jeans, and a pair of black Nike sneakers.

No designer clothes, no preppy polo shirts.

Why is he—?

He lifts his head. Finally.

But I am not prepared for his eyes.

They are like the color of aged whiskey; deep amber with flecks of gold. And fuck me, they are beautiful. Those whiskey gems are shining like they possess some kind of wild intelligence that immediately steals all my attention. My own brown eyes are held captive by him, and I just can't look away.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, and my heart instantly skips a beat at his deep baritone. This is exactly the kind of voice my father would deem "unrefined.”

Nevertheless, I refuse to be afraid or intimidated by this Kade Merrick.

“Hi,” I flash him a bright, genuine smile and step away from the door. “I’m Brielle Danvers.”

“Kade Merrick.” His pink perfect lips curl into a slow, mocking smirk. “Seems like Saint Aldric’s very own golden girl is running a little low on the shine, aren't you?”

Wait a second, did he just—

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, princess.”

“Oh wow.” I march across the room and tower above him on the table as I dump my bag right on top of his stupid worn-out textbook. “Kade Merrick, telling me that and smirking like a fool, now that's rude, don't you think?”

“And do you believe you're different right now?” He is still smirking at me.

I scoff. “You started it. Few minutes ago, I was beginning to think that I was staring at a lifeless statue and I thought, maybe well, this arrangement can still work out. I have heard the rumors about you, and wow, they must all be true indeed. I wasn’t aware university policy allowed parole students to tutor. Especially those with your particular reputation.”

His smirk widens, showing a flash of white, unnervingly perfect teeth. “Oh, don't blame the poor policy, princess.” He sprawls back in his chair, his long legs stretched out under the table with those dark tendrils of long hair falling over his eyes. “But apparently, a few strings were pulled. For me, that is. Not for you though, right? Just a minor slip-up for the Dean’s flawless daughter.”

He leans back further and props his boots on top of the table’s edge. A deliberate act of disrespect. “Heard you got a C-plus. What’s that, slumming it with the plebs for a day?”

“My academic record is none of your concern.” I snarl. “Unfortunately, my father deemed this arrangement necessary to maintain my scholarship.”

“Scholarship?” He laughs. The sound is so dry and humorless as it scrapes against my ears. “That’s right. Everything with Dean Danvers is about ‘maintaining’, and the list goes on and on about maintaining appearances, maintaining power, maintaining filth.”

His whiskey eyes suddenly turn into a burning glare. “You know, I heard he is a real paragon of virtue. Man of the people, protector of students, upholder of justice. He is always so careful and so meticulous in managing his public image. Shame about the rumors, though, huh?”

My heart gives a sudden, unpleasant jerk inside my chest.

Rumors? About my father?

“My father is a respected member of this university and the community.” I warn. “Kade Merrick, I suggest you keep your baseless conjectures to yourself.”

“Baseless? Nah princess.” He shakes his head, and a new smirk appears on his lips. “Rumors usually have a little truth in them, just like your perfect little golden mask that is plastered all over your body. Don't be offended, but you're no one special, so don't come at me with your self righteous talk about your father if you don't want your mask getting cracks.”

“And I bet your entire life is one fucking giant crack, Kade Merrick,” I snap back in an icy angry voice, “Nitpicking on someone else is such a low dirty attitude, and I am not surprised you reek of it because you're a broken record of bad decisions and worse company. I’m here to study statistics, not to engage in your juvenile attempts at insulting me, so if you’re done performing for your imaginary audience, maybe we can start our actual learning.”

Done forcing the words past the knot in my throat, I settle down on the chair opposite him and pull out my textbook, my perfect notes, my pen, and my meticulously organized binder.

I slap each and every one of them down on the table.

“Chapter five. Regression analysis. I prefer to start with a review of the theoretical framework before moving on to practical applications.”

He chuckles and finally takes his stupid boots off the table. He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel like the air between us is no longer safe enough for me to breathe, but I don't take my eyes off him because I will not accept defeat, especially not from a fucking criminal on parole who is rude and has no single cell of respect in his tattooed body.

“We can be messy here, you know.” His voice drops into a low, dark purr. “Life is messy. Numbers are usually messy too.”

“I prefer order.” I bite back. “And if you’re going to be my tutor, you will adhere to my preferred methods.”

“Oh really?” He laughs. “That's too bad because that is never going to happen, princess. I’m going to adhere to my methods because whether you like it or not, I am your only ticket out of this mess and in my twisted world, there are no rules. Newsflash: we're just getting started.”

His words cut deep into my bones, hitting a nerve that somehow teleports a rush of acid bile straight up into my throat.

This isn't tutoring. This is a game.

He draws back and picks up my pen, tapping it against his pierced bottom lip ring. My eyes fall there, and I picture my pen turning into a knife and cutting off his fucking tongue. I imagine the million ways I can make him burn in hell if I have the power to do so.

He is so damn rude! I wonder why he hates me so much when he barely even knows me, but then again, he probably just sees my father’s reflection. He sees me as nothing more than an extension of the man he despises.

Do I know the reason why he despises my father? I don't fucking know.

Bad news Ollie: I don't think everything will be alright.