My family has been around for over a century. A prestigious lineage, as they say. But growing up, my parents were always busy.
They never celebrated my birthday. Never showed up for parent–teacher conferences.
For a while, I thought if I made trouble, they’d have no choice but to notice me. So I flunked tests on purpose, skipped class,
picked fights–anything that would force the teachers to call them in. It worked. For a few fleeting moments, I got to see them.
But as I got older, I stopped expecting their love. I learned to celebrate my birthdays alone. I had the housekeeper attend the
parent–teacher conferences.
It made me independent, but also unbearably lonely.
I did everything by myself. Over time, rumors spread around school–whispers that I was some kind of wild child, a girl without
parental discipline. Because of that, a gang of delinquents cornered me after school one day, demanding all my valuables. If I didn’t comply, they’d beat me up.
That’s when I met Oliver.
He stepped in front of me, raising his fists without hesitation. “Get lost. If you’re broke, go strip on the street and beg for money -don’t gang up on a girl like cowards. Pathetic.”
The gang backed off. When they were gone, it was just the two of us.
He turned around, sunlight catching his face, making him almost glow.
