Chapter 3
I avoided rich people whenever I could.
Wealth had a way of dragging me back to a life I worked too hard to escape; a life where money made cruelty respectable and power untouchable.
I grew up watching people with influence rewrite reality, bury harm under silk carpets and polished smiles. The kind of people who could hurt you, deny it, and still sleep well at night.
I promised myself I’d never be a part of that world again.
I knew the professor had money. Sure.
But not the kind of money that got you welcomed into the biggest bar in the city; the place where all the VVIPs came to flex, hangout and scheme.
Exactly the kind of world I never wanted to see again.
‘This is part of my condition. Wear it. Besides, we don't want you looking like a kid.’
I rolled my eyes, remembering the note tucked inside the box the dress came in.
Very funny.
I wore the dress anyway.
It was black, with tiny sleeves and a zipper running down the chest. I hated to admit it, but the old man had good taste.
"Keep your hands off me," I muttered through gritted teeth, shoving his large, tattooed hand away from my waist.
What was he, a waist crusher?
"Who knows?" he replied, his voice low and teasing. "Maybe today's the last time I get to hold you this close. I'm savouring it. Every moment."
I tried to ignore the flutter spreading through my chest. No, I reminded myself. Do not waver.
The professor was a bastard, an enemy of progress, and a walking red flag.
He walked further into the bar and the atmosphere shifted because of his mere presence. Even conversations quietened down.
A couple of girls by the counter stopped mid-sentence to check him out.
There were men who simply walked into a place and then there were men who changed the air when they passed through it.
He was undeniably the latter.
The neon lights shone across his jawline. He looked like he was made to intimidate, broad shoulders, relaxed posture and an unreadable expression.
Some girls began giggling, which made me roll my eyes in annoyance. I felt his hand wrap around my waist, guiding me forward.
Like he was announcing that he was here with me.
Heat shot up my spine before my brain even caught up. Not because he touched me, but because of how he touched me.
I needed to eat more, I thought. Maybe then it'll be harder to pull me around next time.
Wait—next time? No. Never.
Every time I was with this man, he found a way to make some part of my body ache. Last time it was my arms; this time, it was my waist.
"Let's have some drinks first before we play pool," he muttered close to my ear, tickling it. He guided me to a pair of luxurious barstools.
A handsome bartender passed by his eyes lingering on mine.
"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked, and my cheeks heated up.
I barely heard what the professor was saying as I focused solely on the bartender. He looked like he was around my age, maybe a part time worker trying to make ends meet for uni. There was a slight frown on his face.
"I don't mind having you on the rocks," I teased, resting my cheek against my hand, a playful glint in my eyes.
The bartender chuckled, a genuine smile, but the professor's voice cut through the air with a dangerous edge.
Suddenly, I felt his hand on my thigh—firm and deliberate. His fingers brushed against the fabric of my dress, dangerously close to the zipper.
"Really, Ara? Flirting with a kid when you're with me? That's a bit…deal-breaking, isn't it?"
I glared at him, but he only leaned closer, his minty breath hot against my ear.
"If your goal is to be taken on the rocks, I can make that happen," he whispered.
I stiffened, but before I could respond, his voice dropped even lower, laced with a quiet menace. "But don't make me gouge the pretty boy's eyes out just because he was tempted by you."
What. The. Hell?
Did I believe he'd do it? No. Was I about to test him? Absolutely not.
I gulped down my cocktail in one go, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. I needed to escape the tension—at least for a moment.
"Let's get this over with, old man," I muttered, heading toward the empty pool table.
Operation: Sabotage the game so the professor doesn't win. By. Any. Means. Necessary.
We'd been playing for over half an hour, and the game was almost over. It was a tie now, and I could feel the heat of competition.
The air crackled with tension as the professor lined up his shot, the cue stick poised in his hands like a weapon.
I leaned against the table, a sly smile tugging at my lips.
I had an idea, one that could backfire if I didn't execute it well.
"Careful, old man," I teased, my tone light and taunting. "One wrong move, and you lose."
He didn't look up, his focus locked on the ball, his large muscles flexing with every movement.
"You think you can psych me out? Nice try, Ara."
"Oh, I'm not trying," I replied, stepping closer. My heels clicked softly against the floor.
For a fraction of a second, he froze, just enough for me to notice, but his eyes never left the table.
I leaned against the edge of the table, my fingers idly toying with the zipper on my dress.
"You seem so confident," I mused, my voice laced with quiet amusement.
His eyes darkened, the tension in his grip betraying his nerves.
"But confidence can be such a fragile thing," I whispered, watching the subtle shift in his expression.
Clunk.
The cue ball fell into the pocket.
I won!
I crouched to the ground, laughing hysterically. I won!
Never have I been this excited to win before. Maybe because I knew this deal would've cost me my life, and my freedom, if I lost.
"Old ma—"
"Let's go," he interrupted, cutting me off.
My smile vanished as I straightened, walking behind him. Still, I didn't forget to wave the bartender goodbye.
Deep down, I knew he wasn't really an old man. Older than me, sure, but I just liked the way his jaw ticked when I called him that.
Too bad.
I settled into the passenger seat as we drove away in silence. I stared out the window, watching the buildings blur past.
He was definitely speeding, I thought. But I didn't mind.
When we pulled up to the compound gates, the house Asvika and I lived in alone, I stepped out, slamming the car door behind me.
"It was nice knowing you, professor. I guess I'll be seeing you from my seat in the hall now," I said.
But he didn't respond.
I stood there, watching the BMW drive out of the gates. For some reason, I felt sad he didn't retort back.