He wasn't supposed to matter

"It's six a.m., and I'm still in bed!" Ophelia screamed as she jumped up from her bed in haste. "Sarah!" she called for her fifth maid this week who had somehow managed to keep her job. "You are fired," Ophelia said. "I guess I spoke too soon," she muttered, walking into her walk-in closet filled with beautiful designer clothes, searching for the perfect outfit. "Sarah!!!" she screamed again, forgetting that she had just sacked her a few moments ago. Her chief maid and childhood nanny, Mrs. Francesca, ran to her room, worried. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why is the last season Jimmy Choo here?" Ophelia demanded, pointing at her very expensive and classy shoes she had ordered a week ago. "It's very new," Mrs. Francesca said. "You call this new? I wouldn’t be caught dead in this!" Ophelia exclaimed. She walked into the bathroom for her shower and came out twenty minutes later. Sitting across from her large mirror, she slowly applied her skincare across her flawless, pale skin. She added a touch of lip gloss on her perfectly matte lips. Her skin looked like porcelain, her long brown hair cascading beautifully. She put on a white shirt, raising it just enough to show her spotless waist, a short skirt, and dark long socks. She picked up a leather jacket that Mrs. Francesca had placed on her bed, then selected a Louis Vuitton bag with a customized gold label reading Ophelia. Downstairs at the dining table, her wealthy mother, owner of a large clothing company, sat across from her. "So, what happened with this one?" Mrs. Celeste asked, referring to Sarah. "Oh, please, she had it coming, Mother," Ophelia said gracefully, standing irritably from the table. She requested that her breakfast be brought to her as she walked out. She strode down the long walkway, adorned with portraits and chandeliers, and called for her driver, Sam. Her dark SUV pulled up, and she gracefully got in. On the way to school, she received a call from her two childhood best friends, Brielle and Sophie. Brielle, a beautiful short-haired brunette who loved parties, had known Ophelia since they were kids. Sophie, a blonde who had transferred to their school five years ago, was also her close friend. "Where are you?" they asked. Ophelia complained about her arrogant maid forgetting to wake her up. She arrived at Silverwood Academy, where she had been a student since fifth grade. Now in twelfth grade, she practically ran the school. She dramatically stepped out of her car, her two best friends meeting her in the hallway. "Hey, gurllll," they said in unison. "What's new?" Ophelia replied. "Sebastian threw a party and we weren’t invited," Brielle said, mentioning Ophelia’s eighth-grade ex. Ophelia paused, then replied, "Wow.. like I’d rather be at a party in his cheap house with some cheap ass wine. No, thank you." She entered her classroom, her best friends behind her. Facing the guy beside her, she said, "Really? I can smell the cheap perfume on you." The teacher, Mr. Smith, the literature teacher, walked in. The whole class greeted him as they settled down. Then, an average-looking, six foot, dark-haired guy walked in. "Am I in the right class?" he asked. Mr. Smith looked back. "You must be the new transfer student from downtown." "I'm Julian," he said, his voice smooth and slightly husky, full of warmth , the kind of voice that could explain quantum physics without making it sound boring. "I am a transfer student from downtown, and I am glad to be here." He walked to the seat behind Ophelia. "Come forward," Mr. Smith said. "Why don’t you take a seat beside Miss Ophelia, if it’s fine with her?" "It is not fine by me," she said, her bag in hand. "I'm sure your bag can manage a bad day," he said, moving it aside and sitting down beside her, stretching his hand toward her. "I'm Julian," he repeated. Ophelia, exasperated, stormed out of the classroom. Brielle and Sophie followed. She left school, refusing to stay in such a "toxic environment," her mind replaying the moment he said, “I am Julian.” She remembered his beautiful eyes ,a split of green and his ridiculously tempting lips. She muttered mockingly to herself, “I am Julian… who does he think he is?” A low life, poor guy like that, compared to her? She smirked, determination rising. “I will show him who the true boss is here.”