Aristocracy101

Chapter 7

Oliver stepped out of the taxi and stood in front of Bella’s house, the one place where he could forget the weight of his life and just be himself. He knocked on the door, and it was opened by Stacy—Bella’s brash, no-nonsense friend.

"Oh, look who decided to show up. The scumbag and promise-breaker," Stacy sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

She had heard the news—the Johnson family’s marriage proposal to Lilian. To say she was angry was an understatement. She had always noticed how Lilian acted around Oliver, as if she were protecting something valuable. But Stacy never fully understood what that meant, never fully acknowledged that Lilian might have deeper feelings for him. In her mind, Lilian had just always acted distant, like she didn’t want to be associated with people like them—like they were beneath her.

Stacy had convinced herself that Oliver and Bella were a done deal, and everything had been moving along just fine—until the announcement came.

Two weeks.

Oliver was getting married in two weeks to Lilian.

Stacy’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t believe it. Was this all a game to him? Did he know how hard it was to scrape by in this world, how much they had fought to get out of poverty? And now he was going to drag them back in? She was furious.

"Can I see Bella?" Oliver asked, trying to brush past the hostility that radiated from Stacy. He wasn’t in the mood for this—wasn’t in the mood for explanations, or for the way she always expected him to pay for everything. Every time he was with Bella, Stacy had her hand out, claiming it was money for Bella’s time. As if she were some sort of guardian. It was ridiculous.

The truth was, Oliver liked Bella—liked her because she was different. She wasn’t pretending to be something she wasn’t. She wasn’t some saint, like other girls he met who wore their goodness like a badge, nor was she some perfect, headstrong girl like Lilian. Bella knew when to stand up for herself, but she was kind to those who treated her well.

And the best part? She didn’t care about his wealth. That, more than anything, had drawn him to her. The realization had come slowly, but it was clear now.

It was like the time she slapped him.

He could still remember it clearly—the pineapple juice spilling all over her when he was in a rush. It wasn’t intentional, but in the chaos of the moment, he’d thrown the money at her, telling her to buy a new shirt. It was a reflex, a thoughtless gesture.

But her reaction had been swift.

“Not everyone needs your stinking money, asshole,” she had snapped, slapping him across the face, her anger scorching.

He had been stunned. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that. Not even his mother. He tried to call her back, to apologize, but she was already gone, leaving him standing there in disbelief.

Later, he’d kept running into her—at the places he frequented, the stores he visited. She seemed to work everywhere, juggling shifts, trying to make ends meet. He couldn’t understand why she did it, how she managed so many jobs at once.

One day, he walked into the fast-food joint where she worked as a cashier. He’d come to buy lunch, but when she saw him, her face went white with shock.

“Welcome to Burger Feast, how can I help you?” she asked, her voice stiff. Then she recognized him and her eyes narrowed.

“You...” she pointed at him, her voice rising. “Asshole!”

The other customers looked over, startled by the outburst.

“Lower your voice,” she hissed, glaring at him. “What do you want, Mr. Johnson? Here to pour more pineapple juice on me? I’m busy, so if you don’t mind...”

Oliver smirked. “Oh, so now you know who I am. That means you also know what I could do to you for that slap. But you’re lucky I’m in a good mood today,” he teased, relishing in the discomfort he was causing her.

It felt odd, this strange satisfaction. He didn’t really want to hurt her, but it was comforting to see her on the other side of the counter for once—serving him. She was the one who had to put up with him now, not the other way around.