Breathe with me cole

SPARKS

*Chapter 2: The Hair Slap*

"Do you have any idea how much my skincare routine costs?"

His voice wasn't loud. It was worse. It was calm. The kind of calm that rich boys use when they know everyone is watching them.

Andrea's heart was beating so fast it hurt. Coffee was dripping from his chin onto the marble floor. His white shirt - God, that shirt was probably Tom Ford - was now stained light brown.

All around them, phones were already out. Recording. Of course.

Behind Marcus stood two guys who looked like clones of him. Rich, bored, amused. One of them mouthed, "She's dead."

Ashley tugged at her sleeve. "Andrea, let's just apologize, please-"

But Andrea wasn't looking at Ashley. She was looking at Marcus Ashton Drake. At his cold blue eyes. At the way he looked at her like she was dirt on his shoe. Like she should be on her knees begging for forgiveness.

It triggered something in her. Six years of grief. Six years of being told to be quiet, to be polite, to be the good mafia princess who doesn't cause trouble.

She was tired.

"Your skincare?" She repeated.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Yes. My face is insured for two million dollars. That coffee was-"

He didn't finish.

Andrea yanked her wallet from her backpack. Her hands were shaking, but not from fear. From anger. She pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills. It was the allowance her father sent that she never touched.

She slammed the cash against his chest. Hard.

The bills hit his wet shirt and fell to the floor.

"There," she said, her voice shaking but loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. "Wash your precious face. Twice."

Someone gasped. Someone else whispered, "Oh my God."

Marcus stared down at the money at his feet, then slowly back up at her. His expression changed. The cold amusement was gone. Now he looked... interested. And furious. A dangerous mix.

"You think you can-"

"This isn't a movie, rich boy," Andrea cut him off. She stepped closer, so close she could smell that expensive cologne mixed with coffee. "This isn't the part where the poor girl spills coffee on the billionaire and he falls in love and saves her from her sad life. I don't need saving. And I don't care who your family is."

She was breathing hard. Her brown hair had come loose from her ponytail. Her eyes were bright with tears she refused to shed.

Marcus's jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek. No one had ever spoken to him like that. Ever.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked quietly.

"Do you know who I AM?" She shot back, before she could stop herself. She almost said Silverio. She bit her tongue. "I said - I'm late for class."

She turned to leave. Or tried to.

Her hair - long, thick, wavy brown hair that she hadn't cut since Liam died - whipped through the air as she turned. And with a loud, satisfying _slap_, it hit Marcus Ashton Drake directly across his face.

For a second, silence.

Then Ashley choked on a laugh.

The slap wasn't hard, but it was insulting. Coffee and hair. In front of his entire kingdom.

Andrea froze. Oh God. She hadn't meant to do that. Well, maybe a little bit.

She looked back. Marcus was standing perfectly still, his eyes closed, a single strand of her hair stuck to his coffee-stained cheek. When he opened his eyes, they were burning.

He plucked the hair off his face and looked at it between his fingers.

"Andrea Cole," he said. He knew her name. Of course he did. Someone had whispered it. "Final year, Literature. Scholarship kid."

I'm not a scholarship kid, she wanted to say. My father could buy this school.

"Leave me alone," she whispered.

"No," he said simply.

He took a step forward. The crowd stepped back.

"You just assaulted me, ruined a four-thousand-dollar shirt, and hit me with... whatever this is," he held up her hair like evidence. "And you think you can just walk away?"

"Fine! Call security! Call your daddy!" She was shouting now, tears finally coming. Not because of him. Because yesterday was April 11th. Because Liam was still dead. Because this stupid billionaire boy was making her feel something other than numb for the first time in six years and she hated it.

That made Marcus pause.

He saw the tears. Real tears. Not the fake ones girls cried to get his attention.

His cold face faltered for half a second.

Ashley quickly stepped between them, grabbing Andrea's cold hands. "We are so, so sorry, Mr. Drake. She's... she's had a bad week. We'll pay for dry cleaning. Please."

Marcus didn't look at Ashley. He was still looking at Andrea.

He bent down slowly, picked up the five hundred dollars from the floor, and held it out to her.

Andrea didn't take it.

He smirked. "Keep your money, Cole. You need it more than I do. But you - you will pay me back."

"I have nothing to pay you with."

"Oh, you do." His blue eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. "You just hit the most wanted bachelor at Westwood with your hair. Congratulations. Now the whole school will be talking about you. And I don't like sharing attention."

He leaned in, so close his mouth was near her ear. His voice was low enough that only she could hear.

"You owe me one date. To apologize for my face."

Andrea's mouth dropped open. "In your dreams, Drake."

"In my dreams, you don't throw coffee," he whispered. "Friday. 8pm. I'll text you."

"I don't even have your number! And I would never-"

"You will," he said, straightening up. He finally smiled - a slow, arrogant, devastating smile that made half the girls in the hallway sigh. "You slammed cash into my chest, Cole. Now you're going to have dinner with me. That's fair."

He turned and walked away, his friends following him like a pack of wolves. The crowd parted for him instantly. He didn't look back.

Andrea stood there, soaked in her own spilled coffee, her hair a mess, five hundred dollars at her feet, and every single person in Westwood University staring at her.

Ashley grabbed her arm. "Andrea Silverio, what did you just do? You just declared war on Marcus Ashton Drake!"

Andrea looked down at her shaking hands. For the first time since Liam Dela Cruz died, she felt awake. Angry, embarrassed, alive - but awake.

"Good," she whispered, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "Let him come."

Behind her, Marcus stopped at the end of the hallway and looked back at her one more time. And he was still smiling.

---