Engaged to the playboy

Chapter three

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have a human alarm clock threatening to cut off your allowance every time you skip a class.”

“Damn. Harsh”, Daniel poutered with a pity face.

“He thinks school’s the only way to make something of myself. Like… there’s no room for anything else.”clinton said angrily.

“That’s rough. But maybe he’s just scared you’ll waste your potential?”

“Or maybe he just wants me to be a copy of him. I didn’t even choose this course, you know?”clinton said

(quiet for a second)

“Yeah,That’s not fair,You deserve to choose your own path.”daniel said

“Exactly. But I have tried telling him that. It’s like arguing with a brick wall”. Clinton said looking pissed.

You are lucky, he’s allowing go for clubbing, and the rest, I just think he wants the best for you… daniel paused with the way Clinton was glaring at him.

“Clinton smirks suddenly, pushing off the locker, trying to lighten the mood like he always does.”

“You know… I’m not usually this deep. I mean, usually by now I’d be texting three girls at once, avoiding feelings like a plague”. Clinton said.

“Daniel raised his eyebrow”

“Oh, so this is the rare Clinton—emotionally available, honest Clinton. Should I mark my calendar?”

“Might as well. This version only comes out once a semester—usually right before exams or a breakup.”clinton grinned.

They both laugh, but there’s still weight in his eyes, something he’s not letting the smirk cover.

Hey, flirting is a coping mechanism. And it works. Most people don’t ask too many questions when you’re busy being “the fun guy.”Clinton said being defensive.

“Right. But I’m not most people.”Daniel smirked.

Clinton pauses. The smile softens into something more real.

Clinton;No, you’re not. That’s what messes me up a bit. You actually see through it all.

Then stop pretending with me, Daniel said.

Alright. No more pretending. At least not with you.clinton said.

Let’s have launch today,after school, are you in? He added.

“Sure” Daniel said.

Steam and sip cafe

The scent of espresso clung to Tessa’s clothes like a second skin. Her apron was dusted with milk froth and stray coffee grounds, and her back ached from hours of nonstop orders. The morning rush had finally died down, and the quiet hum of the coffee shop was almost peaceful—until Richard’s voice pierced the calm.

“Tessa, those tables aren’t going to wipe themselves,” he barked from behind the counter, not even looking up from his clipboard.

She clenched her jaw. “I was just about to get to them.”

“You were just about to stand there until your shift ended,” he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

Tessa grabbed a rag from under the counter and headed to the nearest table, biting back the dozen responses she wanted to throw at him. Every shift with Richard was like this—passive-aggressive comments, impossible expectations, and that smug tone that made her feel five inches tall.

As she wiped down the table, she watched the clock. Ten minutes left.

“Just ten”.

Richard walked by, eyeing her work like a hawk. “You missed a spot.”

She forced a tight smile. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm—or pretended not to.

By the time she finished, her patience was as thin as the worn towel in her hand. She untied her apron and headed to the back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Richard called after her.

“My shift ends in five minutes,” she said without turning around.

“So?you will stay until everything is spotless.”

Tessa paused, took a breath, then kept walking. “Then I guess you’ve got five minutes to find someone else to frustrate.”

Tessa tossed her apron onto the hook with more force than necessary. The small room smelled like cleaning supplies and burnt toast, and the flickering light above only made her headache worse.

She sat on the bench, pulled her phone from her pocket, and exhaled the breath she’d been holding all shift. A text from her friend Mirabel blinked on the screen: “Hope your shift wasn’t hell. Want me to bring snacks?”

Mirabel is the only friend Tessa have, she’s a journalist.and also a graduate unlike Tessa.

Tessa typed back one word: “Richard.”

Just then, the door creaked open.

We’re not done until the café’s clean. That’s policy.

Tessa didn’t even look at him. “Policy also says we get breaks. But you only remember the rules that work for you.”

You know, attitude like that won’t get you far here, Richard said coldly.

She stood slowly, her eyes meeting his, steady and unflinching.

And staying here won’t get me far either. So maybe that’s the point.

A beat passed. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe even respect—but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Richard shruggling, “Suit yourself.”

She grabbed her bag and headed out through the back exit. The sun hit her face like a promise—warm, real, and waiting.

As she walked toward the bus stop, she didn’t think about coffee orders or spotless tables. She thought about what came next. Maybe a new job. Maybe finally sending that application she’d been sitting on. One thing was certain: she was done letting people like Richard decide what kind of day she had.

Vielle Luxury Restaurant

Vielle luxury restaurant is one of the biggest restaurant in Maryland.

La Vielle Maison exuded pure wealth. Crystal chandeliers glistened above marble floors, and each table was dressed in flawless white linen with silver cutlery that caught the light like diamonds. Soft piano music floated through air perfumed with designer florals. Staff moved in silent precision, trained to vanish before being noticed. The guests wore silence like silk, speaking only in low tones of power and privilege. Everything gleamed, from the glasses to the egos. This wasn’t dining—it was status on

Tessa rushed in offering a smile to her colleagues. Hope the manager is not here yet, and has she asked of me Tessa rushed her words.

The manager just arrived but she didn’t ask of you, Derek answered.

“Oh” thank my goodness, Tessa breath out.

You need to hurry up and change, Nuella called.

After school

“Which restaurant do you have in mind?” Clinton asked while tightening his set belt.

There’s this big luxurious restaurant I heard of, Vielle luxury restaurant, have you gone there before? Daniel asked.

“No, not at all” clinton answered

So, should I head there, Clinton asked.

Yes, I heard there are services are nice, and the servants are responsible, so let’s go. Daniel said.

Why won’t they be responsible, when the heir of the Alfred is coming to there restaurant, Clinton chuckled.

Daniel laughed, indeed Alfred heir but don’t want to take over the companies.

Let’s not go there please.

The clatter of polished shoes echoed across the marble floor as Clinton and Daniel entered Vielle luxury restaurant , drawing subtle glances from the staff. Dressed like privilege itself, Clinton wore his arrogance like a tailored suit.

A hostess led them to a private window-side table. Moments later, Tessa approached, head high, but heart pounding. Her morning shift had drained her, and her hands still trembled faintly.

“Good afternoon, sirs,” she said, placing their menus down with practiced grace. Clinton barely looked at her.

She returned with their drinks—sparkling water for Daniel, a chilled martini for Clinton. But as she reached to set it down, the glass slipped from her fingers. Ice and gin splashed across Clinton’s shirt, dripping onto his lap.

Gasps broke out from a nearby table.

Tessa froze. “I—I’m so sorry, sir.”

Clinton stood slowly, the cold drink soaking through his designer shirt. His expression was sharp, jaw tightening.

For a second, time stood still. The entire restaurant restaurant , with its velvet drapes and gold fixtures, seemed to freeze

The hush was deafening

Tessa’s breath caught in her throat as the wine spread across Clinton’s expensive wears like blood. Her hand still hovered in the air, fingers trembling, as the now-empty flute hit the marble floor and shattered.

He didn’t say a word. Not yet.