Chapter Four: Princess & The Problem
761 Words
A week later…
The sun was still high when Scarlett stepped out onto campus, her sunglasses resting on her nose as she walked past the football field. Practice was already in full swing—shouts, whistles, the thud of the ball hitting the ground.
She barely spared it a glance.
Until—
THUD.
Something hit her. Hard.
“—!”
The world spun. Her vision blurred.
And then…
Darkness.
Voices.
Faint at first. Then clearer.
“…she’ll be fine.”
“…you hit her pretty hard, mate.”
“…I didn’t mean to—”
Scarlett’s fingers twitched.
Her head felt heavy.
Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes—
And froze.
Her room.
Her ceiling.
Her house.
“What the—” she whispered, sitting up abruptly.
A sharp ache shot through her head. “Ow—”
“Well, look at that,” a deep voice cut in smoothly. “Princess is awake.”
Scarlett’s head snapped toward the sound—
And there he was.
Blake.
Leaning casually against the wall like he belonged there, arms crossed, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes.
His gaze was fixed on her… amused.
“Rich girl with the best body finally decided to wake up,” he added, his British accent sliding effortlessly through every word.
Scarlett’s heart jumped—then immediately slammed into panic.
“What are you doing here?!” she snapped, scrambling back on the bed, pulling the blanket slightly toward herself. “How did you get in my house?”
Her eyes scanned the room quickly, her breathing uneven.
Blake noticed.
And his expression shifted—just slightly.
“Relax,” he said, pushing himself off the wall. “You got hit. With a ball. My fault.”
Scarlett blinked. “What?”
“You passed out,” he continued, calm but direct. “Didn’t exactly want to leave you lying on the ground, did I?”
She stared at him, trying to piece it together.
“The field…” she murmured.
“Yeah,” Blake said. “That was me.”
A pause.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“You hit me?”
“Accidentally.”
“Are you serious right now?”
Blake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t intentional, Scarlett.”
Her name on his lips caught her off guard.
“…How do you know my name?” she asked, more quietly now.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips again.
“Hard not to,” he said. “Only daughter of one of the most powerful men in America. Rich. Popular. Kind of hard to miss.”
Scarlett’s expression hardened instantly.
“Oh, so that’s what this is?” she snapped. “You think you can just show up in my house, call me ‘princess,’ and act like you know me?”
Blake tilted his head slightly, studying her.
“You are acting like one,” he said calmly.
Her jaw dropped.
“Excuse me?!”
“And before you start,” he added, voice still steady, “I didn’t do anything to you. You were unconscious for, what—two hours? I stayed to make sure you didn’t, I don’t know, die or something.”
Scarlett crossed her arms, glaring at him.
“Well, congratulations,” she shot back. “You didn’t kill me. Want a medal?”
A brief silence fell between them.
Then—
Blake chuckled.
Low. Unexpected.
And annoyingly attractive.
Scarlett frowned deeper.
Why does he even sound like that?
She shook her head quickly, pushing the thought away.
“Also,” she added sharply, “I don’t like British guys.”
Blake raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “Something about the accent. It’s… irritating.”
A slow smirk spread across his face.
“Funny,” he said, stepping a little closer. “You didn’t seem too irritated the last time you were looking at me.”
Scarlett’s breath hitched—just for a second.
Then her eyes flashed.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped.
Blake stopped a few steps away from her bed, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Trust me,” he said quietly, his gaze locking onto hers again, intense and unreadable, “I don’t need to.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Quieter.
Charged.
Scarlett held his gaze, refusing to look away—even as her heart started beating faster for reasons she didn’t want to admit.
God…
She really couldn’t stand him.
And somehow—
That made everything worse.
- Writer
