He Dismissed Me, I Faked My Engagement

Chapter 3

I was eleven that year.

Lucian was twelve.

He sat on a white lounge chair with a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude open on his knees.

His lashes were long.

His features were delicate, like a boy who had stepped out of an oil painting.

I stared at him for a long time.

I hadn't shown up there by accident.

That shady-looking stranger with a knife tucked at his waist?

I had been watching him for an entire week.

Most likely, he was a scout sent by one of the Ferraro family's enemies to observe their young heir.

I could have called the police early.

Or told Lucian's bodyguards.

But I didn't.

I waited until the man crept to the edge of the pier and the knife flashed.

Only then did I rush forward and knock Lucian aside.

The blade sliced open my arm.

Blood spilled everywhere.

Lucian's forehead was covered in cold sweat.

His face was deathly pale.

He grabbed my hand.

"Thank you for saving me."

"What do you want?"

"I can give you anything."

I didn't speak.

I only pointed at the steaming lunchbox beside him.

He smiled.

That was the first time I ever saw him smile.

That was the first time I bought myself a ticket into the Ferraro world.

From that day on, we became "friends."

He was a good student, so I studied with him.

I borrowed every book he read and went through them over and over.

I listened to him speak.

Slowly, I began speaking more too.

Whatever I lacked, he gave me.

When he saw the tear in my pants, a driver delivered an entire box of new clothes and daily necessities the next day.

When I couldn't afford tuition, he paid me every time he needed me to "do something" for him.

Playing cards with him.

Listening to him complain about the messes inside his family.

Sitting still while he sketched me.

Over those years, his depression improved.

So did my isolation.

And I saved enough money for an Ivy League education.

High school and college—we attended the same schools.

Love is impossible to hide.

I would sneak glances at him.

My heart would race and my face would burn whenever our hands touched.

Once, he casually said, "I like girls with short hair."

So I cut the hair I had grown for five years up to my ears.

He knew.

He pretended not to.

After all, the girls who liked him were as numerous as seagulls at the docks.

And I understood.

I wasn't worthy of him.

How could a poor small-town girl surviving on scholarships ever be worthy of the Ferraro heir?

Being his friend was already more than enough.

So I never broke through that final layer.

Gradually, we grew up and entered the adult world.

Lucian changed from a clean, beautiful boy into a bastard of a man.

That day, he was throwing a party at the Ferraro family's private club.

He called me over in a hurry but refused to say why.

Outside, rain was pouring.

I was afraid something had happened to him, so I ran the last two blocks through the storm.

"Lucian!"

I shouted before I even entered the private room.

He was leaning back against the sofa.

His black shirt was open at the collar.

His eyes were slightly red.

His smile was lazy.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down beside him.

Then he held my hand with false tenderness.

"Sloane, I like you."

Some part of me knew something was wrong.

But another part fell instantly into a beautiful fantasy.

His lips came closer.

Close enough that I could feel his warm breath.

I closed my eyes.

Shy.

Waiting.

The air slowly turned cold.

Then laughter exploded around us.

"Come on, Lucian. Stop teasing the poor girl."

A man in a Tom Ford suit laughed from across the room.

I opened my eyes.

Lucian's smile was brilliant.

But his eyes were cold.

"You actually believed that?"

"We're playing truth or dare, Sloane."

He tilted his head.

"Don't tell me you really like me."

For the first time in my life, I was that brave.

"Yes."

"I like you."

He frowned.

"Don't disgust me."

I stood there soaked from head to toe.

My dress clung to my body.

I was trembling from the cold.

The laughter of those rich boys pierced my ears like needles.

My defense mechanism kicked in.

I laughed.

"Like you?"

I looked at him.

"No."

"I like your money."

After that, I began distancing myself from him on purpose.