The Werewolf Princess and her husbands

Campus Life

I politely went to the basketball court to confront John, asking him to come forward and clarify our relationship. However, John just coldly pushed me away, telling me to go back to my grandparents and parents to complain. "Elena, stay away from me. I can't control what others say. Anyway, I'm tired of staying in the Leslie family. If you like it, you can stay in the Leslie family and continue to be their good girl. Isn't that what they like about you? Get out of here!" I didn't cry or leave. Through his proud and impatient eyes, I seemed to see the vulnerable stray dog from before, perhaps they were essentially the same. However, the Leslie family cultivated him as an heir, and I couldn't let them down. I decided to deal with those girls myself.

The children of the Leslie family were raised according to European aristocratic education. In addition to their studies, they had to learn a skill that they could be proud of. John liked music theory, and every weekend, the family would send him to study piano with internationally renowned masters. They also hired a chess master for $20,000 per lesson to accompany him one-on-one, honing his temperament. Whether it was for compensation or something else, my parents also signed me up for every music class. What no one knew was that, compared to the gentle cultivation of musical instruments, I actually preferred the sense of security brought by fists.

The pocket money Leslie's family gave me was enough for me to thrive in the Wild Martial Arts Gym. The teachers didn't dare to neglect me and passed on their expertise in boxing and swordsmanship to me. Each instructor at the Wild Martial Arts Gym crawled out of hell, their bloodlust palpable. I, like a greedy sponge, eagerly learned their most treasured skills.

I didn't want to return to my dark past of fighting with stray dogs for food; I wanted to create a ray of light for my future with my own hands. In one instance, when the girls overstepped their boundaries and cornered me, I pretended to be scared and lured them into a secluded sports equipment room.

As soon as this group of giggling girls closed the door, I leaped up and aimed a flying kick at the face of the little punk girl who led the bullying. With a loud thud, she flew out and landed heavily on a dusty mat. The little punk girl was dazed. The other girls immediately went silent as if they were chickens.

"Does it hurt?" I asked calmly as I walked towards the little punk girl. Her half-swollen face resembled a pig's head, and she stared at me with a mix of hatred and astonishment. As I approached, her eyes filled with fear, and she desperately tried to move backward before finally stopping at a container filled with basketballs and tennis balls. I stopped in front of her and casually patted her cheek.

"I know your name is Bonnie. Your family can't afford to send you to school, so it's Miss Linda from the Howard family who uses her New Year's money to support you, allowing you to attend this school as her minion and enforcer. You don't actually like John; it's just that Miss Linda dislikes me, so you target me, am I right?" Her eyes flickered for a moment.

That time when I resisted violence, the girls present probably exaggerated the story and spread it around. My days of being bullied at school finally came to an end. No one would come up to me and bluntly ask if I was John's fiancee anymore, and no one would take their anger out on me just to get closer to John. Every day, John and I would quietly ride in the Leslie family's exclusive car to school and return home together after evening self-study. After returning home, I would continue to study, eat pancakes covered in maple syrup made by my mom, and occasionally answer questions from my dad to check on my studies.

Grandpa's health was not very good, with multiple organ cysts in his body, fortunately, no nodules or cancerous growths. The family had several experts from the hospital take turns staying at home, and together they turned the third floor of the Leslie family villa into a convalescent room for the elderly, allowing him to rest there. I would study until 9:30 at night and then spend half an hour talking to Grandpa, or watching an episode of a political drama with him. Grandpa really liked me, he always said I looked like my late grandmother, with a gentle and delicate appearance that made people feel sorry for me, but inside I was tough and brave like a wolf, and no one could knock me down. Whenever his distant gaze looked through me and remembered his grandmother, I would smile and put my face in Grandpa's palm, acting spoiled. "

Grandpa, I'm not brave at all. I'm so afraid that something will happen to you, so you must cooperate with the doctor's treatment and not scare me." Grandpa would agree while smiling and asking me if I could give him another piece of candy. The medicine he had just taken was too bitter, so he wanted something sweet to moisten his throat, looking like a naughty child. At times like this, I would take advantage of the moment and run out to call the seriousdoctor. Grandpa's high blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar required him to strictly follow a low-fat diet and treatment plan, and I didn't want to be an accomplice in worsening his condition.

On several occasions, when I came downstairs, I would run into John hiding around the corner of the staircase. He seemed to always be hesitating whether to go upstairs to see Grandpa or not. After I caught him a few times, he would just turn his face away with a cold hum. I found his childishness endearing. I would casually avoid his gaze, gracefully return to my room, and then quietly press my ear against the doorframe. I hoped that he would put aside his useless pride and go to see Grandpa properly. The saying "children want to support their parents but they are gone" is truly the most heartbreaking thing for the living. When I waited too long behind the door, I would really want to open it and directly drag him upstairs. Who is he showing off his stubbornness to?

Only when the deliberately lowered and rhythmic sound of footsteps on the stairs could be heard would I lie down on the bed with relief, looking at the ceiling and the corner of my mouth curving into a slight smile. The men in the Leslie family were used to being reticent and reserved, always showing a cold and indifferent expression to others. John was an exception. His emotions were easy to guess. In the morning, when I caught a glimpse of his gaze looking at me through the car window, his eyebrows furrowed, I knew he probably wanted to assassinate me again, feeling embarrassed that I saw him show weakness in front of Grandpa. I calmly wrote words on my tablet, ignoring his scrutiny, but secretly rejoiced in my heart.