.'𖤐 — 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕 :

I can't believe I'll be marrying my bully.

Just when I thought my miserable life couldn't get any more complicated, here we are.

I'm the so-called 'bitch nerd' of Blackthorn Academy, one of the most prestigious universities in the world, ranked in the top ten for its elite reputation, where snobby rich kids parade around like they're on a damn catwalk instead of in class.

While they flaunt their designer clothes, I stick out like a sore thumb in my baggy clothes, my hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, and my face bare except for a swipe of lip balm.

My nose is always buried in books, but I couldn't care less. I've learned that when you don't fit the mold, you become an easy target for bullies.

I choose to ignore them, pretending I'm blind to their harsh taunts. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

When they start spewing their venom or even worse, when they destroy my belongings, I simply walk away, with my head high and keeping my resting bitch face intact.

I have far more important things to focus on than engaging with their cruelty.

I always remind myself that I'm stronger than their petty insults, and I refuse to let them drag me down.

The biggest bully of them all, the head of the bullies, Sarim Ahmed Khan, the heartless bad boy with a charming facade, is the one I'm engaged to.

Can my luck get any worse than this?

He strolls around with this charming yet sinister aura, totally nailing the typical bad boy thing.

He has a reputation for being scary, which says, 'Mess with me, and I might just end you.' He also carries an air of menace that whispers, 'Stay miles away from me for your own good.'

He walks around like he owns the damn place, taking the bad boy bully aura that's hard to ignore too seriously.

Until yesterday, he had never truly seen me.

He always has his loyal followers do his dirty work while he relaxes like a king on his throne, enjoying the show of my suffering as if it were some twisted kind of entertainment.

For the first time, our eyes locked as he sat across the table in all black clothes with his nice and polite parents—unlike him.

His dark golden-brown eyes were so intense, and there was a strange glint in them.

It felt like he was ready to pounce at any second, like a predator eyeing its prey. The thing is, I'm not his prey, and so I shot him a fierce glare, which only made the asshole grin like a maniac.

I can't seem to erase that moment of eye contact that's seared into my memory like flames.

The dinner was a business arrangement between our families.

Excellent, brilliant, and outstanding—these are the only terms I'm allowed to know according to my parents. There's no room for anything else. I cannot afford to falter, even when the weight of the world feels like it's crushing me.

Perfection is my prison, one I am forced into, unlike my elder sister, who seems to have been born with it effortlessly. The constant comparison gnaws at me, reminding me every second of how I can never be like my perfect elder sister.

And like so many other aspects of my life that are dictated by my parents, I was forced to dress like a 'lady,' as my mom likes to say, and shut my 'bratty mouth,' as Dad loves to remind me, while accompanying them to dinner to meet my so called would-be husband.

Now, as I stand before my open locker to collect a few books for my next class, I can't help but sigh at the sting still lingering on my cheek from my mother's slap.

Last night, after dinner, I dared to speak out for the first time in what felt like centuries, questioning why my elder sister was allowed to choose her life partner while I was not.

I was met with my father's cruel words, 'Your sister is intelligent and sensible, unlike you, who's dumb and delusional.' The taste of humiliation was sharp, followed by my mother's harsh slap, which only deepened the wound.

With a heavy sigh, I reach for my stationery pouch, adorned with the words "𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝." It's my small rebellion against the reality that suffocates me.

Just as I grasp it, the door of my locker is slammed shut in my face, and I don't even flinch. I know all too well that one of the mean bullies has decided it's the perfect moment to ruin my day.

My eyes flicker up, and I blink in disbelief as the devil incarnate himself stands before me, a twisted smirk playing on his ridiculously handsome face.

I'm momentarily taken aback when he leans casually against my locker, his muscular arms crossed, ankles casually crossed as well. Dressed entirely in black—a  leather jacket, jeans, and a simple t-shirt—he embodies the bad boy persona he takes far too seriously.

"Hey there, nerdy!" He winks at me, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

The students around us pause, their gazes fixed on the scene unfolding, whispers rippling through the crowd as they probably wonder how their mighty king is wasting his precious time on a pest like me.

I ignore him, just as I do with everyone else, donning my stone facade like a armour and attempt to walk past him, but in one fluid motion, he positions himself directly in my path, his larger-than-life presence looming over me.

I glance up, meeting his gaze, and he looks down at me with that sadistic smirk.

"When someone says hi, you should at least have the basic manners to greet them back. Didn't know nerds lacked common courtesy."

I don't know why I had this strong urge to answer him back, so I just went for it.

"Oh, well, basic manners are for greeting human beings, not arrogant bastards like you."

Amusement flickers in his eyes, and his smirk widens, turning into something more sinister. "My, my, nerdy. I didn't know you had a tongue that could actually talk."

He steps closer, invading my space, and I instinctively retreat until my back hits the cold metal of the locker.

God, I hate that I'm so short compared to him; he towers over me like a dark cloud, casting a shadow that threatens to swallow me whole.

He leans in even closer, the heat radiating from him almost suffocating.

I clutch my pouch to my chest, trying to create a barrier, yet I refuse to back down.

I hold his gaze, determined not to show any sign of weakness and blurt out, "I-I have teeth too, and if you don't move away, I might just use them in a not-so-pleasant way."

He chuckles, all deep and velvety. I straighten my back, forcing myself to hold his gaze as he leans closer, his eyes boring into mine.

His hand reaches toward my face, and I glare at him fiercely.

"Relax, I'm not here to bully you..." He says, dropping his hand. I don't miss the 'yet' he adds later.

With a casual arrogance, he pins his palm against the locker beside my head, his demeanor exuding boredom.

"Here's how this will go," he drawls, his voice dripping with disdain. "You'll tell your parents that you're not interested in me, that this ridiculous trial period they set up for us—this whole charade of dating to see if we're compatible until graduation—is utterly pointless."

"Why don't you tell that to your parents and call off the engagement?" I shoot back.

His parents were so sweet as they had assured that there was no pressure; they wouldn't force us if it didn't work out.

Unlike my own parents, who wore a facade of kindness in front of the Khans while secretly tightening the noose around my neck.

"You know I'm the obedient, good son," he replies, feigning innocence, "and I can't just ruin my pristine image in front of my mother."

The absurdity of his words makes me snort. How could he possibly use 'good,' and 'obedient,' in the same breath to describe himself?

He narrows his eyes at me, a flicker of annoyance dancing across his features, and I can't help but smile—the fakest smile I can muster, "Well then, good luck with the betrothed deal because my parents aren't going to listen to me."

"I know you hit the jackpot by not only getting a chance to date someone as gorgeous as me but also having the 'privilege' of calling me your fiancée. But I suggest you don't dive too deep into those feelings. You're really not my type, and honestly, I'd hate to add you to my collection of heartbreaks."

"Jackpot? More like my past sins finally catching up with me for getting engaged to the devil himself."

"So you mean to say that you don't love me secretly?" He asks.

"Ewww, no! And here my father calls me delusional. Please, why would I? I don't even like you."

"Aww, your denial is adorable, nerdy." He grins.

"And your bruised male ego is showing like a landmark, asshole! I practically can see it from space." His grin only widens, as if my words amuse him rather than infuriate him.

"Feisty much, I see! Anyways how about you agree to back out of this engagement by tomorrow? I'll even give you a whole day—c'mon I'm being generous, here."

"I told you, my parents won't listen." I reply, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"So stubborn, aren't we?" A menacing smirk plays on his lips.

What is his problem? Why can't he get that I can't back down? Does he have hearing issues? Did he not hear that my parents won't listen to me?

My spine jerks upright when he leans in closer, so close that his warm breath fans against my ear. I can't help the shudder that courses through me, nor can I resist the way my senses awaken to his unique, musky scent that envelops me, filling my lungs and forcing me to inhale him instead of air.

"Well, in that case, welcome to your custom-made hell. I'll make sure you regret not backing down sooner." He deliberately brushes his lips against the shell of my ear with each word and my heart races so fast that I wish it would simply stop right there.

Then, with a sadistic smirk and a glint in his eyes, he pulls back slightly to look at me.

"Oh, I'm going to have so much fun playing with you, my sweet little fiancée—or should I say girlfriend?" I barely have time to shoot a retort before he snatches my stationery pouch from my trembling fingers, emptying its contents onto the floor.

I watch as my belongings spill out, then glance up at him.

"Oops, my bad. See you around, nerdy." He winks, that cocky grin still in place, before strolling away, tossing my pouch aside like it's trash.

                        ———-