ABBY
If I could invent anything, it would be a planet where Chris Willson didn’t exist.
Simple as that.
I twirled my pen between my fingers, barely listening as Professor Dawson wrapped up his lecture. My notebook was pathetically blank, except from a few notes about margins. College was supposed to be thrilling, full of ambition and possibilities. It was exciting sometimes, but right now? Really, really boring.
I sighed and turned to Bailey, who was scribbling something down with determination.
“What’s he saying?” I whispered.
She didn’t look up. “Something about business vocabulary. How speech affects perception.”
I nodded and quickly jotted it down. “Got it, thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Tabs,” she teased with a smirk.
Before I could roll my eyes, the professor finally dismissed us. A wave of relief washed over me . I grabbed my bag and practically bolted for the door.
“That felt like a lifetime,” I muttered, adjusting the delicate charm on my necklace.
Bailey chuckled , tossing her bag over her shoulder. “You’re too impatient sometimes, Abby. Just pretend to be interested, and eventually, you will be.”
“Oh, I try,” I said dramatically. “But I haven’t been sleeping well. The upcoming charity event…" I trailed off, knowing she understood.
She checked her watch and sighed. “You’ll be fine. Slap on a smile and get through it. You always do.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.” I rolled my eyes. That was a lame explanation but it was also true. At every event all i did was to stand straight and smile.
“Anytime.” She winked. “Now, I have a class to run to. You, on the other hand? You should grab a coffee. Relax before your next lecture.”
“That was my last class.” I sighed, but she was already disappearing into the crowd.
I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. The exhaustion sat heavy in my bones. The weight of expectations — family name, appearances, responsibility—felt heavier than usual today. It was the price of being a Carter.
This meant that you had to be flawless. No cracks, no weaknesses.
Even if you were slowly falling apart.
I stepped outside, greeted by the crisp fall air, and was immediately shoved aside as someone rushed past me.
I knew who it was before even turning my head.
Willson.
He moved like he owned the damn world. Confident, sharp, always one step ahead. And as expected, his usual entourage of equally arrogant business students trailed behind him, hanging onto every word.
But for a fraction of a second, he looked at me. It wasn’t just a passing glance. No. It was something deliberate. Taunting. And then, as if right on cue, that smirk.
I rolled my eyes, flipping him off with an equally sweet smile. “Watch where you’re going, golden boy.”
Chris barely broke stride, but I caught the way his lips twitched, fighting a smirk of his own. “Try and keep up, Carter.”
God, he was insufferable.
He thought he was better than me. Better than everyone ! I hated how effortless it was for him to command attention. How people gravitated toward him, even when he didn’t deserve it.
But of course he is a Willson.
The Carters and the Willsons had been at each other’s throats for decades. I wasn’t sure who threw the first punch, but I knew the rivalry was stitched into both our families. And now? Chris and I were just carrying on the tradition.
We had been competing since we were kids—straight A’s, internships, social status. Even if he was two years ahead of me. It was exhausting. The worst part? I knew he thought I wasn’t good enough to stand on the same level as him.
I wasn’t about to let him be right.
Shaking off the encounter, I twisted my hair up into a claw clip, exhaling through my nose. What I needed right now, was coffee.
I walked to a café a few blocks away from Uni. Small but cozy. The kind of place where the atmosphere didn’t scream money and legacy. Just warmth and caffeine.
A moment to breathe. A place where Chris didn’t exist.
The bell chimed softly as I walked in and warmth wrapped around me instantly. The scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries lingering in the air. The place wasn’t extravagant—no chandeliers, no overpriced gold-trimmed cups—just wooden tables, soft lighting, and the quiet hum of conversation. It was cozy. Kinda like a safe spot.
I found a corner booth, setting my bag down as I shrugged off my coat. My body sank into the seat, tension easing slightly. Maybe Bailey was right. I needed a moment to just breathe.
Soon after a waiter approached with a friendly smile on his face. “Good afternoon. What can I get for you?”
“Just a coffee, black. And a croissant, please.”
“Coming right up.” I smiled and nodded my head in apreceation.
As he walked away, I reached into my bag, pulling out my journal. The worn leather cover felt familiar. I flipped to a blank page, tapping my pen against the paper before finally letting my thoughts spill out.
The charity event.
My fingers tightened around the pen as I wrote. Another year, another lavish gathering full of people who didn’t care about the cause but only about who was attending. My parents would be expecting me to stand tall, to smile, to play the part of a perfect daughter. It wasn’t just about the charity. It was about appearances and status. The carters had to remain untouchable.
Then there was Yale. The pressure of being here, of carrying my family’s reputation like some kind of inherited burden. I had no choice but to take business classes, because every Carter must know business. It was an unspoken rule, a requirement carved into my existence before I was even born.
There was no discussion or alternative. Just expectation.
If it were up to me, I would’ve chosen law.
Both fields fascinated me, but in completely different ways. The world of contracts and negotiations felt thrilling. Law was sharp, powerful. Like wielding a weapon of words and logic. Business, on the other hand, felt like a battlefield I never signed up for. Both had one thing in common, though. Strategy.
And strategy was the backbone of both our families. The Carters and the Willsons didn’t just run businesses; they played the long game. Always thinking ten moves ahead. Every deal, every investment, every carefully chosen alliance, it was all a chess match, and backing down wasn’t an option. We were raised to be players, whether we wanted to be or not.
I tried. Every day i did my best to learn the damn words, understand the numbers and theories. I really did. But when I opened my textbooks, it was like reading a foreign language. Numbers blurred together, economic theories felt like puzzles with missing pieces, and financial models drained me faster than any sleepless night ever could. I studied, I memorized, I forced myself to understand—but it wasn’t working. If i couldn’t understand everything, i couldn’t memories anything. So if a number didn’t add up or a theory was too complecated i crushed.
Sometimes, I wondered if I had trapped myself in a path I wasn’t even sure I wanted.
I could have coasted. Relied on my family name and the fortune that came with it. But that was another unspoken rule: our parents’ money wastheirs—not ours. If we wanted to be part of it, there were rules. Rules like Yale. Like networking, handshakes, perfectly curated smiles at charity events.Play your part, and you’ll have everything.But what if I didn’t want their everything?
I exhaled, tapping my pen against the journal before closing it. These thoughts were eating me up on a dailey basis but i moved on.
My hand went up to my hair instinctively, pulling my claw clip free. My long, straightened strands tumbled down to my back. It felt good, freeing. Maybe I just needed a day where nothing felt so tight.
Just as I started to relax, my gaze flickered across the café and when i saw it, my groan was as real as gravity. Chris?
He sat at a booth near the window, surrounded by his usual friends. They were laughing about something, relaxed, at ease in a way that made irritation crawl under my skin. Of course, he looked effortlessly composed, leaning back in his seat with that same arrogant expression that made me want to throw something at him.
I clenched my jaw and turned away. Ignore him.
The last thing I needed was to let him take up space in my mind.
As if on cue, the waiter returned, placing my coffee and croissant in front of me. “Enjoy,” he said warmly before walking off.
I wrapped my hands around the warm cup. I took a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue and i sighed.
He didn’t exist right now. He is not there and he is not looking at me.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I ignored my thoughts and turned my focus back to my journal. Thinking if i have anything else to vent and think about. That was until a small paper ball hit my head and landed next to my croissant.
I blinked, my fingers tightening around my cup. I exhaled through my nose, already knowing exactly where it came from.
Lifting my gaze, I locked eyes with Chris.
He was still lounging in his seat, his smirk annoyingly smug. It was the kind of expression that said what, are you going to do something about it? His friends were still talking but he wasn’t paying attention. He was waiting. Watching me like this was some silent battle, and I was expected to play.
I rolled my eyes and looked away.
“Not today, Willson.”I mumbled.
I grabbed my agenda from my bag, flipping through the neatly written schedule. Meetings, readings, events—I needed to focus.
Another ball.
My jaw clenched.
Slowly, I placed my pen down, reached for my phone, and scrolled through my contacts. My eyes landed on a number I had saved under the most ridiculous, unflattering name I could think of. Chicken butt.
I pressed call.
Across the café, Chris raised an eyebrow before reaching into his pocket. A moment later, I heard his voice through the speaker.
“Hello?” he answered, while looking at me. Already knowing.
“Can you stop?”
“Well, well,” he mused, his tone laced with amusement. “If it isn’t—”
“Stop acting like a five-year-old,” I cut in flatly.
He chuckled, his lips twitching. “Oh, Carter. If I wanted your attention, I wouldn’t have to try this hard.”
I leaned back in my seat, bringing my coffee to my lips. “Yet here we are.”
His friends had gone silent now, watching our exchange with undisguised interest. Chris tilted his head, studying me. “What I would like to know,” he said, voice smooth, “is why you even have my number in the first place.”
I smirked. “To prank call you, obviously.”
He blinked, then laughed. “Prank call me?”
“Yeah.” I inspected my nails, playing it off like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He leaned back, his amusement growing. “Carter, are you telling me you’ve been secretly obsessed with me this whole time?”
I scoffed. “Please. I had a very valid reason.”
“Oh, I’m dying to hear this.”
I swirled my coffee, pretending to think. “To Doordash you late-night deliveries at three in the morning. You know jerks like you, usually call around that time after they have done the deed for a nice snack.”
His smirk faltered for half a second before he narrowed his eyes. “What?”
I met his gaze, completely innocent. “Oh, and I may or may not have ordered five pineapple pizzas and a clown singing telegram to your address last year.”
"You would.” He ran a hand down his face while his friend nudged him, asking about something irrelevant. He ignored him, still focused on me, shaking his head.
“God. Who even likes pineapple on pizza? You’re a psycho.” I arched my brows.
“How do you even know that?”
“I have my sources,” I said airily. “Just like I know your taste in food is just as questionable as your taste in people.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.” He barked out a laugh, eyes gleaming with amusement.
I shrugged, barely holding back a smirk. “And honestly? It wasn’t even hard to get your number. You basically handed it out like cheap flyers.”
He gave me a look. “Excuse me?”
I leaned forward slightly, voice lowering in mock seriousness. “That awful flyer you made? The one with your number on it, practically begging chicks to date you?”
His jaw tightened for half a second before he exhaled, his smirk returning. “It was for business inquiries."
I laughed, outright this time. “Oh, sure it was.”
“I was tutoring, Carter.” He crossed his arms, his gaze burning into mine.
“Tutorin—” I broke off, grinning as I shook my head. “No way.”
“Yes, way.” He watched me, the challenge back in his eyes. “Unlike you, I don’t need to manipulate people into showing up at my door.”
I feigned offense. “That’s coming from the guy who definitely got texts from desperate freshmen after that flyer.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Jealous?”
“Of what?” I scoffed.
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something teasing, yet challenging. “That you weren’t one of them.” his friends looked at him with curiosity and I laughed.
“Oh god, you’re funny sometimes.” I clenched my jaw, ignoring the way my stomach twisted in annoyance. I forced a slow, unimpressed sip of my coffee. “You wish, Willson.”
He just grinned, his eyes glinting like he had won something.
I hated that look.
But what I hated even more? The way my pulse had just picked up.
Chris was still smirking, eyes locked on mine like he was waiting for me to crack. Like he could see right through me.
I exhaled, shaking my head. “Are you done?”
He stretched lazily, his confidence unshakable. “Depends. Are you leaving?”
“Depends,” I echoed. “Are you going to throw another paper at me like an actual child?”
He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Carter, you wound me.”
His friends snickered, thoroughly entertained.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bag, shoving my notebook inside. I was done with this conversation. With him. With the way my body reacted whenever he looked at me like that.
I stood up and placed my chair back in place. “Try growing up, Willson. Maybe then someone will take you seriously.”
“Aw, leaving already?” i could feel his smirk but i didn’t turn to look at him. I ignored him and grabbed my coat .
“Wait—” he said just before I could hang up.
“What?” I hesitated.
He exhaled dramatically. “At least show some gratitude, Abby.”
My brows furrowed. “Gratitude?”
“Your coffee’s on me.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He raised his cup in a mock-toast. “Consider it my gift to you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I’m generous. And also watching you storm out of here knowing I paid for your overpriced latte is going to make my entire day.” I clenched my jaw.
“Black” I mutter while rolling my eyes.
“What? I didn’t catch that” he was very pleased with himself and my intrusive thoughts were getting dangerous.
“I only drink black coffee and you’re very generous. I just saved money” I started to walk towards the door and didn’t go for the register.
“Like you need it.”
“No I don’t.” I smiled as I was close to the door. “I’ll make sure to put it in a fund for your future hair transplant. After all this bullshit you think of, you’ll burn your hair.” I stepped outside and searched for my car keys, in my bag.
“And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”
That was it. I hung up, shoving my phone in my pocket as I pulled them out.
I didn’t look back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I walked back to the parking lot and all i could think about was how I really, really hated Chris Willson.
