Ugly Nerd's Billion Dollar Boyfriend

Prologue

Pathetic.
I looked absolutely pathetic.

Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I mentally challenged myself not to roast my own face. Let's face it; I resembled the love child of a tornado and a fashion disaster. Ragged brown hair, unkempt tan—seriously, I was one look away from becoming the star of "The Hobo Chic Chronicles." But hey, if you ever wondered what it feels like to be an 18-year-old phantom haunting the halls of Pristine High, look no further—ta-da, here I am.

I let out a sigh, giving up on any hope of a miraculous makeover. Squaring my gigantic glasses on my nose bridge, I decided to escape the cafeteria where I hadn't even dared to order anything.

However, my escape plans hit a roadblock—a very solid one. Someone crashed into me, sending me face-planting onto the floor. "Oomph!" I mumbled, mentally listing a whole dictionary of curses. Trust me, it's a long one, but I couldn't risk spilling them out loud; I'm not into public shaming, thanks.

Trying to regain my composure, I pushed my unruly curls out of my face and reached for the extended hand of my "assailant"—an offer of help I couldn't refuse if I wanted to look somewhat dignified again.

"I'm s-sorry," I stuttered, mentally facepalming for apologizing on behalf of the one who'd clearly failed a coordination class.

The guy chuckled, and that's when I fell headfirst into the Bermuda Triangle—those mesmerizing hazel eyes. Move over, National Geographic; I've found a new abyss to explore. But wait, he's talking. Focus, Krystal, focus! Turns out, it's Kai Blake, the walking personification of "Rich Snob" and the crown prince of Pristine High.

"No need to be sorry, darl-" he said, as if he'd discovered a new life form on Earth. "Holy moly, Krystal Grace touched me," he added, dramatically retracting his hand like I had transferred some ancient curse onto him. "You know, I can smell the stench of impoverishment on me," he mockingly sniffed his hand.

Rich Bitch, meet Eye Roll Extraordinaire.

Inside my head, I was conjuring up a dictionary just for him. But, alas, I'm a scholarship kid, and "Talking Back to Snobs" isn't part of the curriculum.

"Stop gawking at me, woman. You'll probably put a spell on me with those googly eyes," Kai exaggerated with a flair for the dramatic, matching his status as a wealthy drama king.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Seriously, do they teach drama as a mandatory class in his tax bracket? "I-I said sorry. Now, if you'll excuse me," I tried to dodge the snobbish stares, but he seemed intent on a showdown.

Like the great barrier reef, he blocked my escape route. "Beg," he demanded, expecting me to kneel like I'm auditioning for some medieval court drama.

"Excuse me?" I replied, mentally preparing myself for the auditions.

"Go down on your knees and beg for mercy, you filthy little poor."

Oh, he did not just say that. My internal dictionary of curses started flipping pages, but I fought back the verbal storm. I hadn't touched him, and he'd offered to help me up—this was "Rich Logic 101."

"No," I said, planting my feet firmly and channeling the spirit of a stubborn mule.

"What did you say?" he moved closer, now inches away from my face.

Oh, the audacity. Time to unleash my inner phoenix. Pushing him back with my palm, I declared, "I will not 'beg,' nor will I apologize for something I didn't do. If you want to call the principal, go ahead and tell him your little version. The day I 'beg' for your mercy is a day that will never exist."

Silence followed my retreat from the battlefield, and I fled the cafeteria gasping for air, wondering if I'd just stepped on a landmine or triggered a volcano eruption.

Oh boy, I knew Kai Anderson Blake would come after me, and his wrath would unleash a chaotic storm that could make the Bermuda Triangle seem like a kiddie pool. What had I done? And more importantly, what have I gotten myself into?