Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and infuriatingly entitled boys.
Yet, privi...
The mansion's staff greeted Re and Margherita with apprehension, immediately taking care of her. She was ushered into a bathroom big enough to contain Margherita's family's apartment, where a hot bubble bath was drawn and she was handed clean sweats. The clothes definitely belonged to a woman, hopefully not an ex-girlfriend.
Getting in the water was a painful affair. All her scrapes burnt and stung to hell and back. Finally sunk in the tub, she appreciated the luxurious warmth. She'd never taken a hot bath before; her apartment only had a shower. Margherita reminisced about the day, and Re's words.
What was his angle? How could she possibly have broken his heart? Why would he like her at all? When she remembered him saying he believed her no matter what, tears pricked her eyes again. He'd trusted her. She'd felt protected, cherished, and had melted in his arms.
On the edge of the tub, her phone buzzed. She reached for it. It was a text from Mauro. "Home safe. Are you okay? I heard about the accident."
She replied, "Yes, all good. What a scare. Re says he didn't plant the red card."
Mauro replied, "Of course he did. Did it occurr to you that he might have organized the accident himself only to play hero?"
Damn.
Re was still the bully who had caused Mauro to almost die, who'd beaten his brother to a pulp, who'd amused himself torturing her for no reason at the beginning of school. She could not forget that, but she could not believe he'd be capable of something so petty and dangerous.
Since their disastrous date, he'd seemed gentler. What had he meant to say right before they'd parted on that day? He'd seemed so whimsical, content even. Then he hadn't discounted the rumors that she was his girlfriend, and she'd taken advantage of it.
Margherita didn't like him—not all of him at least. Not in the way she'd liked Lorenzo, even if she'd idolized him. Sure, Lorenzo could be cold, but he'd been going through a major, dragged-out breakup. Margherita could not condone the king's bullying. And yet, Luca had believed in her, even when pictures had proven her guilt.
Margherita was not capable of the same blind trust. A bully was a bully. She'd seen him with her own eyes.
He said he'd never let her go. What had he meant by that? What did he even know about her?
Her phone buzzed again. Mauro added, "Be careful."
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Once finished with her bath, Margherita donned the clean sweats, combed her wet hair with her fingers, and opened the door.
The maid bowed. "Your room is ready, Miss Pescatore. However, the signorotto would like to see you, first."
Margherita followed the maid to a massive solid-wood door.
The maid knocked. "Signorotto, Miss Pescatore is here."
