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 entitled boys.
Yet, privilege holds no...
Margherita pondered, her hands skimming the water, flowers floating gracefully into each other. "He's a lot scarier."
Lorenzo lay on the chaise. "Anything that's worth something in life is not easy." He rolled on his side and seemingly went to sleep. Once Margherita got to know Re, she would get over their stupid chemistry at the speed of light, no doubt.
Margherita, finally, started swimming.
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That night, at home, Mauro vented to his brother. "It's like she has Stockholm Syndrome, I swear. Why can't she just reject him already?"
Carlo stood, and hobbled to the bed, dragging his right foot. He dropped on the mattress beside Mauro. "Never underestimate karma, little bro, the past will come back and bite the king in the ass, eventually, right?"
"I'd rather Margherita wasn't caught up in the inevitable mess, though."
Mauro understood that his brother needed to believe in karma to maintain his own sanity. Yet, in Mauro's experience, the rich always got away with it, and Re was the richest of all.
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That night, Margherita sat at her desk, math homework unfinished, a text message to Re open on her cheap, knock-off phone. She had written and erased "thank you" ten times.
Finally, she wrote, on an impulse, "Dinner?"
She clicked send before she could change her mind, then screamed. Could you recall text messages? Fuuuuck! What had she done?
She launched on her bed, smothering her face into the pillow.
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