Writer’s Note: I rewrote this chapter. Again. The original was shockingly bad. So I edited some parts to make it more enjoyable for you to read :). Remember, if you’re an old fan re-reading this, the storyline of this chapter is just the same, but written differently to make it look a little more professional. (If I miss anything here and there are still errors, let me know. A pair of fresh eyes would help a lot aha)



 Chapter 1

'Love can easily be mistaken for hate.' 

For Leah Valley, ‘Hate’ is the only thing she feels every day for one particular person. It's more of a friendly kind of hate than a hatred kind of hate. That irritation feeling she gets every time she hears his voice. She literally gets shivers out of disgust. To her, it was revolting. Every sound, every move and anything related to him irritates her, simply because of the reminder of how he treats her every time he sees her. She couldn’t help but question the purpose of his existence might be to ruin her chances of having a normal life. She hates the sinking feeling that comes whenever he's around. All those feelings are what Leah would describe 'Stupid, bad and unnecessary'.

Hence she could never find herself to tolerate him.

Little did she know...

Leah's POV

I went to the kitchen, all dressed up in my lame black uniform. The average basic black blazer, white sleeved top underneath, over-the-knees pleated black skirt with a loose red tie around my neck and black stockings I borrowed from my mum. School uniform sucks.

I hurriedly walked down the stairs, skipping the steps and jumping over the last four steps to the kitchen to eat my breakfast. Damn, I'm five minutes late, I thought, cursing silently. I looked in the mirror on the wall between the kitchen door and the lounge door and tied up my chocolate brown hair up in a bun messily.

I didn't have time to adjust my hairdo as I need to eat fast to survive the day. I grabbed my newly-gifted scarf my mum gave me a few days ago. A little flashy and oversized but it definitely would help warm me up as the weather today is close to 3 degrees Celsius as it had been all week.  The colour of the scarf was just like autumn with yellow-brownish, green, red and brown stripes. It felt so nice around my bare neck.

Winter is coming. I sighed blissfully.

My tired light brown eyes were baggy from pulling an all-nighter last night and I have to admit, I look like a freaking ghost. Unlike my beautiful mum's light brown eyes. Her short, wavy and light brown hair seem to flow softly with every move she makes. I’m as tall as her, about 5 foot 3 inches tall, maybe. My mother was slim and petite, wearing a figure-hugging dark purple dress. She wears formal beautiful dresses like this because she's a fashion designer at some top company in the city far from here and she has to maintain her image as a fashion designer assistant. She's a busy mum and I couldn't be more proud to see her come this far after all these years. Rosalinda, my grandma named her that when she was born. She always tells me that rose petals rained on her on the day my granddad celebrated their ten years together (they were high school sweethearts) and my mum first kicked in response to the name. How cute.

I yawned sleepily as I stretched her arms up, walking in the dining room. I smiled sweetly to cover my ghastly face as I made my way to the chair. Apparently, people always say I look like my dad when I smile. I’m always like, Seriously? That's offensive. To compare my young face to his old face. I heard my dad was just as charming as the young man he was before. Women would fall to their knees at the sight of him. They still do that now. I think.

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