181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 26: Teenage Romance

"Hi to my future fiancée," Michael greeted as soon as he arrived at our table, flinging his car keys in the air. He had a printed white top decorated with a signature logo embroidery, marking how expensive his garment was. His footwear, which came from a famous brand of men's shoes that easily became a status symbol, were a limited collection edition that any sneakerhead would steal for. It was as if he was flaunting his attire.

But as I looked around, nobody cared about what he wore, except for a few men who might have recognized his shoes. The families in the fast-food restaurant continued eating, not knowing that within their area is a man wearing a million-worth attire.

"I am not your fiancée," I vehemently disagreed before taking a sip of my juice.

He smirked as he leaned forward, almost inches away from my face. "Your mom asked us, not the other way around—"

But before he could continue, Mickey pushed him, still seated.

"Woah, woah, don't touch my shirt." Michael's irritated face was a pleasure. I began to imagine how he'd look like if I would intentionally throw my juice onto his luxurious, branded top . . . or shoes . . . maybe it would be much pleasurable if I'd stain them both.

"Whoever you are, you don't have the right to talk to her that way," Mickey said, her tone firm and deep.

God, I love her deep voice. And she's defending me against Michael. Sexy, I thought. But I wouldn't be able to behold such a sight if Michael wouldn't be such an asshole. So untimely.

"Who's this shrimp?" he asked me with a brow raised.

"Oh, you don't know your own name?" I retorted, surprising Mickey, who was now trying to hold her own laugh.

Not looking intimidated by my insult, Michael sat on the empty chair, as if he was welcome to dine with us, and put his clasped hands under his chin. If I could compare him to any movie or book character, it would Gaston from Sleeping Beauty . . . with the brains, though. Yes, he might be good-looking and smart, but he lacked humility. He was arrogance covered with skin. "Oh, my dick isn't shrimpy. You'll see it on our wedding night."

My face contorted in disgust. "No one asked, and I am not getting married to you. Please, talking to a seventeen-year-old like that can land you to prison."

"Can't wait until you turn eighteen then—"

"One more word of disrespect," Mickey cut her off, "and I'll call the manager."

Michael laughed hard as he arrogantly leaned against the back of the chair and looked at Mickey from head to toe. His maniacal laughter turned the heads of the other customers. "I don't eat here, shrimp. This is just one of our hundreds of franchises. And you? You are basically giving me your money."

Ah, fuck. How could I forget that the Isles family owned this chain? Steph briefly mentioned that to me years back when we were still getting to know each other, but quickly adding that it was someone else's from the Isles . . . so . . . she hadn't mentioned about their power dynamics in their clan yet. I didn't know it was Michael's. Or to be more correct, his father's.

"Could you just . . . go away?" I fumed. "You are fucking annoying. My groupmate and I are discussing here."

"Groupmate? Ha!" he scoffed. "Maddie, don't try to lie."

I looked at Mickey, confused, wondering how Michael knew I was lying. Still, I continued my little act. "I'm not lying."

"Don't you think I know you're studying in an all-girls school?"