The Playboy's Wicked Revenge (Major editing In Progress)

4: What does he want

Sia

It’s been a week since that bizarre mall encounter with him- with X and I’m still stuck in this loop, wondering what exactly he meant when he whispered, “This is going to be fun.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was it a threat? A joke? A game?

I’ve replayed that moment in my head a hundred times, hoping to decode his tone, his smirk, those infuriatingly unreadable eyes.

And I still don’t even know if “X” is his real name or just some rich-boy code for “Exasperating.” I asked Kevin, but of course, he burst into laughter and started teasing me like the immature brat he is.

“Crush much?” he had said, raising his eyebrows in mock curiosity.

Seriously? Me? A crush on him?

Kevin might be younger than me by a year, but he has the charm of a flirt and the soul of a ten-year-old prankster. No one would believe he’s about to become a commercial pilot in just a few months.

The so called 'X' is handsome- sure, but he’s also loud, nosey, and constantly amused by my misery.

And for the record, I don’t believe in love. Not the kind that people hype about in books and movies, anyway.

But if love did find me, I hope it feels like warm air on a freezing winter day. Not just comforting, but calming the storm inside me.

The kind of love that quiets my anxiety, even when the rest of the world feels loud and overwhelming. The kind that doesn’t expect perfection, that knows about my overthinking, my insecurities, and my awkward silences.

The love which doesn't flinch or pull away when my hands get sweaty over the smallest things and how I stop mid sentence and the kind that feels safe and homely.

So, Crushing on that guy? Absolutely not.
Kevin and his baseless assumptions!!

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The past week was a blur of job applications, overthinking, and lectures from my family. I know they’re just worried, especially my mom, but the pressure is suffocating sometimes.

She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember. Even after my biological father ditched her before I was born, she never once let me feel unwanted.

She raised me alone, juggling a struggling flower shop that barely makes profit and never letting it impact my studies.

She works from sunrise to long past sunset, seven days a week. Watching her fight life head-on and then looking at myself- jobless, hopeless, stuck, I can’t help but feel like a disappointment.

And today of all days, we’re invited to Xander’s place for dinner. His parents are visiting, and they want to meet my aunt and her family. Because we live right next to my uncle’s house, we’re like one big extended family. Which means I don’t have a choice but to go.

I tried everything. Faked a sprained ankle, pretended I had the worst cramps imaginable. But no one was buying it.

How do I explain that the very presence of that jerk makes me nervous to the point of sweating? That he looks at me like I’m a riddle he’s trying to solve- and mock?

I didn’t want to give him another reason to look down on me. I knew he already judged me by my clothes, by my awkward silences. So I stood in front of my small wooden wardrobe for what felt like an hour, staring at the limited options.

I finally settled on a pair of ice-blue skinny jeans and a navy-blue sweater, hoping the combination didn’t scream “trying too hard.”

The dinner was at seven, which meant we had to leave by 5:30. At 2 PM, I lay down for a quick nap, hoping to recharge.