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

5: Why me, Always?

Sia

The dinner felt like a war zone, and I was the unwilling soldier dropped right into enemy territory. Sitting beside him was like having a ticking time bomb strapped to my nerves.

Every time he moved, breathed, or even adjusted his sleeve, my body tensed like I was preparing for an earthquake. Forget chewing, I could barely breathe.

In the middle of all the polite laughter and clinking cutlery, I discovered something. The jerk’s name wasn’t actually X. It's Xander. Xander Black.

Apparently, no one calls him that except for his father, Mr. Black, whose voice carried a rare authority softened by a warm tone.

Ironically, Mr. and Mrs. Black didn’t act like the kind of rich people I had expected. They were friendly, even humble. If it weren’t for their palatial house, you’d think they were just another well-to-do family trying to make everyone feel at home.
Their son, on the other hand, behaved like he inhaled luxury and exhaled superiority.

After dinner, we all moved back to the living room, this enormous open space with plush beige sofas, high ceilings, and framed art I was too uncultured to understand. The elders dove into nostalgic conversations, sipping wine and laughing like old college friends.

Kevin, predictably, had attached himself to Xander like a fanboy.
“My so-called brother,” I thought, glaring at Kevin’s animated expressions as he chatted with the devil himself.

I sat on the edge of the couch, fiddling with the hem of my sweater, eyes drifting from the chandelier above to the marbled floor. How do I always manage to be the most awkward person in every room?
About twenty minutes later, Kevin came over, grinning.

“X offered to play Xbox” he said. “Wanna join?”

I blinked. What?

Are they… fourteen?

But I sighed and followed anyway.
We walked down a hallway that led to a sleek black door. Kevin opened it, and my jaw dropped.

It wasn’t a room. It was a home theatre. The floor was carpeted in a dark velvet finish, and the walls were lined with high-end speakers. One half was filled with leather recliners arranged like a private cinema; the other was a casual gaming area with a massive flat screen, LED lighting, and enough consoles to put a tech store to shame.

He really is freaking rich, I muttered in my head.

Kevin and Xander launched into their game like five-year-olds on a sugar rush. I watched, mostly amused by Kevin’s dramatic reactions every time he lost a round.
I quietly pulled out my phone and recorded a video of him whining. I’d use it later as blackmail so he can do all sort of silly stuff I say.

Eventually, the game ended. Kevin wandered off to mess around with a soccer ball on the side. That’s when I felt it- his eyes on me.

X or shall I say Xander, was staring.
And then… he walked over.
“Hi,” he said.
I blinked, unsure if he was really talking to me.
I pointed to myself, awkwardly. “M-me?”
“Who else?” he said, a small amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What… what do you want from me?” I asked, rubbing my clammy hands on my jeans. Now they had sweat and dust on them. Great.
He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at me.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of colorful notes. My brow furrowed, until realization hit me like a truck. It was the money. My money. The hundred-dollar bill I had given him at the mall.

“Here,” he said quietly, and reached for my hand.

I instantly clenched my fist, refusing to accept it. He chuckled under his breath.
With a calm patience that irritated me more than yelling ever could, he gently pried my fingers open, his touch firm and deliberate. I tried to resist, but he was stronger, and soon the notes were in my palm.
“Lo necesitas más, pajarito,” he whispered.