Chapter 3

Dear Mom,

I miss you. I hope you're watching down on me from heaven. Wish me luck today. It's my first day of class at ULA. It's nice being back in LA after so many years. I'll let you know how it goes.

Love, Millie

THE ESPRESSO MACHINE isn't working.

A tiny sliver of panic crawls under my skin. I need coffee to function, especially today of all days. I press my finger on the blinking blue button again and wait, my foot tapping an impatient rhythm in the kitchenette.

I shove several gummy bears—my snack of choice—in my mouth. Come on, please.

Nothing. Dammit.

"You have to jab it harder. Think of it as the eye of an ex and you want to poke it out when he smirked at you after hurling insults about your weight," a sardonic voice drawls from behind me.

I stifle a grin before thinking of the annoying smarmy smile of Lloyd, my one and only ex-boyfriend. "Ask your brother for me. I just need a small business loan. You'd do it for me, right? You want me to succeed, don't you, hot stuff?" Even though this was two years ago, the sharp flame inside my chest still burns hot whenever I think of the opportunistic bastard.

Gritting my teeth, I stab the blinking blue button, pretending it's any part of Lloyd's body.

Whirrr…

The machine resurrects from its comatose state and the life-giving smell of coffee soon fills the room.

"Yes!" I whisper before turning around, finding my new roommate for the year, Jocelyn Song, standing there with a smug grin on her face, her arms crossed over her chest.

She lifts a brow as if to say, see, what did I tell you?

"Thanks, Jocelyn, I mean, Joss."

Jocelyn and I only met last week after I moved in. She had posted an apartment-mate listing on the University of Los Angeles's student portal and I applied. Adrian, my older brother, complained the entire time because I refused to move into his beautiful penthouse apartment in downtown LA. Let's just say I really didn't want him hovering over me like a hawk.

She shrugs and rubs her eyes as she retrieves my thermos from one of the basic white cabinets and hands it to me. I pour the piping hot coffee from the espresso container before starting the frother for the milk.

I shake out my tight shoulders. Bouncing on my feet, I gnaw on my lip.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

"Damn, you look like you're trying to psych yourself up before going off to war. It's only the first day of class. Nothing's going to happen other than introductions and reading the syllabus. Not to mention the weather doesn't look so great, so everyone will probably be late. We Angelenos can't drive in the rain. Plus, you're only here one year, so you're just like an exchange student. You can treat this as a vacation."

Laughing softly at her quizzical quirk of her brows, I reply, "I'm the kid who usually can't sleep before the first day of school. I don't think I slept at all last night."

"You don't have class until three, right? Why are you up now? It's only noon. I, on the other hand, have to leave for my first lecture now, so I don't have much of a choice."

She yawns and rubs her eyes again, her shoulders slumped, before she lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. I don't know her well enough yet, but she looks sad and exhausted—dark eye circles marring her otherwise pale, unblemished face, her long black hair in a shaggy bun. Her orange ULA T-shirt is wrinkled and her jeans have a weird, dark stain on it. She looks like she needs the coffee more than I do.

Tentatively, I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder.

"Um…I know we don't know each other well yet, but are you okay? If you need to talk to anyone, I'm here and I'm a vault. Just FYI."

Jocelyn bites her lip, her brown eyes taking on a concerning wet sheen, and she shakes her head.

"Thanks. Life is tough right now, but I'll let you know if I need anything."

She clears her throat and forces out a smile. "So, we're in the same class together, right? Three p.m. Business Ethics with Professor Kristoff?"

"Yep. But I got an email saying Professor Kristoff has an emergency and needs to be away for a bit. They have someone else guest lecturing instead."

Her eyes take on a sharp glint and she leans in, as if to divulge to me the secrets of the illuminati. "You're new here, so you don't know, but everyone is excited about Professor Anderson. He guest lectured every so often at ULA in the past, but never for such a long stint. The classroom is going to be jammed packed, mark my words, even with the rain."

"Why? Is he a celebrity or something?"

She tsks and shakes her head. "I'm glad we're having this conversation before you walk in unaware. Professor Ryland Anderson is from the New York Anderson family…you know, the Anderson family." She pauses for dramatic effect.

I frown. The name rings a bell. "I've seen his name on the news before. Doesn't that family own half of New York? I don't really follow the gossip rags."

"They do. They are the definition of old money, right next to the Kennedys, Vanderbilts, and the Rockefellers, and equally, if not more, mysterious. They own Fleur Entertainment Holdings."

Seeing my nonreaction, she adds, "Tell me you're a nerd without telling me you're a nerd. Fleur owns all the big night clubs and many top luxury hotels in the world, not to mention The Orchid in NYC."

This sounds very familiar. Adrian may know more, now that he has worked his way up from our humble beginnings to being a self-made billionaire. He recently came back to LA from New York after we moved there when I was seven and he was nineteen.

And everyone knows about The Orchid, the exclusive establishment for the rich and famous renowned for its secrecy. Rumors abound as to what's inside the large fifty-plus story building in Manhattan, where it's said anyone can get anything their heart desires within those walls.

Apparently seeing the light dawn in my eyes, Jocelyn waggles her brows, her earlier sullen mood disappearing.

"Yep, I see you know who I'm talking about. He's the face of the family, the one most often featured in the press other than his playboy younger brother, Rex. And more importantly, he's hot, like movie-star hot."

Her eyes take on a dreamy, faraway look as she lets out a wistful sigh. "I've seen him from afar before and I'll never forget those cheekbones, that jawline, and those broody eyes. A man has no business looking that good. He's not even human. He's a god. So what if he's a cold asshole."

I blink, trying to hold back a snort at the lovestruck expression on her face. "I'm sure he's just a man, not some kind of higher power."

Jocelyn shakes her head and gapes at me, her mouth dropping open.

"Have you been listening to anything I just said? He's definitely not just a man. But seriously," she leans closer, "word of advice from his past students… He's a stickler for the rules, as serious as Sunday school. He's strictly a ‘look, don't touch' type of guy. He's completely off-limits. So, keep your hands to yourself. Rumor has it some girl cheated on an exam and then tried to ‘make it up to him' by taking off her shirt during office hours and he not only lit into her, made her cry, but also got her expelled. He hates cheaters."

Chuckling, I shake my head. "You guys don't have to worry about me. Men are the last thing on my mind right now," Especially after my douchebag ex, Lloyd. "I just want to ace this class since it's one of the funnel classes to the Education Honors Program at NYUC."

"NYUC?"

I nod. "New York City University Carlisle. Most everyone outside New York calls it NYU, which gets confusing because of the other NYU in the city."

"Huh. I didn't know there were two NYUs."

"See?" I smirk.

"So, what's with this special education program thing you're talking about?"

"Their honors program is the best program for education majors in the country because it merges business and education curricula together and focuses on real world, practical applications of the education degree."

I bounce on my feet again. "It's a big deal for my major. If I do well in this class, I have a very good shot of getting into that program when I go back home next year."

If the professor can write me a letter of recommendation, that'll go a long way too.

And I'll be one step closer to accomplishing my dreams to first be a teacher then work my way into education policymaking, so I can make a difference in the lives of the many disadvantaged youth in the country or perhaps even in the world.

The sky is the limit, really.

I, of all people, know how critically important a good teacher is to students in poor neighborhoods and unstable family backgrounds. After what I went through when I was younger, when Mr. Roberts showed me the importance of counseling and family support services, which are sadly lacking in disadvantaged neighborhoods, I realized the only way for me to make a difference is through policymaking.

So, the last thing on my mind is men. Distractions from my goal.

No, thank you.

But tiny wings flap inside my heart when I think of my parents' romance, one that withstood time and surpassed Mom's death. Maybe with the right person at the right time…

Glancing up, I see Jocelyn already moving about, pouring herself a coffee, and getting ready to head out the door.

I holler just as my phone rings in the background, "Thanks for the heads up, Joss. I'll see you in class later today!"

She flashes me a peace sign before slamming the door with a bang, the walls shaking from the force.

I scramble to my bedroom, push aside my current knitting project, something I enjoy doing in my free time, to pick up my phone on the desk before it stops ringing.

"Hey, Adrian." I huff out a big breath, a little winded from leaping over piles of books by the entryway of the kitchen and scrambling over the laundry basket in the tiny hallway of our two-bedroom apartment.

The space is small and bare bones, but I love it—even though I'm sure my brother would much prefer I live in somewhere fancy with around the clock security.

Adrian's face appears on the screen. His normally stony face, one completely befitting his moniker by the press, "The Shark," relaxes a smidgen, and I swear I can see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

"Why are you out of breath?"

"Well, hello to you too, brother. You look great today. Why thank you, dear sister. Did you have lunch yet? No, I haven't. Ah, I see. Excited for your first day of school? Defi—"

"Very funny."

I grin, watching his lips twitch as he sits back in his chair, the workaholic in his office, his fingers playing with a…seashell?

"Why are you holding a seashell?"

A mask falls over his face and he puts the shell away on his desk out of sight as he straightens up and adjusts his tie. "You haven't answered my question yet."

I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. "I ran in here from the kitchen. Don't worry, Adrian, I don't have a secret boyfriend and I'm not having fantastic, out of breath, mind-blowing sex."

Adrian turns green and holds up his hand. "I don't need that visual…ever. And any men you ever date, you need to make sure it's for the right reasons," he begins, and my earlier good mood vaporizes instantly.

"I don't go around advertising Adrian Scott is my brother. Not anymore." Not since my god-awful ex. "Plus, our last names are different. It's not like anyone will automatically make the connection Millie Callahan is the much younger sister of reclusive billionaire, Adrian Scott."

I shrug and stare at my fingers. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm nineteen and have been taking care of myself for a very, very long time," I whisper before my eyes flicker back to the screen, a nagging ache settling on my chest at the mention of our past.

Adrian has been obsessed with rising from our barely solvent childhood to crafting an empire so no one will dare to look down upon us anymore. As part of his revenge plan against everyone who stomped on us at our lowest, he even changed his last name.

He winces and releases a ragged inhale, clearly fighting to tamp down his emotions.

His voice is rusty and thick when he says, "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you before, Millie. I know you had to grow up far quicker than any girl should. With Mom gone and Dad a mess, you took care of him when I was away and even though you wouldn't tell me, I'm sure things weren't easy for you."

A lump forms in my throat as the backs of my eyes burn. I've waited years for him to say this.

All the days of me pretending everything was fine when I was drowning inside. All the tears I had shed in the dark under my thick comforter on my bed to ensure no one could hear me because life was difficult enough without me adding to his burdens.

His eyes darken into a stormy blue, and he continues, "But I-I'm proud of you, Millie, of the young woman you've become today. I know I didn't have a hand in it. I should've been there for you more, I—"

"Took care of us and put food on our table when Dad couldn't work. You picked me up from school and checked my homework when Dad was in his cups. You tried your best, Adrian. I don't blame you."

I can't blame him.

I cover my hand over my mouth so he doesn't see the slight trembling of my lips and suddenly, my eyes feel very heavy as if the lack of sleep from last night is finally catching up to me.

I'm so tired. In more ways than one.

Flashing a forced smile, I whisper, "I love you, Adrian. I only wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself and so angry at the world. You deserve happiness, just like all of us."

He clenches his jaw, his eyes flashing. "I'll be happy when the bastards pay for what they did to Mom and our family."

"We didn't have everything, but I was happy. I don't need all the materialistic things. I just want my family to be happy…the family I have left."

It's something Adrian has never understood and something that pains me every time I talk to him and watch him work himself to the bone trying to add more zeroes to our bank account. Then there's the hatred in his eyes when he talks about taking revenge on our rich grandparents, who abandoned Mom when she married Dad because he was poor, and how they didn't even care we were on food stamps at one point or their daughter didn't have money for cancer treatments. They didn't even come to her funeral when she passed away when I was seven.

From outward appearances, it seems like he has the world in his hands now—the fancy suits and nice cars. But he's miserable inside. Mom wouldn't have wanted that for him.

Adrian slowly unclenches his fists. "Let's not talk about it. I called because I wanted to wish you a good first day at ULA. I'm glad you're spending a year here so I can see you more often than if we're on opposite coasts. But I guess I fucked up the well wishes call too."

Tamping down the heaviness in my chest, I smile brightly, something that comes second nature to me, even though I don't feel an ounce of positivity inside.

He needs me to be happy. It'll make him feel better. "I know you care, Adrian. And thank you for calling. I'm very excited."

He forces out a smile and before long, we disconnect the call.

I rub the familiar ache in my chest. Sitting back in my chair, I look at my minimally furnished room, taking in the heavy tan drapes drawn over half of the windows, blocking some of the gloomy daylight streaming in from the outside, the simple full-size bed with a fluffy white comforter, which suddenly looks very inviting, even though I tossed and turned in it the entire night, the potted purple pasque flowers, an understated yet beautiful member of the buttercup family, on the nightstand.

Exhaustion weighs on my eyelids. I yawn and look at the time again. Twelve-thirty. I still have a couple hours before I need to get on campus. A nap won't hurt.

A nap always makes me feel better afterward. Then I'm going to go to class.

Starting today, things will be better, and maybe I won't have to hide anymore.