Nina Sam has lived a confined life, locked away with her sisters since she was five-shunned by her father, a ruthless male chauvinist who couldn't stand having a daughter under his roof.
Now, she's stepping into a new chapter at a prestigious girls'...
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Jungkook's Pov
"HEe started it," Nina muttered like the brat she is.
"Is there something you'd like to say, Mr. Jeon?" Principal Lee asked, hand shoved halfway down his slacks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Yeah," I shrugged lazily. "I'd very much like to inform you that she is one horrible, ugly, pathetic—"
"Jungkook," Principal Kim warned, massaging her temples like I was the migraine.
Excuse me? She throws the first slap and now suddenly we're pretending words hurt more?
"You're ugly. You're pathetic. You're a muppet, Jeon Jungkook," Nina scoffed, full volume, dead in my face. Her nose still bled faintly. Her mouth was swollen. Her neck bore faint bruises from earlier—my doing, maybe. Her hair looked like she lost a fight with a blender.
And yet she gets a pass. I glance at both Principals, deadpan. They shoot me disapproving looks like I'm the circus and Nina's the fucking trapeze artist victim. Unreal.
I keep my mouth shut, barely. Mostly because I know I went too far. Also because her saying my kiss was disgusting is still lodged like a splinter in my skull.
"That's strike one," Principal Lee snaps. "If this happens again—"
"Yeah, I know," I say without blinking. I know exactly what comes after strike one.
Once we're dismissed, Nina storms off to our tent like she's some princess in a horror movie. I hang back, my mind already blueprinting the next step. Heard she hates bees. And lizards. Should I drop a lizard in her sleeping bag? How would I even find a bee hive up here? I was scheming in silence when someone walked up.
Guy from Dreamberry. Wavy-haired d!ckhead. Pretty boy type. Strolling like he owns the ground.
He stops right outside my tent and calls her name. Bold move. A few seconds later, he walks in. Inside my tent.
My eyes narrow.
I get up. Not storming, not shouting. Just quiet. Calculated. The calm before I rearrange someone's face.
I slip inside, my own tent, moving soundlessly. He's already talking. "My teachers got blackcurrant shakes. Want to come?"
Nina pauses mid-comb. Her face lights up. That specific kind of joy reserved for ice cream, praise, or a new crush.
"Wait—seriously? Oh my god, let's go."
She's already halfway to the exit, her hand in his like they're characters in a rom-com. They stop cold the second they see me.
I'm blocking the way out.
Kyle—or whatever the fuxk his name is—tries to smile. "Uh, hey—"
"Don't talk to him, Kyle," she cuts in, yanking his hand tighter like I'm contagious.
