Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and entitled boys.
Yet, privilege holds no...
Sam and Chiara burst out of the club and into the street.
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Sam was befuddled by his own feelings. He'd never wanted a lover for more than a few hours, typically because he got what he wanted by then. Probably, the only difference was that Chiara had turned him down, so he didn't read into it.
Chiara was giddy. Sam's stratagem had left her empowered. He'd turned her from a victim into a perpetrator of sorts, and as much as Margherita and Re had punished Sergio's body, Chiara and Sam had chastised his rotten soul. She was ready not to think about him anymore, not ever.
"Thank you!" She beamed at Sam. "That felt great."
Sam smiled but, to her surprise, didn't boast or tease. He looked away. "Might as well finish this date: dinner?"
Chiara studied his face. "It's just a fake date, no need to."
He shrugged. "I'm hungry. What are you in the mood for?"
Chiara's grin was devilish. "I know the perfect place, but Bellocchio—"
"Can you please call me Sam, already?"
"But Bellocchio, I have a last favor to ask...Hold on, calling a ride."
"Let me. Where to?" She punched the address of her favorite place in the Isola neighborhood on his phone, and they strolled to the pick-up spot. The early spring night was slightly chill. People hurried, as typical in Milan, no matter the time.
Sam's gray eyes peeked at her sideways. "So that favor..."
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He had no idea what to expect and was terrified and hopeful at the same time that Chiara might disappoint him. The pedestal he'd put her on had grown taller through the night. Although he didn't have the self-awareness to realize it, Sam had loved being a better person, using his charm to help someone, rather than being a slave of his own pointless routine.
