Chapter 1
My boyfriend was a famous cold–hearted genius with a sharp tongue.
After I failed a class, he messaged his equally brainy ex to complain.
“You’re smart. not like Ashley Jones. She’s as dumb as a rock.”
Later. I confronted him with the screenshots.
“What did these four years mean, then? What about the hundred love letters I wrote? Or the times I brought you food in the pouring rain?”
He sneered. “Ashley, it means you’re pathetic.”
After Calvin Scott coldly spat out those words, the room fell silent.
I stood frozen, holding up my phone mid–air, staring at him in
disbelief.
Maybe my expression gave me away, because he paused, realizing he’d gone too far. With a hint of impatience, he finally added, “I was just being honest.
“That test was easy.
“If it upset you, fine–I’ll apologize.”
He shrugged casually.
“Sorry, Ashley. Happy now?”
He stared at me, almost like he was waiting for my rebuttal just, so he
could shut it down and “win” again, like always.
It always ended the same way–me backing down and apologizing.
I had a thousand things I wanted to say, but not a single word came
out.
He seemed to understand.
With a slight push of his glasses, he was already focused on a new set of data.
Everyone called him a rare genius–the kind who’s “just bad with. people.”
Geniuses, they said, were blunt, and harsh, and saw the rest of us as trash.
Calvin was exactly that.
When I failed the exam, he didn’t comfort me–he just scoffed and called me a dumb pig.
When I fell to the ground and covered my bleeding wound, he could walk by calmly and say, “You’re so useless.”
Then shut down the words I was about to say, “Calvin, can you help me up? I don’t think I can stand” with one line, “You better keep up. I’m not waiting for you.”
He knew what I was going to say. Of course, he did. But he had no intention of helping.
Because he couldn’t miss the latest episode of that competition show.
Helping me would’ve made him late.
By the time I limped back from the clinic with my leg wrapped in at bandage, the lights in our shared house were already off.
The door was locked.
In disbelief. I knocked on the door.
“Calvin, open the door.”
He was always an early sleeper and hated being disturbed.
But my knee was killing me, and I weakly called out, “Calvin, my leg really hurts. Can you please let me in?”
No answer. He left me out there all night.
The next morning.
The door opened, and he stood there, looking down at me curled up on the floor, pale and exhausted, with no expression, no reaction.
Then he informed me. “You were too loud last night. You woke me up.”
So he had heard me.
He just thought nothing should come before his sleep.
You’d have to be crazy to fall for someone so sharp–tongued and aloof.
But people don’t act like doormats without a reason.
After my mom left because my dad beat her, I became the most isolated and unwanted person at school.
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Chapa T
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They even put me at a desk next to the trash can, so when they threw their garbage it would end up hitting me.
The other girls would look at me like I was some kind of joke, whispering behind my back and giggling. “She’s so dirty.”
