DAISY

It's been weeks since school started. I make sure to keep myself busy with homework and devoted to my mom's ongoing treatment, rather than sinking into the daily threats or verbal abuse that has gradually become common.

I'm used to Kay's habitual rude comments, the scornful looks he shoots when we happen to be in the same room, and his tactics of cornering me whenever he pleases to intimidate me. I've grown accustomed to the smirk he wears when he knows he's got me weak with his charm and the occasions when he shoves me, even when I make no attempt to move.

Three weeks might have passed, but those days were the worst of my life. How could I imagine enduring a thousand more here? I don't understand how Riley is oblivious—her boyfriend practically decides my life: when to breathe, when to eat, sleep, shower, and study. I do things only when he demands it. Vance follows me everywhere, even when I take a stroll around the neighborhood. It's like I've lost my freedom just as college was supposed to feel liberating.

If I had somewhere to run, if I were as sophisticated as I appear on the outside, if I had the budget to find a new place, I would. Every day, Center Yorker feels more suffocating. I feel like the world is against me. I always wonder what it would be like if my dad weren't locked up in jail, if my mom weren't far across the continent in a hospital battling cancer if we hadn't left our New Jersey home eight years ago, if I had Kay next to me.

I need to find a job. I just need a better chance than the tire shop I applied to a week ago and haven't heard back from or the cashier job at the supermarket that accepted me instantly, then later sent a rejection letter.

I need to find a way to escape Kay's control.

After a class seminar that I didn't benefit from due to my unsteady mind and preoccupied thoughts, I decided to grab lunch before the next class.

As I'm eating my spring roll, a cocky classmate slides next to me.

"Hey?" He flashes the powerful smile that has most girls falling for him.

"I'm not going to have sex with you," I say, anchoring my focus on the food in front of me despite already feeling distasteful.

Yes, I've heard a lot about him. They call him King Caden. Every girl's heart bows to him. I've seen my coursemates sending admiration notes every single class. There are stories going around the department—scratch that, the entire school—for Caden is as popular as Kaiser. They're like two lost twin brothers blessed with everything the world could offer, except one isn't a man-whore but just a sole asshole. People say Caden doesn't let girls stay the night after he's had them and has never dated anyone because he has no intention of doing so.

I wouldn't doubt it because no girl seems content for Caden. He's always seen with different girls every day. Also, scratch that, there's one constant girl—his stepsister, I've heard. People say Caden's father ensures his son keeps his stepdaughter safe. It's like some sort of punishment. They always sit together in class, with his stepsister taking all the notes, and when class is dismissed, they go their separate ways. While Caden drives an expensive sports car, his stepsister rides a bicycle.

Odd, I know.

"Ooh!" He appears wounded. "Actually, I'm trying to fake a conversation to avoid that activity right now." He smirks.

Cocky!

I roll my eyes and whisper, "Whatever," just as a blonde girl approaches our table.

"Hey, Caden? I've been looking for you. You said to call you when I found a suitable restaurant for our date," she says, shifting her gaze between me and the jerk next to me as if I should know better than to be around him.

Sad. Girl, you have no idea.

I act nonchalant, though.

"Maybe next time, Harriet. I'm a little busy here." He glances at me, clearly suggesting she leave.

I can see the heat in her smoky eyes as she looks over at me as if weighing her options.

"It's Heiress," she corrects him, and I can't help but exhale a shocked laugh. What? That did not just happen. "Bitch, don't feel so flattered. He would dump you faster than a used condom." She spits out the words and turns on her heel.

My mouth hangs open as I hear him chuckle.

"I would say sorry if we knew each other, but well, you know?"

Asshole!

She just called me a bitch when I don't even give a damn about her mental man walking with her name forgetfulness.

"You really do that?" I ask, uninterested in pursuing his apology, going straight to the point.

With his legs lazily stretched on the opposite seat, he reluctantly queries, "Do what?" His hands ruffle his lengthy light brown hair, and I can see his muscular, tattooed arms flexing in the process.

God, he's so arrogant. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at him. Somehow boys here had proven to be all douches.

"Dump girls easier than—" I hesitate.

"A used condom?" He concludes with a smirk at my discomfort.

"Yes," I nod slightly.

"You know you can say it."

"Just answer me," I order, almost exasperatedly.

"Aren't you some journalist of your own?" He laughs, revealing a perfect set of bright teeth. But before I can respond, his expression fades to what I can only describe as annoyance. "Well, I should go. I have some business to take care of." His jaw is as sharp as a knife as he stands and walks away.

That was weird.

I watch him disappear through the hall before the realization of my situation hits me again. I dig out my phone from my bag to try my luck with Mr. Hui's phone line, for the hundredth time since I left Hong Kong.