June stomped over with an air of entitlement, her expression full of disdain.

  “Move. You’re in our spot.”

  Clarissa didn’t even glance up from her book. “This is a public space. How exactly am I ‘taking’ your spot?”

  June scoffed. “Lyra and I always sit here. We even asked the administrator to reserve it for us!”

  “Forget it, June,” Lyra said softly, tugging at her friend’s sleeve. “If Clarissa wants to sit here, let her. We can find another spot.”

  She even put on a gentle, self-sacrificing expression—like a saint graciously stepping aside.

  Clarissa almost laughed.

  But June wasn’t having it. She shook Lyra off. “Lyra, you don’t have to be afraid of her anymore. Mr. Dorian cares about you now.”

  The confidence in her voice was disgusting. Dorian had gotten her out of trouble once, and now she thought she could walk all over her?

  Clarissa sighed and finally looked up, her gaze cold. “And what exactly are you going to do if I don’t move?”

  June’s hands went to her hips. “Be smart and get lost before I make you.”

  Clarissa closed her book and set it down, her expression utterly indifferent.

  Years in the corporate world had hardened her. She had stood toe-to-toe with men twice her age, fought battles in boardrooms, negotiated million-dollar deals.

  How could she possibly feel threatened by two privileged, spoiled students? Even while sitting, her presence overpowered them.

  "June, Lyra," Clarissa said coolly. "If I don’t go looking for you, then do me a favor—don’t come running to me. I really don’t care to see your faces. It’s disgusting."

  Lyra’s face paled. She bit her lip, playing the wounded little lamb. June, however, lost it.

  "You bitch! You’re the one following us around! Don't you always act so high and mighty, too good for crowded places? What, now you’re trying to copy Lyra?"

  Clarissa raised an eyebrow, amused.

  June’s voice rose with every word, her anger spiraling out of control. “You deserve to be abandoned by Dorian!”

  The venom in her words dripped like poison. Lyra grabbed June’s arm. "June, enough. Just let it go. Let's leave... I don't feel like reading anymore. Let's go eat somewhere else."

  Her voice was soft, almost pitiful, as if she had been deeply hurt by Clarissa’s words.

  Clarissa leaned back in her chair, watching them with the boredom of someone witnessing a particularly bad soap opera.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  She didn’t even need to respond.

  The moment Lyra pulled the 'innocent victim' card, she had already won.

  June snorted. “Fine! For Lyra’s sake, I won’t argue with you today.”

  Clarissa: “...”

  She realized something—the author must have intended for June to be the fierce, loyal type, someone who stands up for her friends.

  But if they weren’t careful, she’d come across as completely brainless.

  June huffed and spun around, dragging Lyra with her—

  And then, in the very next second—

  Crash!

  The sharp sound of shattering cups filled the air, followed by a bloodcurdling scream that could have come from a slaughterhouse.

  Clarissa blinked, looking up from her book.

  Standing there with a tray in hand was a stunningly handsome boy, completely expressionless as he stared down at June.

  The hot soup and milk tea from his tray were now drenched all over her.

  He barely moved, his voice flat as he said, “Sorry. Didn’t expect you to suddenly run into me.”

  June’s shoulder and half her face were burned, and her screams echoed through the entire library. Heads turned, whispers spread.

  Lyra panicked, clutching June’s arm. “Somebody help! Call an ambulance!”

  June, clutching her burning face, shrieked at the boy, “Are you blind?! Get me some water! Now!”

  The boy—unfazed—turned, picked up a glass from a nearby table, and handed it to Lyra.

  Without thinking, Lyra poured it over June.

  Ssssssssssss!

  June’s ear-piercing shriek reached a whole new level.

  “AHHHHHH! IT’S HOT! IT’S FREAKING HOT WATER!”

  A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Pouring hot water over a fresh burn was like rubbing salt directly into an open wound.

  Even Lyra’s face darkened. She whipped around and snapped at the boy, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

  The boy tilted his head slightly, his face blank. “Didn’t you ask for water? I thought any water would do.”

  Lyra’s fury faltered for a moment. Now that she got a closer look, the boy seemed shockingly young—maybe ten, at most.

  Her brows furrowed. Why the hell is a kid working as a waiter?

  Sure, the school encouraged students to volunteer, but this was ridiculous. There was no point in yelling at him—what did a child like him know?

  Just as she was about to speak again, Clarissa’s cool voice cut through the tension. “Lyra, instead of looking for someone to blame, maybe you should focus on calling an ambulance first.”

  Lyra flinched. Her fingers hesitated over her phone. But before she could dial, Clarissa spoke again.

  “Already called. Take her to the bathroom and rinse with cold water. The ambulance will be here soon.”

  Lyra bit her lip. June was in agony, and she had no time to argue. With one last glare, she helped June stumble away through the crowd.

  As the commotion died down, Clarissa turned her gaze toward the boy. He glanced down at his now-empty tray, then at the table number, and said, with the same calm, unreadable expression—

  “I’ll bring you another one.”

  Before Clarissa could respond, he had already walked off. A few minutes later, a man in work attire hurried over, looking frazzled. “I’m so sorry, I had something urgent to take care of, so I asked Atticus to help out. He’s usually very responsible—I hope no one was seriously hurt! We’ll cover all medical expenses, I promise—”

  Mid-apology, he froze when he recognized Clarissa. His face paled instantly.

  Clarissa raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Relax. I’m not the one who got burned.”

  The man blinked, clearly dumbfounded. She gestured at Atticus, who was standing there, still silent. “Go handle your work. Leave him here—I’ll take care of it.”

  The man looked at Clarissa with some hesitation.

  She caught his doubtful gaze and flashed him a slow, almost lazy smile. "What? You don’t trust me?"

  Everyone at the school knew the reputation of the Lancaster family’s eldest daughter. He was just a part-time worker—he didn’t dare to offend her. If she said she’d handle it, then he wouldn’t waste time worrying about it. He shot a sympathetic look at Atticus, dropped off the tray, and quickly made himself scarce.

  Clarissa, now thoroughly starving, grabbed her sandwich and took a bite. When she noticed Atticus still standing there, she raised a brow. "Why are you still standing? Sit."