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"See? See? That's why all of the hot nerds on campus want you!"
Mary was finally starting to understand what Camille needed from her.
"This guy everyone's freaking out about...he's a nerd like me?"
Her friend grinned. "He looked totally bored when Krizia tried hitting on him earlier. So yeah, I definitely think he's like you."
Mary sighed. "Fine." A deal was a deal, and so she started jumping and jumping so she could try stealing a look at this "nerd" that had Camille and all the other girls so excited.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
But Mary was simply too lacking in height to catch even the smallest of glimpses.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
After a few more attempts, Mary saw someone tall with dark hair and remarkably broad shoulders. Pin-striped suit if she wasn't mistaken. But...he looked too wealthy and too sophisticated to be either a student or a professor.
Jump, jump—-aaah!
Mary's last jump had the worst possible timing, with the girl in front of her suddenly moving away, and it was Murphy's Law in action after that, with Mary somehow ending on top of a pile of students and with a twisted ankle to boot.
Mary could only cry out as those under her shoved her off as they got back to their feet.
"Let me pass..."
The voice was strangely familiar, and her lips parted in shock when she saw who it was staring down at her.
"Serial kisser!"
****
Although a week hadalready passed, it only seemed like yesterday when Rathe had to play nursemaid to Saffi'senceintefish. And now here he was again, paying the continued consequences of his endlessly losing streak in poker, but this time as a glorified supervisor while his team went to work at carefully packing Saffi's treasure hoard of fangirl stuff.
This job of his could've been more bearable if he had been tasked to oversee the careful packing of priceless art or something equally valuable. But instead, he had been instructed to make sure that Saffi's beloved posters were not to suffer from a single crease.
Why the fuck did these posters still matter when Saffi had already married the rockstar she had been crushing on?
The thought had a faint grimace twist over his lips, but his expression soon turned icy when he overheard female students talking about him.
That's the serial killer.
I heard Mary call him that, for real!
Oh my gosh, is he really a serial killer?
The duke had been mistaken for a lot of things in the past. A Hollywood celebrity for one. A super-fucking-model and even as a goddamn prince. But this was Rathe's first time to be mistaken as the next Ted Bundy.
While a part of him was sorely tempted to strangle Mary for starting such rumors about him, albeit unintentionally, the moment he knocked on her room, and he heard her hesitantly call him in—-
Fuck.
One look at her, and Rathe just wanted her all over again.
It didn't matter if she was eighteen to his thirty-four.
Didn't fucking matter if the two of them being together would mean history repeating itself in the worst possible way.
He looked at her, and he wanted her.
