On the way home, Nicolas didn't join us, which I was incredibly grateful for—I had already had more than enough for one day.
As soon as we reached our dorm, I walked straight to my room, giving Rain and Aiden some time to say their goodbyes.
Completely exhausted, both mentally and physically, I collapsed onto my bed without even bothering to change. My mind kept replaying Nicolas's words over and over, filling me with anxiety and stress.
"I won't meet him again. I won't even see him anymore. I won't go to the game. That way, I can ignore him, and he'll stay away from me."
Determined not to let Nicolas affect me anymore, I sat up. Just then, the door opened, and Rain walked in, a wide smile lighting up her face—the undeniable effect of love. I shook my head at the sight.
I was about to head to the bathroom to change when Rain suddenly stopped me.
"Wait."
I turned around, raising an eyebrow in question.
"What's going on between you and Nicolas?"
I froze, completely stunned.
Did she already know? No—oh god. What should I do now?
"I talked to Aiden about getting Nicolas's help for your novel." she continued. "And guess what? Nicolas immediately agreed. Looks like he likes you or something." She teased, her tone playful.
Wait—so she doesn't know? Phew. But—wait again. What? Nicolas agreed? When? How? Why?
I don't agree. I really don't agree.
I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or run to the bathroom and scream.
"He'll be here to pick you up in the morning," Rain added. "So be ready—he's taking you to watch him practice."
I am doomed.
I didn't get a blink of sleep last night. And the reason is painfully clear: Nicolas Damien Sinclair.
"Get up already! You're gonna be late, Amelia."
I sigh, still sitting on the bed with the same anxious expression.
"Amelia!" Rain shouts, making me lazily lift my head. She shakes her head before grabbing my arms and pulling me up. I groan and resist, but—unfortunately—my girl is stronger than me.
"Now, move your ass. He'll be here in an hour." She slaps my butt and pushes me toward the bathroom.
"Why is this happening to me, God?" I whisper dramatically, staring at the bathroom ceiling.
I start my morning routine at a snail's pace, my mind desperately searching for an escape plan.
"Should I tell Rain I'm sick?" Excitement flickers in me at the idea—only to die immediately. "No, that'll just be a temporary fix."
"Wait—what if I tell her I already got the picture of the game and can handle it myself?"
"No… she's done too much for me. She went through all this trouble because she wants me to succeed. I can't just throw that away."
"Ahhh! What do I do now?!" I silently scream, gripping my hair in frustration.
"Come out already. He's here."
Rain's voice snaps me out of my panic. I force a smile, straighten my shoulders, and look at myself in the mirror one last time before pushing open the door.
"You look beautiful. Now, come on. Move it. He's waiting downstairs. I hope you learn and write the best novel out there."
I smile at her and hug her, trying to soak up some energy. I wish I could tell her everything. But I don't have the courage.
"Here, I've already packed everything in your bag—your notepad, pen, and laptop," Rain said, counting the items on her fingers, her brows furrowed in concentration.
"I even packed breakfast. Eat it in the car. And if you need anything else, tell me now."
I smile at her caring nature. Honestly, no one can convince me that anyone else has a best friend as sweet as mine.
Without warning, I throw my arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"Yah!! It hurts—let go!" she yells, trying to push me off.
Instead, I squeeze her tighter.
She resorts to tickling me, and I immediately let go, laughing breathlessly. She chuckles along with me—until her phone rings.
Her expression shifts as she glances at the screen.
"It's Nicolas. Go down. He's waiting," she says, answering the call.
Just like that, my smile drops.
I grab my bag, hesitating for a moment. Rain waves me off, silently urging me to leave. I nod and head downstairs.
The moment I step outside, I spot a red Bugatti parked in front of our door.
And, of course, there he is.
Nicolas Damien Sinclair—leaning against the car like he owns the world.
Show-off. I scoff internally.
The second he sees me approaching, a slow smile spreads across his lips.
"Beautiful as always."
I roll my eyes.
"Still ignoring me?" he sighs.
I cross my arms. "Why did you even agree to this?"
"I thought I made that pretty clear yesterday? Anyway, let's get going."
He dodges the question, opening the passenger door for me. I don't press further—I already don't feel like talking to him. Sliding into the seat, I focus on anything but him as he gets into the driver's side and starts the engine.
A few moments pass before I break the silence.
"Why do I have to watch you practice? I just need some answers for my novel."
"Because I want to spend time with you."
His words are so casual, but my heart betrays me—beating just a little too fast.
I force a deep breath. "Well, I don't. Let's not meet again after today."
He smirks, and I hate how effortlessly confident he looks.
"Really? I guess we'll be seeing each other pretty often now."
I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I'm pursuing you. So, of course, I need to meet you often, right?"
I clench my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek at his nonchalant attitude.
"I want nothing to do with you."
Before I can say more, he suddenly slams the brakes.