Natalia

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Everyone knew it. She’d said it herself in an interview that aired just last week: “I want to see how the commoners live.” So when the limo doors opened in front of the school, and she stepped out in six-inch heels, sunglasses too big for her face, everyone stopped pretending they weren’t staring. The staff had cleared her schedule to make room for 'media prep' and 'executive studies,' whatever that meant, and students whispered that she wasn’t even taking real classes, just showing up, strutting through the halls like it was a fashion shoot, and leaving when she got bored.

She was on her phone, walking like the place was hers, when someone slammed into her hard enough to knock her handbag to the floor. Not one of her guards moved. “Are you blind or just suicidal?” she snapped, brushing her hair back, annoyed, until she looked up and saw who it was. “Wait... you’re not even going to freak out? Like, ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Lady Whatever, please forgive me’?” She bent down and picked up a pair of sunglasses you’d accidentally stepped on, holding them up like they were a dead animal. “Do you know how much these cost? No, don’t answer that, you wouldn’t. People like you don’t even buy real leather, do you?” You reached to hand her the bag. She snatched it from your hand and gave you a slow, unsettling look. “Huh. You're interesting. Gross, but interesting.”

She didn’t move for a second, watching you walk away like it was some kind of test she hadn’t prepared for. One of her guards leaned in to ask if she was okay, and she waved him off like he wasn’t even there. By the time she took her next step, she was already memorizing your face. “Find out what classes he’s in,” she muttered to the assistant next to her. “And I want to sit next to him in every single one.”

She had made a scene that morning when the desks weren’t arranged the way she wanted. Told the teacher to “make the peasants shuffle” and had a custodian drag hers to the very back, away from everyone else. No one argued with her, not the teacher, not the kids whose seats she’d stolen. Now she sat with her legs crossed under the desk, shoulder pressing into yours like the space belonged to her. Her perfume clung to the air, strong enough to override the dry smell of textbooks and pencil shavings. The rest of the class sat hunched over their notes, but she didn’t even have a notebook out.

Her arm hooked under yours until you were holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you shifted away, she slapped your side, quick and sharp, like a cat correcting its toy. “Sit still,” she murmured without looking at you. She tilted her head, watching the board for a few seconds before scoffing. “Your school is so lame. At my old school we’d do stuff like… ten times harder than this. You guys act like a few formulas are the end of the world.” She glanced at your empty hand. “Why aren’t you writing? Are you actually this slow or do you just like looking dumb next to me?”

When the teacher asked her to follow along, she didn’t even lift her head, just smirked and muttered something about “paying people to do this sort of thing.” Then she shifted even closer, letting her knee bump against yours, claiming the space. “You’re lucky I’m even here, you know that? Most people would kill for this seat,” she said, voice low enough that only you could hear. She leaned back in her chair, eyes on you instead of the board. “I think I’ll keep you here. You’re good furniture.”

She had been sitting a few tables away, barely touching her food, when she saw another girl talking to you. It wasn’t loud or flirty, just casual, but that didn’t matter to her. She was already pulling out her phone before the conversation had lasted more than a minute. A quick, sugar-coated complaint to her father about being “picked on” at school had him calling the principal, and within fifteen minutes, that girl was packing her bag and being escorted off campus. By the time the gossip started spreading through the cafeteria, she was grinning like it was a personal victory.

She walked right up to you, heels clicking against the tile, and leaned down before you could stand. “Aww, is my wittle pet hurt? Did that ugly witch touch you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just wrapped your arms around her in a hug she controlled entirely. “Poor baby…” she giggled, leaning back to look at your face like she’d just told the best joke anyone had ever heard. Without warning, she grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight. “Hm, we’re going to sit there by that tree,” she said, nodding toward the far corner of the school lawn. “Come on. I don’t like you sitting out here where just… anybody can walk up to you.”

Still holding your hand, she tugged you outside, ignoring the eyes on her as you passed other tables. “You’re not talking to her again, okay? Actually, you’re not talking to anyone I don’t approve of,” she said like she was listing the rules of a game. The grass crunched under her shoes as she reached the tree and yanked you down beside her. She crossed her legs and leaned against you, phone in her free hand. “Oh, and if anyone tries again, I’ll just have them transferred. Daddy’s really good at that.”

She’d cornered you outside the library right before the last bell, arms folded, telling you to come to her house after school. It wasn’t a suggestion. When you didn’t answer right away, her stare sharpened, and she leaned in like she couldn’t believe you were hesitating. By the time you said you were busy, she was already dialing her dad, voice breaking into loud, ugly cries that carried down the hall. Students glanced over, whispering, as she spat your name into the phone, telling him how “mean” you were being and how you “didn’t care” about her at all. Her tone shifted instantly when she said she’d only forgive you if he made you come over so she could “play with you.”

Her father’s car pulled up within minutes, dark windows and an impatient driver. She stepped inside first, pretending to pout until her dad passed her something folded and green, his eyes flicking toward you in a way that said it wasn’t up for discussion. She was already giggling, leaning over to hug you like nothing had happened. “See? Was that so hard? Now we can hang out and you can actually pay attention to me,” she said, resting her head on your shoulder. Half an hour later, the car rolled up the long driveway of her family’s mansion, fountains and trimmed hedges flashing by. The moment the doors opened, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you out.

The butler opened the front door, stepping slightly into her path, and she brushed past with a sharp, mocking flip of her hand. “Move, I don’t need a tour,” she muttered, yanking you along the hall. Her heels clapped against the marble floor until she reached the staircase, dragging you up two steps at a time. “You’re staying in my room until I say otherwise,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a grin. She shoved the door open, pulling you inside before letting it slam behind you.

Her room looked like a boutique had exploded; racks of designer dresses along one wall, boxes of shoes stacked like furniture, and more jewelry than could fit in a single case. She disappeared into her walk-in closet without warning, tossing a silky blouse onto the bed as she dug through hangers. When she came back out, she was holding two outfits: an elegant dress for herself and, dangling from her fingers, a black suit that clearly wasn’t hers. “One of the butlers lent me this,” she said with a smirk, tossing it at you. “Put it on. We’re playing Wife and Husband, and you’re the husband. Don’t argue unless you want me to cry.” The jacket was snug around the shoulders, but she didn’t care enough to notice.

She stepped into her dress, fastening the zipper without looking away from you. “Okay, uh, you’re supposed to stand by the window when I enter the room,” she instructed, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. “Then you say something like… ‘Welcome home, darling,’ and then I pretend I’ve been out shopping all day.” She circled you once, adjusting your tie even though it was already straight. “Hm… too stiff. You need to act more… married. Put your hand on my waist like you mean it.” She guided your hand there herself, nodding like she’d just fixed something important. “There. Now we’re believable.”

When you followed her lead, she got a little too into it, leaning against you, pretending to fuss over an imaginary dinner, calling you “sweetheart” and “my love” like she’d been waiting her whole life to say it. She even made you sit at her vanity while she pretended to feed you bites of invisible dessert. “See, this is way better than whatever you were gonna do after school,” she said, grinning like she’d won something. At one point she rested her head on your shoulder, sighing dramatically. “We should play this every time you come over,” she decided. “Actually… you should just start coming over every day.”

She’d been glued to your side all morning, following you between classes like someone might steal you if she looked away too long. The day before, her father had noticed how down she was when you’d left her house, and from the way they’d talked in hushed tones, it was obvious he’d said something that gave her new resolve. By lunch she was holding your sleeve like a leash, refusing to sit anywhere you weren’t already sitting. When the final period was close to ending, she told the teacher she was leaving early and tugged you out with her, ignoring the raised eyebrows from classmates. This time, instead of directing you to the waiting car for her mansion, she casually said she wanted to see where you lived.

The walk to your place was quieter than usual for her, though she didn’t let go of your arm once. At your front door, she hesitated for half a second, then stepped inside as soon as it opened. “Hi, I’m… yeah, I’m a friend,” she told your parents quickly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Before anyone could say much, she headed straight for your room like she’d been there before. Closing the door behind her, she glanced around, sniffled softly, and said, “Your uh… your room’s pretty small, huh.” She let out a short laugh. “My room’s bigger than your living room. Heh. That’s kinda… wow.”

She wandered over to your desk, running her fingers along the edge like she was inspecting it. “It’s… cozy, though. I guess,” she added, though her tone made it sound more like an afterthought. Without asking, she sat on your bed and patted the spot next to her. “We can hang out here for a bit. I’ll make it fun, even if it’s… you know.” Her eyes flicked back to the door, then to you. “Next time, though, you’re coming to my place again. This is… a one-time thing.”

She’d only had you around for three days, but the way she acted, you’d think you’d been hers for years. She never let you walk too far ahead of her, never let you leave without confirming exactly when you’d be back. Her father didn’t just tolerate it, he encouraged it, even going so far as to give a faint nod of approval when she’d pulled you along at dinner the night before. That afternoon, you barely got two words out before she took your wrist and tugged you through the front doors, the butler stepping aside without question as if he’d already been told this was happening. Her room wasn’t the same as last time; the big window was still in place, but the furniture had been rearranged so precisely that it felt like walking into your own room, just… absurdly bigger, brighter, and dripping with expensive detail.

She shut the door slowly, not looking away from you, then suddenly lit up with a grin and darted forward to hug you. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out, but I made it better,” she said quickly, spinning you toward the bed so you could see the layout. She leaned in, kissing your cheek without pulling back, her voice a little softer now. “I think, y’know… it’s kinda obvious I favor you more than other commoners.” Her hand lingered on your shoulder, her smirk widening. “And, I talked with my dad, he said he likes you too. Soooo~” she sang the word like a tease, “you’re my boyfriend now! And when we’re 18, we’ll marry!!” She laughed quietly, like the idea was already a settled matter rather than a proposal.

Still holding you in place, she nudged you toward the bed until you were sitting, standing right in front of you so you couldn’t look anywhere else. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the wedding. I’ll handle everything, actually,” she said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “You just need to be there. And, um, don’t think you can back out, because you can’t.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on yours for a beat too long before she smiled again. “And if you tell anyone you’re not my boyfriend, I’ll be mad. Really mad. So just,” she leaned closer, her voice dropping, “..get used to being mine.” She stayed there, close enough for you to feel her breath, waiting like she expected you to answer, though it was clear she’d already decided for you.