The morning sun peeked through the penthouse windows of the presidential suite. Luxurious sheets rustled as Wen Jing stirred beneath them, her body curled instinctively against Damien Westbrook’s chest.

  Her long lashes fluttered, a blissful smile gracing her lips.

  “Am I…” she whispered, her voice still coated in sleep, “your first girlfriend?”

  Damien looked down at her without a hint of hesitation.

  “You’re the first.”

  Wen Jing’s heart nearly exploded from joy.

  She bit her lip to hide her overwhelming happiness, but the way her eyes sparkled gave everything away. A girl like her—bookish, quiet, always watching him from the background—could never have dreamed of something like this.

  And now she was here, lying in the arms of the most dazzling boy in school.

  Everything felt unreal.

  Until Damien’s next words brought her back down.

  “There’s something you should know.” He spoke with a calm, almost amused tone. “Your desk neighbor—Chen Zeke—likes you.”

  “Huh?” Wen Jing blinked, surprised. “Wait, really? No wonder he keeps asking me random questions he already knows the answer to. Honestly, it’s kind of annoying.”

  Damien chuckled under his breath, then raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek.

  “If he tries it again, don’t avoid him. Just answer like normal—act natural. But remember this: sometime soon, a girl might approach you… ask you to pay back a 500 dollars.”

  Wen Jing sat up slightly, confused. “A girl? Why would she—?”

  “You don’t need to understand why,” Damien interrupted, his voice dropping in temperature. “You just need to follow instructions.”

  Wen Jing’s lips parted as if to speak again, but she caught the faint glint in Damien’s eyes.

  Cold. Commanding. Absolute.

  “…Okay,” she said softly. “What do I do when she shows up?”

  “Act pitiful,” Damien said flatly. “Say you’re sorry. That you don’t have the money. Ask for more time. Make her feel bad for even asking.”

  Wen Jing nodded slowly.

  She didn’t understand the full picture.

  But she didn’t need to.

  Because even if she didn’t know the plan…

  She knew him.

  And that was enough.

  “I’m not trying to disobey you,” she whispered, leaning in closer. “I’m your kitten, remember?”

  Then, in a tone so soft it barely reached his ears, she added, “Meow~”

  She curled her hands up like paws, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

  Damien stared at her.

  From the outside, Wen Jing looked like the model quiet girl—soft-spoken, glasses, neatly kept hair. But this side of her? Playful. Unfiltered. Desperate to please.

  He hadn’t just won her heart.

  He’d taken her entire sense of self.

  The level of obedience she showed him wasn’t love—it was dependency.

  Exactly what he needed.

  Not affection. Control.

  The digital clock on the nightstand flashed: 11:42 p.m.

  Time to wrap this up.

  He gently pulled away from her, standing up and heading toward the bathroom.

  Behind him, Wen Jing sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets against her chest, her gaze locked on his bare back like he was the last star in her sky.

  He had already slipped a black card into her pencil case last night.

  No words. No instructions.

  But she’d know what to do.

  She’d use it wisely.

  And she’d know who it came from.

  —

  The next morning, after a decadent breakfast in the top-floor suite of the Majestic Crown Hotel, Damien Westbrook leaned back in his chair, sipping imported coffee while Wen Jing quietly nibbled at a croissant across from him. Her eyes sparkled with bliss, cheeks flushed with the remnants of last night’s warmth.

  Once they finished, Damien had his driver pull up the Rolls-Royce Cullinan, the engine humming like a beast waiting to pounce. As they neared the school gate, Damien glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  “Get off here. Walk the rest of the way on your own,” he said softly.

  Wen Jing nodded, clutching her school bag with both hands. “Okay…”

  He didn’t even need to explain. She understood the rules. Their relationship had to stay hidden. She exited the vehicle quietly, her heart pounding as she melted into the flow of students, never once glancing back.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Moments later, Damien stepped out from the Cullinan in a different spot, surrounded by curious whispers and infatuated stares. The two of them entered the school separately—no one the wiser.

  In class, Wen Jing acted perfectly normal. Not a single flicker of change in her behavior toward Damien. She answered questions, took notes, and wore her usual soft smile.

  As if the previous night had never happened.

  —

  Between Classes.

  Aria Lane and Wen Jing walked side by side toward the girls’ restroom. Aria glanced down, noticing her friend’s gait.

  “Jingjing, why are you walking like that? You look like a duckling with a sprained foot,” she teased.

  Wen Jing smiled sweetly, her voice soft. “I tripped on the curb while heading home last night. Just a tiny twist. It hurts when I put pressure on it.”

  Aria’s brows knitted. “Seriously? Want me to take a look?”

  “No, no—it’s fine, really. I iced it already. I’ll be better in a couple of days.”

  Aria didn’t press further. “Well, I’ll support you until then. Come on, little duckling.”

  —

  Lunch Break.

  Chen Zeke came over with his usual bright grin, math textbook in hand.

  “Wen Jing, can you help me with this trig problem? My brain just refuses to compute this stuff.”

  Wen Jing didn’t want to deal with him. But Damien’s instructions echoed in her mind.

  Be normal. Be polite.

  So she smiled and patiently walked him through the steps.

  A few minutes later, a girl from Class 4 strutted over, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

  “Wen Jing, remember that $500 you owe me? It’s been two weeks already. Don’t pretend you forgot.”

  Wen Jing blinked, startled, then dropped her gaze.

  “I… I’m really sorry. I still don’t have it. Can I pay you next week? Please?”

  Her voice was so soft, her expression so pitiful, it made even the other girl pause.

  “Hmph. One more week, then I’m telling your teacher,” the girl snapped before turning and walking off.

  Chen Zeke watched the whole scene unfold. His chest tightened.

  Seconds later, he grabbed Ethan Blake by the wrist and dragged him into the hallway.

  “You said you’d pay me back that $140!” Chen snapped, eyes red with frustration. “Now Wen Jing’s getting hounded by debt collectors because of you?!”

  “I had it! I had $10,000… and then everything fell apart,” Ethan growled, gritting his teeth.

  Their voices rose. Students gathered. Teachers peeked out from doors. One wrong word and fists were going to fly.

  —

  Inside the staff office…

  Damien sat calmly across from Ms. Scarlett Vaughn, pencil tapping against a workbook. Beside him, Aria Lane was deeply focused, their session on calculus running smoothly—until the shouting began.

  Damien didn’t even lift his head.

  That voice. Ethan Blake.

  He smirked.

  【Ding! Congratulations, Host. You’ve successfully damaged the relationship between Protagonist Ethan Blake and Important Supporting Character Chen Zeke.】

  【You’ve earned 200 Villain Points. Ethan Blake’s Protagonist Aura -10. Your Villain Aura +10.】

  Without breaking stride, Damien mentally pulled up his updated stats:

  【Host: Damien Westbrook】

  【Combat Power: 89】

  【Charm: 268】

  【Villain Aura: 179】

  【Villain Points: 600】

  【Skills: None】

  Things were spiraling for Ethan. And Damien was just getting started.

  Time to stir the pot a little more.

  Step One: Light the first fire.

  Damien Westbrook leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes flicking across his phone screen.

  The video file had just been delivered—clean, cropped, and ready to go. Footage from the underground casino. Ethan Blake’s face, grainy but unmistakable, caught on camera as he collected his winnings.

  Perfect.

  With a few taps, Damien uploaded the edited clip to Silvercrest Academy’s anonymous student forum, accompanied by a simple caption:

  "Senior caught gambling off-campus. Violation of student conduct code? You decide."

  It spread like wildfire.

  At this elite prep school, where image was everything and scandal drew blood, a single whisper could become a sword.

  And gambling? That wasn’t just a rumor—it was grounds for disciplinary action. Combine that with Ethan’s existing strike from the hallway brawl last week, and you had a recipe for academic exile.

  Damien’s lips curled into a slow, calculated smile.

  Step Two: Light the second fire.

  Of course, Ethan hadn’t just walked out of the casino untouched. He’d assaulted Mr. Stone—real name Sangkun—a notorious underworld figure with half the city’s illegal gambling dens under his thumb.

  Stone’s men had been scouring downtown for days, looking for the “buzz-cut punk” who broke their boss’s groin and ego.

  Trouble was, they had no clue who Ethan really was.

  That’s where Damien came in.

  He made a call—left an anonymous tip.

  "The kid you're looking for? Ethan Blake. Student at St. Aldrich. Brown eyes, buzz cut, worn sneakers. Try the school gates around 6 PM. You’ll know him when you see him."

  No way back in school. No safety outside of it. Let the noose tighten.

  —

  That evening, the sun cast a golden glow across the school’s outdoor basketball court.

  Damien Westbrook, sleeves rolled up, ball spinning effortlessly on his fingertips, was the center of attention—again. Girls giggled from the sidelines, their cheers rising every time he sank a shot.

  He was calm. Cool. Collected. The school’s golden boy with a hint of danger.

  Then…

  A black-and-white government vehicle rolled through the main gates.

  The crowd quieted, murmurs replacing cheers.

  Two police officers stepped out—sharp uniforms, solemn expressions. One of them carried a bright red velvet banner stitched with gold thread. Commendation.

  Damien barely spared them a glance. Probably some campus safety campaign.

  But then—

  The intercom crackled to life.

  “Students of Silvercrest, your attention, please. Today, we celebrate the courage of one of our own. This student uncovered and reported a criminal gambling ring operating in the city.”

  Damien froze mid-dribble.

  “In recognition, the City Security Bureau has awarded them a hero’s commendation... and a forty-thousand-dollar cash reward.”

  …What?

  Applause erupted in the courtyard. Damien stood still, the ball slipping from his hands, bouncing once before rolling away.

  He didn’t need to ask who it was.

  He knew.

  It was Ethan.

  Of course it was Ethan.

  That damn protagonist had flipped the whole board.

  He didn’t get expelled. He didn’t get beaten.

  No—he became a campus hero and made a fortune on top of it.

  With that money, Ethan could:

  Pay back the $9,000 in medical compensation to Colt, Mick, and Reed

  Return the $500 loan to his lackey friend, Chen Zeke

  Still have money left for snacks, dates, and whatever else fate tossed his way

  Even his disciplinary strike? Probably erased—overwritten by public praise.

  Damien looked up at the setting sun, jaw clenched, fists tightening until his knuckles whitened.

  All that plotting. Every calculated move. And the damn story still bent over backward to protect its hero.

  “This... is actual bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

  “F*cking protagonist halo. This is cheating.”