"Do I look that terrifying? Did I ask you to die?" Helena growled, stepping closer with every word, her almond-shaped eyes glaring daggers at him.
Her sweet perfume and warm breath surrounded Fanmuir. Her ruby-red lips were so close that he instinctively licked his own.
Helena's stunning face was now mere inches away, her gaze sharp and intense. But to Fanmuir, it was pure, captivating beauty.
As she pressed forward, Fanmuir retreated, step by step, until he was backed into the edge of the field. With no more room to move, he stopped abruptly.
Helena, still charging forward in anger, didn't notice his sudden halt and accidentally stumbled straight into his arms.
The unexpected closeness sent a jolt through her, like electricity. Flustered, she quickly pushed herself away, retreating several steps as though she'd been burned.
"You… you're taking advantage of me! You lecher!" she stammered, her voice carrying a hint of panic.
Her flushed cheeks glowed with an ethereal beauty, leaving Fanmuir inwardly marveling at her loveliness. Hastily, he pointed to the grass behind him in an attempt to explain.
Of course, Helena had already figured out what had happened. But her maidenly pride and the shock of such close physical contact left her flustered and defensive. She glared at Fanmuir, caught between anger and embarrassment, her emotions an awkward mix of fury and shyness.
"You're not seriously asking me to be your boyfriend, are you?" Fanmuir finally caught on, realizing that if he didn't shift the conversation quickly, Helena might lose her temper. He could almost see the disaster at the base of the Alps replaying in his mind.
Helena took a deep breath to calm herself. She pouted slightly, feeling annoyed. But compared to those spoiled heirs of noble families, Fanmuir's straightforwardness was oddly endearing. At least he wasn't full of tricks and hidden agendas.
"Here's the situation," she began, her tone turning serious. "I need to attend a banquet tomorrow night, and I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend."
Fanmuir thought about his shift at the bar and instinctively declined. "Sorry, I've got work tomorrow night," he said matter-of-factly.
Helena was taken aback. No one had ever dared to turn her down before, let alone twice in a row.
Any other girl might have run off in embarrassment after being rejected, but not Helena. Her tenacious nature wouldn't let her back down so easily.
"You're working tomorrow night?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief and frustration. Her cheeks flushed red once again.
Under normal circumstances, being questioned like a suspect would have made Fanmuir, as the head of the Hershville family, walk away in anger. But for some reason, Helena's subtle fragrance still lingered in his mind, leaving him strangely reluctant to leave.
"I took a part-time job," he explained honestly. "I need to work tomorrow night."
When she realized it was just about money, Helena's frustration boiled over. "If it's about money, then I'll hire you for the night!" she snapped, her tone laced with impatience. But the moment those words left her lips, she regretted them.
After all, Fanmuir was nothing more than a classmate, and over the past few months, he had proven himself to be kind, respectful, and self-reliant. For a boy from the Italian countryside, he spoke impeccable English, excelled in sports, and had always treated her with nothing but courtesy. If anything, Helena admired him—otherwise, she wouldn't have asked him for this favor.
Still, once she had said it, there was no taking it back. Helena's straightforward nature made her even more determined to achieve her goal.
Her dismissive tone and superior attitude cut through Fanmuir like a knife.
Fanmuir had his pride. He couldn't stand people who looked down on him.
Helena saw the flash of anger in his eyes before it softened into reluctant acceptance. For the first time in her life, she felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt in her chest.
Helena had never been one to back down. Her pride and stubbornness pushed her to say something even more cutting. "How about this? I'll pay you—10,000 euros for one night. Is that enough?"
Fanmuir could have walked away, but a reckless thought took hold of him. He found himself blurting out, "Fine, I'll do it, but it'll cost you 100,000 euros!"
To his surprise, Helena didn't get angry. Instead, her guilt vanished entirely, replaced by a sense of triumph. She calmly pulled a gold card from her bag and handed it to him. "This card has 100,000 euros. The PIN is six ones," she said coolly, her gaze dripping with disdain.
Fanmuir felt as though her contempt had wrapped itself around his chest, suffocating him. Without another word, he took the card from her hand and walked away.
Helena's voice, as cold as ice, broke the silence: "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. Meet me at the south gate of the school."
"Wait, isn't the banquet tomorrow evening?" Fanmuir asked, turning to her in confusion.
"Yes, but I need to get you properly dressed for it. You can't possibly show up like this," Helena replied with a withering glance.
"Do banquets really require that much effort?" Fanmuir asked, genuinely curious. His interest in unfamiliar customs outweighed any offense he might've taken from Helena's attitude.
Helena frowned, inwardly regretting her decision. "He's from the mountains of Italy, after all. I just hope he doesn't embarrass me. Besides buying him proper clothes, I'll have to teach him some basic manners too, or else he'll make a fool of me."
Fanmuir, of course, could easily guess her thoughts. He smirked inwardly, finding the situation ironic. Here he was, a vampire prince and head of the Hershville family, humbling himself to accompany her to a simple banquet, yet she was worried he might ruin her reputation. The sheer absurdity of it was almost laughable.
"Relax. I promise I won't embarrass you. If I do, I won't take a single euro from you. See you tomorrow at nine," he said, his tone calm and confident.
Helena, caught off guard by how accurately he'd read her thoughts, felt a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed as she struggled to contain her rising frustration.
By the time Fanmuir arrived at the school gate the next morning, Helena was already there, waiting impatiently beside a violet Bugatti.
She looked stunning, her short golden hair styled to perfection, her large, expressive eyes shimmering with impatience, and her delicate features framed by long lashes and a slightly furrowed brow. Even her frustration couldn't detract from her beauty—if anything, it added a certain charm.
The sight of the luxury car and the striking woman standing beside it had turned more than a few heads. But Helena seemed oblivious to the attention, her gaze fixed on the pathway leading to the gate as she muttered, "I can't believe he's making me wait."
When Fanmuir finally appeared, she marched toward him, her cheeks flushing red with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Do you have no sense of time? How could you keep me waiting like this?" she scolded.
"I don't believe I'm late. Didn't we agree to meet at nine?" Fanmuir replied nonchalantly, unfazed by her outburst.
Helena was so furious that she stomped her foot. Sure, she had arrived early, but in her mind, it was only natural for a man to show up ahead of time to wait for her.
"Get in the car!" she snapped, her voice icy as she turned and climbed into the driver's seat.
Fanmuir, on the other hand, found her flustered demeanor amusing. For some reason, teasing her brought him an odd sense of satisfaction. Maybe it was payback for how dismissive she had been of him earlier.
"Coming!" he replied, grinning as he strolled toward the car at a leisurely pace.
Helena was seething. As soon as Fanmuir sat down and barely managed to fasten his seatbelt, she slammed her foot on the accelerator, sending the car speeding forward like a bullet.
The icy expression on Helena's face remained as she clenched her teeth and thought to herself, "If he dares humiliate me tonight, I'll make him pay."
The violet Bugatti raced effortlessly through the bustling streets. Truth be told, Helena's driving skills were exceptional, but her current mood had turned her into a full-blown speed demon, taking her frustrations out on the accelerator.
In Paris, the Champs-Élysées is one of the world's most iconic and glamorous avenues. Spanning nearly two kilometers, it connects Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe and is home to a plethora of luxury brands like Galeries Lafayette, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and Dior. It's the ultimate destination for anyone looking to indulge in high-end shopping.
Helena pulled the Bugatti into the parking lot of Galeries Lafayette and shot Fanmuir an icy glare. "Get out!" she snapped, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind her.
By the time Fanmuir reached the men's clothing section, he couldn't help but feel out of place. The cheapest suit here cost more than he made in months at his part-time job, and the more extravagant options seemed astronomically priced.