Blurb：
Heiress Avery Carmichael *always* wins—until scholarship student Alaric Payne steals her valedictorian crown **and** her Porsche. But when mysterious blue texts warn that Alaric’s actually a **secret billionaire** destined to destroy her family, Avery rewrites the rules: *Make the male lead your dog before he becomes your doom*.
Armed with designer loafers and a spite-fueled Amex Platinum, Avery declares war:
Force Alaric into her "Henchman #4" role
Sabotage his meet-cute with ponytailed "heroine" Elodie
Forbid all relationships (especially with handsy future bodyguards)
But Alaric plays dirtier:
Takes 26.5-point academic victories as foreplay
Leans into Avery’s possessive "you’re mine" delusions
Exposes his billionaire lineage by *choosing* to eat her half-bitten cronuts
Now the Roarke Prep gossip blogs are smoking:
Is Alaric her **sugar baby** or **sugar bomb**?
Why’s "heroine" Elodie trashing fate to flirt with the villainess?
What happens when fake-poor Alaric’s CEO mom catches Avery "disciplining" her heir?
Content：
§PROLOGUEThe heel of my Porsche 718 Boxster—the one my father promised me for being valedictorian—was currently grinding into the shoulder of the boy who’d cost me both.
Only, this was the designer loafer version.
And the boy was Alaric Payne.
“So,” I said, applying a little more pressure. “You’re the new number one.”
The boy didn't flinch.
He was slumped against the grimy brick of the alley behind the gym, dirt smudging the sharp line of his jaw, but his eyes were cold steel.
“Do you need something?” he asked, his voice flat.
My boy Marco cracked his knuckles, a sound like snapping twigs. “He needs an introduction, Queen A.”
He puffed out his chest. “This is Avery Carmichael. You see that new science wing with the fancy solar panels? Her family’s name is on the plaque.”
Alaric’s gaze flickered to me, then away. “Okay.”
No reaction.
Nothing.
Gus, my other resident idiot, jumped in, indignant. “She’s also the person you beat for the top rank by twenty-six-point-five points.”
J.D. chimed in, always the pedant. “It was twenty-six exactly on the midterm report, Gus. The point-five was from the extra credit pop quiz in AP Physics.”
“Whatever,” Gus huffed. “The point is, her dad was going to buy her that Porsche. Now? No Porsche. She was so devastated she stress-ate five cronuts and downed two venti milkshakes.”
I sent a death glare at Gus.
“Shut up, all of you.”
The air went still.
Then, a low, almost silent chuckle from the boy on the ground.
“Ah,” Alaric Payne said, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “I think I remember you now.”
That condescending tone.
I saw red.
My leather loafer pressed down, hard.
“Let’s talk about how you’re going to fix this,” I purred.
“Your grades have nothing to do with me,” he shot back.
He was sitting in the dirt, a mess, and somehow, he still radiated an infuriating level of defiance.
“Marco,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “Show him how it has everything to do with him.”
Marco grinned, stepping forward. “My pleasure, Avery.”
But just as he raised his fist, something impossible happened.
Words appeared in the air.
Shimmering, electric-blue text, floating right in front of my face.
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The End