Chapter 4: The Second Encounter. Part 2:

Marcus.

"Marilyn, you definitely haven't changed, have you? I'm glad that, as 'your man,' I've gotten to know that unpleasant side of you so I can back off and rethink our nonexistent relationship," I said with a smile as I watched the Barbie princess tense up like the strings of her racket. Still holding that dangerous object, she turned around with an expression of barely contained anger and a threatening attitude.

"What the hell are you doing here, stupid? What filthy hole did you crawl out of, Miller rat?" I heard her say, her attitude clearly aggressive and certainly less arrogant than the one I had seen her develop with the poor fool Marilyn had humiliated.

"Yes, I'm great, thanks for asking. I'm glad to see you too, Daisy Lascalles. You look great; you're always so pleasant. I have to say that your constant, unchanging personality is commendable," I said with a smile, leaning my back against the hallway wall and crossing my arms over my chest.

I almost burst out laughing when her intense green eyes widened immensely in response to my relaxed attitude, and her lips trembled with indignation.

“I don’t care how you are, you idiot. I'd rather everything in your life was going terribly wrong, you bastard." Don't you have anyone else in this world to bother, Marcus Philip Miller? Because I'm certainly not interested. Besides, I advise you to stop meddling in other people's business, you damn rat. Why don't you just die?" I heard her say the last part under her breath as she turned away from me, acting like a diva, in an obvious attempt to flee, which I was not going to allow.

I cut her off with a quick movement, turning her back around and pulling her free arm toward me. I knocked her down against my chest while holding her wrist, which now held her racket tightly. She tried to move it slightly from side to side as if reconsidering using it against my head with the clear intention of attacking me.

"What the hell are you trying to do, you damn rat? Let me go, Marcus Miller, or I swear I'll break your skull," she said angrily, trying to free herself.

After slightly freeing one of my arms, I pressed her against my body with my hand until she was literally stuck to me, with her free arm trapped against my chest. I grabbed her wrist with both hands, blocked it, and placed it behind her back. I could feel her struggling to free herself while demanding that I let her go.

I realized the uncalculated mistake I had made in my initial intention to teach that spoiled, capricious, pampered heiress another lesson when I became aware that, even though I was more than six inches taller than the short blonde, my body was pressed completely against hers. I was fully aware of every curve and tension in her body. I could smell her, a mixture of sweat from exercise and deodorant—which I knew she had put on after playing sports—mixed with a faint but pleasant scent of roses from her hair.

The tension inside me grew, and her undulating, erratic, and abrupt movements, as she tried to free herself, awakened something in me that, as a sexually active man, was inappropriate at that moment.

"Stay still, Marilyn. It's not appropriate for you to..." I began to say, clenching my jaw to control myself while pressing her closer to immobilize her.

But she was beside herself. She raised her face to look at me with raw hatred while shouting obscenities at me. I barely heard them because the intense green glow caused by the anger in her deep, incredible eyes left me ecstatic for a moment.

"Let me go! Damn you, you rat, you son of a bitch!"

Marcus, I'm going to kill you. I swear you'll pay for this. You'll wish you'd never been born, you bastard!" Let me go! Damn it, let me go!" she said, red with rage, loudly and agitatedly.

Those were the last words I heard before I abruptly interrupted her. Innocently and without premeditation, I gently held her neck with my hand on her hip, immobilizing her head. Her eyes looked at me with deep hatred and unrestrained fury as my head uncontrollably descended onto hers. I could see her eyes open wide in surprise at my gesture, showing infinite surprise, but only for a moment before my lips touched hers—soft, moist, and tempting.

I promise it wasn't premeditated. I don't know why I did it; it just happened. As if everything were even more inexplicable, her taste, warmth, and moisture intoxicated me to such an extent that I couldn't help but deepen the kiss. I clearly intended to make her open her lips; I urgently needed to taste her inside.

Again, that was not my initial intention. I only intended to put the spoiled blonde heiress in her place as revenge for the men who would fall victim to her unpleasant nature in the future and in the past. As a future lawyer, I felt it was my duty—a way of administering extreme justice—but nothing warned me that, upon tasting her, everything would get out of hand, as had almost happened the other time.

It didn't help that she stopped fighting, went limp against my body, and submissively opened her lips, allowing my tongue to enter her. I discovered that, despite her shrewish personality, the Barbie princess tasted delicious.

Deepening the kiss was inevitable as I felt excitement grow inside me, affecting a certain part of my body that she had surely already noticed. The heat inside me intensified as that damn girl kissed me back with enthusiasm and without resistance. A man with blood in his veins could not resist this response, but suddenly, something happened that stopped everything.

It was subtle, but it brought me back to reality with a jolt, as if I had made the worst mistake of my life. A feminine moan of surrender and desire, muffled by my lips, almost made me lose control. Strangely, it set off all the alarms inside me.

I pushed her away forcefully, almost knocking her off balance and making her fall to the floor. I pushed away that tempting Marilyn, who looked at me with total bewilderment at first, her face completely flushed and her lips swollen and reddened.

My body complained of frustration at the sudden, unsatisfied loss of desire caused by having the damn Daisy Lascalles near me. On the other hand, my mind and my newly regained common sense hammered me, insisting that I had almost made a huge mistake. At that moment, my future role as a lawyer and my male pride emerged as I watched anger resurface with almost homicidal force in the still somewhat open and surprised eyes of the Barbie princess.

"You're a...! You're a...!" The angry words of the emerald-eyed blonde were choked with fury, leaving her speechless. I took advantage of this moment to deliver the final blow, which I would deeply regret hours later. Unfortunately, it was too late.

" "Don't complain, sweetheart. I'm sure you're used to being praised by thousands of rich, beardless men for being one of the prestigious Lascalles heirs. I've only given you a reality check so you don't think you're so important or unattainable." I'm sure your previous suitor will thank me for it." Besides, didn't you announce with great fanfare that I'm your man? In the interest of justice, you should be mine too. What's wrong with my trying to get something that belongs to me? Unfortunately, after trying, I realized you don't interest me at all. For our future good, let's "break up" here. I hope your next man is much stupider, blind, and more indulgent than the "last one." For your pretensions as a self-centered, rich, spoiled girl, I assure you that you will do much better." I said this as I turned to leave, walking slowly and confidently toward the glass door that led to the men's locker room hallway. I thought that I had won this new round with Marilyn resoundingly and definitively.

But I was far from right. A Valkyrie-like battle cry was heard behind the glass door I had just closed. A blunt object, thrown with genuine anger and precision, smashed into the door, breaking it into a thousand pieces.

"Damn you, Miller rat! Remember: This is war. From now on, you are my greatest enemy. I'm going to make your life hell. I'll get my revenge for this humiliation. I hate you, you damn bastard." I heard her say as I ignored her, saying nothing except for a slight wave of my hand by way of farewell. Without even looking at her, I continued walking calmly toward the changing rooms.

Several club members turned their attention as the door burst open with a tremendous crash. Many came out into the hallway, some from inside the locker rooms, creating a small commotion around us.

Although I noticed the genuine hatred in Marilyn's tone, which should have warned me that I had made a dangerous and vengeful enemy, I didn't think much of it at the time. Rather, I felt relieved to have escaped that strange and incomprehensible situation with the least possible humiliation.

Of course, time and an unexpected twist of fate would lead me to discover many years later that this event, which I came to regret, far from inflaming my male pride, caused something I did not want to be born with a force that not even heaven could stop.