People think being born into a wealthy family means life is easy and we have family love who and we are spoiled rotten with our parents protecting us .
That's cute.
My father owns one of the biggest tech companies in the country—not because he inherited it, but because he refused to take over my grandfather's entertainment and fashion empire. Apparently, ruling an empire someone else built was boring. My dad preferred building his own from scratch.
That decision nearly gave my grandfather a heart attack. Literally.
Ironically, my father was so good at business that my grandfather panicked and handed him a massive share of the company just to keep him involved. Grandpa has two sons and a daughter, yet he still insists my father should be the future CEO. People say that makes my dad the favorite.
I would believe that—
if every time my father and grandfather met, a doctor didn't have to stand by.
At some point, my grandmother banned them from being in the same room unless there was a physical wall between them.
As for my mother? She's an only child. She inherited her family's jewelry empire and casually built a legal firm on the side, like it was a hobby.
Perfect, powerful parents.
Who absolutely do not love each other.
How they're still married is honestly worth celebrating.
My name is Ava Carter.
And unfortunately, I'm not an only child.
I have a twin brother.
His name is Prim, and he's an asshole.
We never lacked money. We never lacked privilege. But family warmth? That was optional in this house.
Now forget my tragic backstory and step into my life, peasants.
You've earned a glimpse into how the rich survive boredom.
---
I am 5'5", with an oval face, big doe-like pale blue eyes, double eyelid,soft arched brows, a cute button nose, naturally pouty red lips, and dimples that appear subtly when I smile. Slender, delicate natural curves move gracefully with every step. Milky, flawless glassy skin, and honey-blonde, silky, straight hair falling like a waterfall down my back. A pink diamond nostril piercing sparkled faintly in the light. Angelic. Elegant. Graceful. Enchanting.
I wore my private school uniform: a crisp white blouse tucked neatly into a high-waisted red pleated skirt that swayed with my steps. Red-and-white polished loafers, a thin red ribbon tied into a bow at my collar, a silver bracelet on my wrist, and small diamond studs in my ears. Every detail intentional. Every movement radiating confidence.
I walked out of my room scrolling through my phone, barely paying attention, until I slammed straight into something solid.
"Ouch—"
I looked up, frowning. "Is your eyesight broken today?"
Prim stood there lazily, hands in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Keep staring at your phone like that," he said smoothly, "and it won't just be your focus dropping. Your ranking too."
He smiled—soft, deliberate—then walked past me.
I inhaled sharply.
I was always first. Always the best. The golden girl.
Until that damn Asher showed up.
It was just one test. Just one subject.
And yet his score was almost higher than mine.
I took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
Prim was already seated at the dining table.
Honestly, we didn't look related we have our own type of look I'm more in the flawless radiating look and prim is that bewitching hot addicting look they said we both compliment each other look.
Prim was… unfair.
His face was softly sculpted, clean and refined, with a defined jawline and high cheekbones that looked like they belonged in a gallery a artistic look. His features were gentle but sharp in all the right places—beautiful at first glance, handsome the longer you stared. His hazel eyes carried a calm, almost cat-like indifference, framed by long lashes and straight brows. His lips were naturally red, a small mole sitting close to the corner of his, another near his eye, dimples appearing when he smiled.
Unnecessary.
His skin was milky pale and glossy, almost porcelain. His hair was styled in a neat Korean two‑block cut, cool ash‑brown with faint silver undertones. Slim, well-proportioned, subtly sculpted lean muscle—long legs, narrow waist, toned arms and that blue diamond stud earrings in his ear and the blue diamond bracelet in his veiny wrist.
Annoyingly perfect.
He wore his school uniform loosely—white shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing the inner layer beneath, paired with tailored dark trousers.
I refused to compliment him. Ever.
The servants served breakfast quietly but didn't leave.
"Wow," Prim said, tilting his head toward the staircase. "Did the moon rise instead of the sun today?"
I turned.
My mother was walking down the stairs.
Emily Carter never rushed. She didn't need to.
She wore a fitted white blazer dress that reached just above her knees, clean and sharp, paired with ivory stiletto heels—Louboutin Kate, if anyone cared. A structured white handbag rested on her arm, diamond earrings catching the light with every step and it fitted her look she was 5'7 slender yet curvy figure, straight back narrow waist,long legs.
Her heart-shaped face was flawless—sharp cheekbones, amber-brown almond eyes that looked innocent until they didn't, double eyelid,long curled lashes, softly defined heart shaped pink lips curved into a knowing smile. A arched brows, slender nose,pale skin with golden undertones.A small mole near her lip, faint freckles scattered lightly across her cheeks, dimples appearing when she smiled. Chestnut curls flowed down her back to her waist.
Cold. Elegant. Untouchable.
She sat at the head of the table.
"Why are you both staring," she asked calmly, "like I brought hell with me?"
Prim rested his chin in his palm. "Mom, you look unreal. Truly. I'm blessed."
"I'm not increasing your allowance," she said flatly.
He sighed dramatically.
"Ava," she continued, cutting her steak, "your grades are excellent. Keep it up."
Then her gaze slid to Prim.
"And you," she added, unimpressed, "I've given up on seeing you in the top ten. But what is your obsession with ranks fifteen, twenty, twenty‑five—and now thirty‑five? That's the last position in your class."
"I have a spiritual connection with those numbers," Prim replied lazily.
"Eat"
Silence followed.
After breakfast, we got into the Rolls‑Royce Phantom, the chauffeur driving us to school.
"Who are you texting?" Prim asked.
"None of your business."
"Tsk"
The car stopped at the school gates. We got out and walked off in separate directions.
I headed toward the sports complex—one of the quiet buildings students used to rest or hide.
Inside one of the rooms, voices echoed.
A group of boys surrounded someone on the floor.
"What are you doing?" I asked sharply.
The leader, King, stepped away from the window and walked toward me.
"Ava," he said, smiling. "I'm just teaching him a lesson. Cheating on a test to steal first place? Everyone knows that spot belongs to you."
"Did I send you?" I asked, folding my arms. "How childish do you have to be?"
"I'm helping you," King snapped. "That scholarship kid doesn't belong here—"
The sound echoed before anyone processed it.
My hand connected with his face.
He glared at me.
I slapped him again.
When one of his lackeys rushed forward, I kicked him back, sending him stumbling into another. I grabbed a glass vase from the counter and smashed it against the wall, the sharp sound cutting through the room.
I grabbed King by the collar, pressing the broken edge close enough to make my point.
"Listen carefully," I said calmly. "I don't need your help. If he cheated, that's between the school and him. The moment you used my name to bully someone, you made it my problem."
The room was dead silent.
"I don't care what you do," I continued, eyes cold. "But never drag me into your nonsense again."
She released him and walked out.
Ava walked toward the school clinic, her palm stinging as blood slowly seeped between her fingers. The adrenaline from earlier had faded, leaving behind a sharp, persistent ache.
The nurse on duty noticed immediately.
"Your hand—" she said, already reaching for the first aid box.
"There might be glass in it," Ava added calmly as she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs and running her free hand through her hair.
"What happened?" the nurse asked, kneeling in front of her.
"Something personal."
The nurse paused, then nodded. She didn't ask again.
She cleaned the wound carefully, working in silence.
The clinic door opened.
Even injured, Asher stepped inside like a quiet disruption.
His face was beautifully sculpted, perfectly balanced—soft where it should be, sharp where it mattered. Long, curled lashes framed black, fox-like eyes that were expressive and dangerously distracting. Straight brows, a refined straight nose, naturally pink lips, and a clean, defined jawline completed his unreal features.
His skin was pale, almost porcelain.
Despite the bruises and cuts marking his face and arms, he looked elegant—calm, silent, devastating. His long arms were veined, fingers slender and steady, the kind that looked suited for a surgeon or a pianist. Long legs, a slim, well-sculpted sleeper build, a V-shaped waist, and a height of six feet gave him a quiet dominance.
The kind of injured beauty that made people want to protect him.
The nurse froze.
She stopped cleaning Ava's hand and stood up at once.
"What happened to you?" she asked Asher, worry flooding her voice.
"I'm fine," Asher said softly. "I just feel uncomfortable."
"Sit down," the nurse insisted, already moving to help him.
"Where's the first aid box?" he asked politely. "I can clean myself."
Before the nurse could respond, Ava reached for a bandage from the box beside her and wrapped it loosely around her palm, her expression unchanged.
The nurse handed the box to Asher with both hands.
Ava didn't look at him.