Oh, God, no. He liked gentle girls. *Actually* gentle girls, not...
*Ahem.* Not that he was calling Claire a fierce predator or anything, but that was exactly what his roommates called her.
The guys at The Cabinda University were generally top-tier. Finding a girlfriend wasn't exactly a monumental challenge.
If they couldn't find someone on campus, they could always look at other schools.
Even if a guy was just average-looking, plenty of girls wanted a partner with a bright future—or at least a smart father for their kids, right?
So there was absolutely no need to take on a terrifyingly high-difficulty challenge like her.
The guy's name was Alistair James.
What a coincidence.
Alistair was genuinely terrified of Claire.
Just the thought of her actually being interested in him sent a wave of suffocating dread crashing through him.
Of course, he was completely overthinking things.
"Then I'll pay you back with Glazed Short Ribs. I'll bring some back from off-campus this weekend."
Alistair felt profoundly alarmed. "No, you really don't have to."
*Was she actually into him?*
*Please, God, no!*
*Was it too late to hop on a train and flee the country?*
"I don't like owing people favors. Or would you rather I keep finding reasons to stay in touch with you?"
Claire could see how terrified the upperclassman was, so she intentionally threatened him.
Sure enough, the moment he heard that second sentence, Alistair immediately surrendered. "No, no, that's fine! You can bring me the food. Thank you!"
Claire let out a sharp laugh. It was the first time someone had actively treated her like a venomous snake.
It was actually pretty amusing.
Seeing Claire's sudden smile, which melted her icy demeanor in an instant, Alistair froze for a split second.
Maybe if Claire *was* into him, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
Good looks were their own kind of justice, after all.
Even if she was a little fierce, he could probably handle it.
But Claire gave him absolutely zero chance to entertain those thoughts.
True to her word, she called Alistair on Sunday evening.
"I brought you your Glazed Short Ribs. Come down and get them."
Alistair felt a tiny spark of excitement.
He had assumed Claire was just being polite. He never expected her to actually follow through.
He shoved his chair back and happily trotted out of the dorm.
Claire had indeed brought him the Glazed Short Ribs, along with a few other dishes.
The moment Alistair took the bag, he could feel its heavy weight.
And looking at the exquisite
packaging, it clearly wasn't frommet
Some cheap takeout joint if looked like it came from a private kitchen.
"Did you bring this from home?"
Alistair had heard that Claire wasn't originally from Cabinda, but these containers looked incredibly
high end and domestic.
"Yeah. My family's chef made the Glazed Short Ribs. They're amazing. You'll definitely love them."
Claire handed over the food and immediately turned to leave.
Alistair called out to stop her. "Wait, these containers..."
Claire waved him off. "Keep them."
It was just a set of food containers. Claire wasn't going to demand them back.
Alistair glanced down at the logo on the containers and gasped inwardly. *These are insanely expensive!*
He couldn't even begin to imagine what Glazed Short Ribs packed inside thousand- dollar containers tasted like.
Alistair carried the food back to his dorm room.
His roommates immediately swarmed him. "What kind of good stuff did you get? Did Claire actually give that to you?"
"Holy crap, those containers are worth a fortune!"
"I thought Claire was supposed to be some fake heiress? How is she this loaded?"
After the massive scene Claire had caused, all her background secrets had been dragged into the light.
The scandal of the real and fake
heiresses had made huge wavemet
back then, so everyone knew she was supposed to be the disgraced daughter of a wealthy family.
However, no one dared say a single word to Claire's face, absolutely terrified of becoming the next Levi.
"Her money is her own business."
What Alistair didn't mention was that Claire had specifically said the food was cooked by her family's chef.
If she could afford a private chef, how could she possibly be some fake heiress from the countryside?
Maybe she was still incredibly wealthy, and the 'fake heiress' title was just a cover
story.
"Hurry up and open it! Let's see how amazing food packed in a thousand-dollar container actually smells."
One of his roommates urged him impatiently.