Posing as the Billionaire's Grandson

CHAPTER 2

The library was my sanctuary at Wellington Prep. Surrounded by the musty smell of old books, I could almost forget about the constant dread of navigating the halls. 

Today after classes ended, I settled into my usual tucked-away study nook. Taking out my books, I was soon lost in mastering proofs for AP Calculus. Numbers and formulas always made sense, unlike people.

I didn't notice the time passing until the librarian came by, reminding me they were closing up in 15 minutes. As I packed up, laughter echoed from the hallway outside. I recognized that mocking tone with a sinking feeling.

Poking my head out, I discovered Paul and his cronies loitering right outside the library doors. They were tossing a small object between them, snickering.

With a sigh, I walked up and held out my hand. "Alright Paul, give it back."  

He blinked innocently. "Give what back?" 

"Whatever you took from me. Let's just get this over with."

Paul laughed. "Wow, so quick to accuse me! Maybe I'm just hanging out, enjoying the fine literature section."

Charles snorted at this transparent lie. Paul shot him a glare before sighing dramatically. 

"Fine, you caught me. Benny, give the dork his book back."

Benjamin tossed me a heavy volume. I checked the cover - AP Chemistry. This wasn't even my book, but I knew better than to argue. Their childish pranks were barely worth the energy.

" Hilarious. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to study for finals." I turned to go.

"Not so fast!" Paul grabbed my shoulder, steering me down the hall. "We got you a surprise."

The "surprise" turned out to be my dorm room. As soon as Paul flung open the door, I saw the devastation within. 

My meticulously made bed was upended, blankets strewn everywhere. Drawers hung open, clothes were dumped out. My scant personal items lay smashed and torn across the floor. I took it all in numbly. They'd even ripped pages from my books and homework assignments. The bullies crowded behind me, waiting eagerly for my reaction.

"Well? Aren't you going to cry or something?" Paul taunted.

I simply stepped inside and set my bag down. "Is that all?" I asked mildly. 

Paul's smug grin wavered. I began calmly tidying up as if this were perfectly normal. Realizing I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me upset, the trio slunk off in frustration. Once they were gone, I sank onto the bare mattress, surveying the damage. But I refused to let their cruelty get the better of me. 

Over the next week, Paul's vendetta seemed to intensify. My homework vanished from my bag. Foul insults appeared scribbled on my locker. 

In Calculus, I solved an equation on the board, only for Paul to announce loudly, "Sorry teacher, don't trust anything he says. The kid probably cheated."

Our teacher Mrs. Abrams gave Paul a stern look. "That's enough. Adam clearly showed his work." 

Through it all, I kept my cool, giving Paul no ammunition. After a week of these unprovoked attacks, we had a substitute teacher for AP Chemistry. 

Paul sauntered in late, dropping into the seat beside me. "Hey buddy," he said with fake enthusiasm. "Let's bury the hatchet. I heard it's your birthday! You should sit with us at dinner."

However, my birthday had passed, and the fact that this brat didn't even remember or notice didn't surprise me. I saw right through his scheme immediately, and my reply was decisive: "No thanks, I have plans."

"Come on, it'll be fun! We got you a cake and everything." He lowered his voice. "Don't be an ungrateful jerk."

I met his threatening gaze. "I don't know what you're planning, but I want no part of it."

Class finally ended. As we filed out, Paul loudly announced, "Guess Adam's too good for his birthday surprise." His cronies laughed.

Ignoring them, I went to the dining hall and got in line for that night's flavorless stew. Suddenly everyone erupted into song. 

"Happy birthday to you!" Paul and his gang stood behind me, grinning wildly as they shoved a cake smothered in shaving cream into my face. 

I stood there, livid, as hoots of laughter rang out around me. Paul smirked, smugness radiating from him. "Make a wish!"

Something in me snapped. In one smooth motion, I seized his designer shirt, wiping the cream from my face all over the expensive fabric. The room went dead silent. I didn't quite understand why I acted that way since I had made a pact with myself not to respond to Paul's provocations when I first started attending this school and became his target. But, it seemed that today, for some reason, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"You should be more careful while eating cake," I said brightly, releasing him. "Happy birthday to you instead."

I walked out still covered in icing, but with my head held high. The sounds of shocked laughter followed me down the hall. For once, the joke was on Paul.

Unfortunately, my small defiance only provoked his fury. Over the next few days, his relentless bullying grew steadily more malicious.

One night after studying late, I found my roommate and all my possessions gone from our room. A note read "Evicted" in Paul's handwriting. 

I slept propped against the wall that night. The next evening after classes, a group of boys ambushed me, knocking my glasses off and kicking me to the ground. Through their laughter, I recognized Paul's voice egging them on.

In the aftermath of painful encounters, I resigned myself to the reality that teachers were hesitant to confront the influential Auclair family. Their reluctance was apparent as they issued mere warnings, leaving me to resolve the intensifying conflict on my own.

One day, I stumbled upon a chess tournament announcement, intended for Wellington Prep students. A faint of hope resurfaced. My heart stirred, and I chose to take a leap of faith. Without much contemplation, I decided to join the competition–the sole domain where brainpower could reign supreme, defying money or power.

That Saturday, as I took my seat across from Paul in the first round, removed from the crowds observing other matches, I steeled myself for the challenge ahead. When his eyes met mine, he dramatically rolled them, clearly unenthused by my participation. I was aware that as a member of a wealthy family, he had experience with numerous sports and games from a young age, giving him an advantage. However, I was determined not to let my perceived inadequacy show.

"Let's get this over with. We both know you have no chance," he scoffed arrogantly.

Despite his taunt, I refused to let him get under my skin. Calmly, I simply gestured for him to make the opening move. Jaw set, Paul opened aggressively, forgoing strategy in his arrogance. I countered his reckless attacks with complex traps, pieces vanishing rapidly from the board.

Twenty moves in and Paul's king is trapped. His eyes darted frantically between the dire board state and my impassive face. With a frustrated grunt, he knocked over his king, conceding defeat.

I stood and extended my hand politely. "Good game." 

Paul stormed off without a glance back, bravado shattered. My small victory lifted my spirits and briefly sent Paul in search of easier targets. Of course, the reprieve didn't last long. Soon I noticed him watching me from across the dining hall, outrage simmering just beneath the surface. This wouldn't end until one of us broke. 

I almost didn't notice the note shoved under my door several days later: Meet me behind the sports field after lights out if you're man enough.  - P.

My stomach sank as I considered the possibilities. But refusing would only draw this out. Better to face him now when I had the upper hand mentally. 

As I crept across the moonlit grounds that night, doubt crept in. Still, my feet carried me to the deserted track where Paul waited, cracking his knuckles with his lackeys flanking him. 

Wordlessly, he stepped forward and swung at me.