I Got Hired to Babysit My Bully

I sighed at the sight of my desk, covered in graffiti. From a distance, I could hear whispers laced with mocking laughter—I was certain they were all directed at me.

'Fat girls are useless!'

'Pigs belong in cages, not schools!'

'Loser!'

'Cheap whore!'

Not only that, crude drawings like genitalia, faeces, and worse—covered every inch of it. All I could do was pretend to be unfazed as I wiped it all away.

A rancid smell hit me—raw eggs, deliberately cracked open on my desk, mixed with the stench of oil and garbage. It made my head spin. But there wasn't much I could do. I was too drained to pick a fight with anyone.

My name is Rachel Reizz—just your average high school student. Unlucky, some might say. Not having a slim figure, a pretty face, or wealthy parents somehow counted as a flaw here. Don't ask me who made that rule.

"Move aside."

A raspy, cold baritone cut through my focus—I stepped aside on instinct, as if my body had already obeyed before my mind caught up.

"You fit that table."

I stared at him without a word, my forehead furrowed, eyes locked on his face. But the moment he responded with a slow tilt of his chin, I froze—my nerve faltering all at once.

"Don't even think you have the power to fight me." He shoulder-checked me as he said it—hard enough that I stumbled, nearly losing my footing.

Chris De Luca. Who didn't know him? The youngest Formula 1 rookie to ever have his name flood the media overnight—a rare phenomenon that had even our school looking the other way when it came to his behaviour. His driving was something else entirely; the news of him on the podium had dominated headlines for weeks.

He was rich, and—I'd be lying if I said he wasn't handsome. That dirty blonde hair, slightly curled and carrying a warm masculine scent, paired far too well with his straight nose, cleft chin, and eyes as sharp and hungry as a wolf's.

He was only 18—and that was the catch. Far too golden for someone that young.

I snapped back to reality. Admiring the person who'd just bullied me—that was something only a lunatic would do. Did I have Stockholm syndrome? Get a grip, Rachel.

"Don't come near me. Your ugly face and fat body are an eyesore."

I snorted softly. "Good. That's one point for me, then. I'll keep offending your eyes whenever and wherever I get the chance—I'll haunt you right to your doorstep if I have to."

Chris scowled—eyes wide, forehead creased, jaw set tight. He had a terrible temper. And damn it, the public ate that up in a man.

"You—"

Before he could get another word out, his phone rang, cutting the tension short. I'd been looking forward to that argument. Not because I wanted the attention—I just genuinely couldn't stand Chris.

The day passed the way it always did—ridicule and ostracism, nothing new. I was used to it. If anything, it made things easier; the less I stood out, the less they noticed when I wasn't around.

I opened a notification on my phone. A few days ago, I'd applied for a job as a nanny or you can call it chaperone—the qualifications had been oddly specific, and I hadn't expected the person I'd be looking after to be a high school student.

The moment school ended, I rushed to the address my employer had sent over. It led me to a sprawling residential complex—the kind where only the seriously wealthy lived.

I was nervous. Apparently, all I had to do was look after a high school student who attended the same school as I did—and if I performed well, the salary was more than a caregiver had any right to expect.

It was tempting enough that part of me still wondered if it was even real.

"What are you doing here?"

I froze. That voice. The one that grated on me every single day—the one I'd spent so long trying to avoid, because its owner never seemed to tire of making my life difficult.

When I turned around, there he was—towering at 6'3", staring down at me with that signature cold, accusatory look, those sea-blue eyes cutting right through me.

"You serious right now? Don't push it—not if you're actually here to mess with me." His voice came out low and clipped, each word deliberate.

"The world doesn't revolve around you," I said flatly. "I'm here to work. And last I checked, you don't own this entire complex."

I turned away without another word, bumping into his broad frame out of spite as I went. Whatever he'd throw at me tomorrow—worse insults, worse bully I didn't care.

I walked away quickly, phone clutched in hand, eyes fixed ahead—all that mattered now was finding my employer's house.

"Where are you going?!"

My brow furrowed. Without looking back, I already knew—he was following me, footsteps quick and deliberate. Why was he so invested in the life of someone he claimed to despise? Shouldn't he be relieved to be rid of me?

"Stop, you idiot!"

I ignored him. Up ahead, I could already make out a house fronted by a sleek grey-and-black fence. Once I got there, he'd have no reason to follow me any further.

I pressed the gate bell and waited for someone to answer, doing my best to tune out every word Chris threw at me.

"Damn it! Why are you here?! Are you deaf, or just that stupid? Get out of here!"

I'd lost my patience. My breathing quickened, as if something was clawing its way up my chest, desperate to get out.

"It's none of your business. I'm here to work—what's it to you?!"

Chris grabbed my collar and yanked me forward until our faces were just centimetres apart. That straight nose. Eyes sharper than anything—cold, unblinking. His scent curled into my senses uninvited. I forgot how to speak.

"Oh, Miss Rachel! You're here—wonderful, please come in. And you—Chris! What on earth are you doing to your new chaperone?!"

We both spun around. Chris looked genuinely stunned—and honestly, so was I. What exactly was going on?

"Mum—are you serious?! This is my new chaperone?!"

"What—she's your mother?!"