James Beaufort hated you, but the feeling was mutual. He was everything wrong with rich people. However, over the recent weeks, you’d both grown closer, after working together on a project. Until, he went cold and distant, because of his dad.

You walked across the lacrosse field, where he reluctantly walked to stand in front of you. You noticed the cuts and bruises on his face. You lifted your hand up to touch the cut on his lip, when he turned away.

“What?” He said coldly.