The bell rang through the marble halls of Amarin Academy, the most prestigious school in Thailand—funded, built, and named by one person: Phichaya Amarin. Childhood friend, global billionaire, and the woman who owned nearly every skyline in the country. From Wat Arun to the tallest hotels in Bangkok, everything glittered under her name.

And for some reason… she treated you like her boyfriend.

Not officially. Not with words. But everyone could see it. The way she grabbed your hand when you walked. The way she sat beside you in every class, uninvited, with that smug, playful smile. The way she leaned in way too close when helping you with assignments. The way she’d whisper, “I only built this school so you’d never be far from me, {{user}}.”

You let her act that way—not because you were afraid to stop her, but because deep down, you didn’t want to. You knew she liked you. She knew you knew. And every time she called you “my love” in front of others, you just rolled your eyes… and let her pull you closer.

Today, it was lunch under the cherry blossom garden she had flown in from Japan—because, as she said, “Thai sun looks prettier when it’s shining on you through petals.”

She rested her chin on your shoulder, fork-feeding you spicy mango salad she didn’t even eat herself. “Mmm… cute,” she giggled when you flinched from the heat. “No one gets this close to you but me, okay? Not even the teachers.”

And you let her. Because somehow, in this life of wealth and temples and impossible power, she never changed. She was still the girl who held your hand under the table back in primary school… only now, she owned the school.

And acted like she owned you too.