Chapter 126 Ryan Joins the Waitstaff
The moment Ryan heard Amelia's voice outside his door, the cool detachment in his expression vanished like it had never been there. Without hesitation, he ended the call and called out, "Come in."
The door handle turned, and Amelia stepped into his room carrying a glass of freshly squeezed juice. She was slender, her long black hair spilling loosely over her shoulders, her bare face pale and striking in its simplicity.
She wore a short-sleeved, short-shorts pajama set in soft pink and white, patterned with little rabbits. The sleeves left her arms bare, and her legs—slim and straight—were visible down to the ankle-high white socks and the pair of fluffy bunny slippers she padded in on.
"Those pajamas and slippers—did Tobias buy them for you?" Ryan asked, taking the juice from her hand.
Amelia glanced down at herself. "Is Tobias's taste that obvious?"
"It's never changed," Ryan said with a faint lift of his brow. "When he was three, he'd secretly dress his dolls in frilly pink skirts and bunny hair clips."
The image of a three-year-old Tobias hiding from his brothers to play dress-up with dolls made Amelia smile despite herself.
"Come here. Let me hold you."
Ryan set the juice down carelessly on the floor and reached for her, pulling her down onto the carpet so she sat in front of him. His frame was broad enough to wrap around her easily, his chin coming to rest lazily on her shoulder as he let out a satisfied sigh.
"So this is what having a little sister feels like… It's nice."
His voice was low, magnetic, the kind of tone that carried a lazy charm and could make even the simplest words sound dangerous. Heaven had been generous with him—face, build, voice—he was the kind of man you could look at for hours without finding a flaw.
And yet, sometimes Amelia felt that Ryan wasn't entirely real. He was like a perfectly crafted idol, his eyes always holding a smile, but the truth behind them hidden deep away. She had never been able to see past the mask to whatever was underneath.
Ryan didn't notice her thoughts. He just held her and asked, "I heard from Hugo that your school's holding some kind of anniversary event. Are you involved?"
A top-tier celebrity's assistant keeping tabs on a high school's anniversary? Amelia guessed Hugo must have seen Rachel or Yvette's Instagram posts.
"Yes. Next Wednesday," she nodded. "My friends and I are running a themed shop for the fair. Zander and Tobias will be servers."
"You mean Zander is actually participating… as a server?" Ryan's tone was skeptical, as if the idea was hard to reconcile with the Zander he knew.
"Right," Amelia said. "Our selling point is that all the servers are handsome guys. Zander and Tobias can definitely draw a crowd."
At the words "draw a crowd," Ryan tilted his head. "So your event's a popularity contest between different teams?"
Amelia nodded.
Ryan raised a brow—no wonder Rachel had invited Yvette to the fair. She was riding a wave of online fame right now. If she showed up at Prestige High School, whatever her team was doing would be mobbed with fans.
Which meant Amelia's team could lose. And Ryan didn't like the idea of his little sister losing anything.
From the moment he'd met her at the piano competition, he'd known—they were the same kind of person. Born to stand out.
Ryan's mouth curved in a sudden smile. He leaned closer. "If you need a handsome guy to draw a crowd… don't you think I'm the obvious choice?"
Amelia blinked, turning to look at his face—close enough to see every perfect detail. "You?"
"I'm on break and have nothing better to do," he said, grinning. "If I'm just sitting around at home, I might as well show up at your shop as a server."
"Could even give the customers a surprise—maybe you play piano for me while I sing the lead single from my new album."
"With your friends and our family's looks combined, your shop would easily take first place."
Ryan expected her to be thrilled by the idea. Instead, she frowned slightly and lifted her gaze. "But… you don't like crowds, do you?"
The question caught him off guard. "…What did you say?"
"I said, I don't think you enjoy crowded places," Amelia replied. "The fair will be packed and noisy. I don't want you forcing yourself into something you dislike just for me."
For a second, Ryan's easy, teasing smile froze.
Ryan was a top-tier celebrity. Wherever he went, he was surrounded by people—tens of thousands of fans packing arenas so tightly there wasn't room to breathe. Even if he disliked crowds, he'd never let it show.
But Amelia, who had barely spent time with him before, had somehow seen through it.
"It's fine," Ryan said finally, drawing in a deep breath. His voice was quieter now. "Even if I don't like it, I'm used to it. So it's not forcing myself."
Something flickered in his expression—distant, unfocused. He reached for the juice she'd brought, but the glass was too full, and his mind was elsewhere. As he lifted it, a splash landed on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
"Wait—don't move. I'll wipe it."
Amelia rose, grabbing tissues from the table before kneeling to dab at the damp fabric. Some juice had run down to his wrist, and she instinctively pushed up his sleeve to dry it.
"Don't touch me!"
The words were sharp, almost panicked. Ryan's eyes went wide, and in an instant he shoved her back—harder than he meant to.
Amelia, caught off guard, fell to the floor. The moment she hit the carpet, Ryan seemed to realize what he'd done. He rushed forward, pulling her upright, his face tight with something that looked like fear.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice low and urgent. He held her close, checking where she'd landed, apologizing over and over. "I'm sorry, Little Cutie… I didn't mean it. Did I hurt you?"
"No, Ryan, I'm fine," Amelia said quickly, shaking her head. "The juice spilled—I'll get you another glass."
She stood without meeting his eyes and headed for the door. As she stepped out, she drew in a deep breath.
Because in that brief second when she'd pushed up his sleeve, she had seen it.
Ryan's right forearm was marked with scars—thin, pale lines that could only have been made by a blade. And not just one or two. There were at least a dozen in that single patch of skin.