Chapter 201 The Mysterious Demon Hunter Appears
Those roses were the result of Quentin waking before dawn, braving the cold, and hiring people to arrive hours before class just to set the scene exactly as he had imagined.
Every stem had been placed with care, every bloom positioned to catch the morning light.
For any other girl, the sight might have been enough to draw tears. Yet Amelia had looked at them, at all that effort, and dismissed them as nothing more than an obstruction.
And the necklace… she hadn't even glanced at it. Six hundred thousand dollars, flown in from overseas, chosen with precision. He had imagined her eyes widening, maybe a breath caught in her throat. Instead, she treated it as disposable.
Quentin stared at her face—cool, unreadable, not a flicker of emotion—and felt something lodge hard in his chest.
Was there really a girl who didn't like roses or jewelry? Or was she deliberately holding herself above him, making him look like a fool in front of the entire class?
Ever since he had learned Amelia was Bald Eagle, something inside him had shifted. The name alone had been enough to jolt him—Bald Eagle, the figure he had admired from a distance, the one whose skill and reputation were almost mythic. And now she was here, in his orbit, in his classroom.
In the beginning, he had thought she was an illegitimate daughter from the countryside, plucked from a small town and dropped into River City because of that strange, inexplicable engagement.
In his mind, she had been using him as a stepping stone, cozying up to his grandfather with the aim of marrying into the Williams family, turning her humble origins into the status of a noble hostess.
But piece by piece, that picture had fallen apart. Her poise, her speech, the way she carried herself—it was nothing like the clumsy, provincial image he had painted. She was beautiful, with a figure that drew the eye without trying. She could play the piano, she could heal, she had scored a perfect mark on her entrance exams. And then there was the revelation—she was Bald Eagle. Every discovery had overturned his assumptions.
Quentin's thoughts tangled into regret.
From the first meeting, he had made no effort to hide his disdain. He had pushed her in his own home, hard enough that her hand had been cut on shattered glass. And afterward, for Rachel's sake, he had gone out of his way to make Amelia's life difficult. Now Rachel was gone—no explanations, just a sudden departure overseas—and his relationship with Amelia remained frozen in place.
If he was honest, aside from her family background, Rachel had nothing on Amelia. Amelia was the one who truly matched him. And there had been that engagement… If she had shown even a hint of willingness, he might have considered making her his girlfriend, fulfilling his grandfather's wish and smoothing over the past.
Instead, she had rejected him in front of everyone.
Heat surged under his skin, humiliation flaring sharp and fast. Was she really so impressed with herself? A few skills, a couple of public titles, and she thought she was untouchable? He had grown up with girls chasing him, dreaming up ways to catch his attention. Even with Rachel, it had been her leaning toward him, not the other way around.
And now, the first time he had prepared something with genuine intent, he was met with this.
The whispers around them were growing, turning into muffled laughter he could almost hear. Quentin's jaw tightened. His hand clenched around the velvet box before he let it fall to the floor with a hard crack.
He lifted his chin, forcing his voice into something cold and controlled. "I told you—this is from my grandfather, not me. I don't understand why you're acting like this. I'll have the flowers cleared later. As for the necklace, if you don't want it, fine. The Williams family doesn't care about a mere six hundred thousand dollars."
He let out a short, dismissive breath and turned away, feeling as if he had clawed back a shred of dignity.
Two steps later, her voice cut through the air.
"Wait."
His stride faltered. For a moment, hope flickered—maybe she had changed her mind. His pulse quickened, though he masked it with a look of bored impatience as he turned back. "What, you said you didn't want it. Are you—"
The words died. Amelia was bent at the waist, picking up the box without ceremony. She straightened, walked to the trash can at the back of the room, and dropped it in again—this time with deliberate precision.
"If you're going to throw something away, at least put it in the trash can," she said, her tone even, her gaze steady. "It seems you really don't lack money. What you lack is manners."
"You—!"
Color rose in Quentin's face, draining just as quickly, leaving him pale and furious. He opened his mouth to fire back, but the bell split the tension, loud and insistent.
Ben, quick to sense trouble, grabbed Quentin's arm and steered him toward his seat. Around them, the crowd dissolved, students heading for their own desks, their own classes.
The first period was self-study.
From the front row, Kelly turned in her seat, catching sight of Amelia sitting as if nothing had happened. She exchanged a glance with Grace, a silent agreement passing between them. Moments later, they stood, muttering something about the bathroom, and slipped out into the hallway.
The corridor was empty, the air carrying the faint echo of footsteps. At the sinks outside the girls' restroom, Kelly leaned against the counter, rolling her eyes.
"I swear, ever since Amelia's other identities came out, she thinks she can do whatever she wants."
Grace's mouth twisted. "She probably thinks playing piano and knowing how to fight makes her better than the rest of us. Like she's above high school."
"And the way she acted with Quentin," Kelly added, voice sharp. "Like she's too good for him. As if she's rejecting the idea of him pursuing her."
Grace snorted. "It's laughable. Quentin is the only heir to the Williams family. Why would he even look at someone like her—an illegitimate daughter?"
Kelly nodded, her eyes narrowing. "He was just delivering a gift on his grandfather's behalf, and she turned it into some kind of personal power move."
"Didn't they have an engagement before?" Grace tilted her head. "Rachel went abroad so suddenly… I'd bet Quentin's grandfather is behind this, trying to push him toward Amelia."
"You know what I think?" Kelly's voice dropped. "Rachel's sudden trip, no goodbyes, no party—it's probably Amelia's fault."
Grace's brows rose. "You think she stirred things up?"
"I think she charmed the Martinez family, made them see Rachel in a bad light, and forced her out."
"Exactly!" Kelly's agreement was instant. "Remember the school fair? Rachel and Ryan were close, and then Ryan went on a livestream in front of everyone and said his only sister was Amelia. He even said he came to Prestige High School for her. Didn't give Rachel a shred of dignity.
"And Rachel's five brothers? None of them showed up to our cafe that day. They all went to find Amelia, treating her like she was the most precious thing in the world."
Kelly's voice was laden with suspicion. "I don't know what she did, but she's got them wrapped around her finger. Sometimes I wonder if she's using some kind of spell."
"There's something else I've never understood," she added, leaning closer. "Before River City, Amelia lived in the countryside with her mother. Fallon told me she was so poor she had to apply for financial aid at school."
"If that's true," Grace said, "where did she get the money for piano lessons? Or to travel overseas for underground fighting matches?"
Kelly's eyes gleamed. "Exactly. It doesn't add up."
Grace opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a voice stopped her.
"Sounds like it really doesn't."
The tone was warm, smooth enough to be disarming. Both girls turned, startled, and found themselves staring.
A man stood in the hallway, dressed in a crisp khaki shirt tucked into white riding trousers, black knee-high boots polished to a soft shine. The simplicity of the colors made him look even more composed. He was tall, lean, with clean lines to his frame, his features sharp but refined. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, catching the light.
Sunlight spilled down the corridor, laying a gentle sheen over him.
He tempered the edge in his eyes, offering them a smile that was polite but not overly familiar.
"Sorry," he said, "I was just passing by and happened to overhear. Are you in the same class as the Amelia you mentioned? From what you're saying, she sounds… rather extraordinary."