I knew better than to bid my hand in marriage. Especially, to a foul, merciless brat with an endeavor to make my life a living hell. But it seemed like the only plausible option to keep my lower rear out of the slammer. Maybe juvenile hall might have been a better option, after all.

He was a arrogant, prick, whose personal space bubble is nearly as large as his ego. And in his bubble, he sworn to never fall in love. Until I came along to burst his little barrier. Enough said.