When the Badboy Meets the Mafia Princess

Tiffany Foster hated two things the most.

Number one: Social gatherings.

And number two: That darned asshole, Jacob Randall.

She was minding her business, doing a little last-minute reading as she walked down the halls of Oakwood High. Her small frame seemed to shrink even further as she instinctively angled her body to avoid bumping into her peers.

“Watch it, bookworm!” A gruff voice cut through Tiffany’s trance as a broad shoulder collided with hers, nearly knocking the novel from her grasp.

Tiffany’s cheeks flushed as she clutched the book tighter, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “S-sorry,” she mumbled.

“Stop looking at the floor and apologize to my face,” the voice growled, and she looked up to meet his dark brown eyes.

“Sorry,” she repeated again.

Jacob smirked. “That’s more like it. Now scoot along, princess,” he said.

Arrogant little shit.

She moved away fast and approached her locker. while putting her book away, she couldn’t help but overhear the animated conversation of a group of girls gathered nearby. Their perfectly styled hair and designer clothes stood in stark contrast to Tiffany’s simple ponytail and thrift store sweater.

Yes, she was aware of how rich she was and could easily afford designer clothes like those girls but that would make her stand out. And stand out she didn’t want.

“Did you see Jacob just now?” one of the girls squealed. “I swear he winked at me!”

Ew….Tiffany thought.

“As if,” another replied with a playful shove. “He totally has eyes for Brittany.”

Tiffany risked a quick glance at the group, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. What would it be like, she wondered, to have friends to gossip with? To feel like she belonged?

As if sensing her gaze, one of the girls - Tiffany vaguely recalled her name was Amber - turned and locked eyes with her.

Amber’s perfectly arched eyebrow rose as she gave Tiffany a once-over. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone dripping with disdain.

Tiffany’s throat went dry. “N-no, I just… I was just…” she stammered, desperately wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to her friends with an exaggerated hair flip. “Anyway, as I was saying…”

The group’s laughter echoed in Tiffany’s ears as she fumbled with her locker combination.

Tiffany slipped into the classroom, her eyes fixed on the floor as she made her way to the back row. She liked to stay hidden. She couldn’t let anyone know who she really was. Who her family was.

More importantly, who her father was.

“Did you see Jacob’s new ride?” a girl with bouncy curls gushed. “It’s so hot!”

“Not as hot as he is,” her friend replied with a giggle.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. Why are these girls always obsessing with Jacob? It was as if no other guy existed.

“I wonder why she always sits alone,” a hushed voice whispered nearby.

Tiffany’s ears burned as she knew they were talking about her now, but she kept her eyes glued to her book. This was safer. Easier. No expectations, no disappointments.

As the teacher droned on about algebraic equations, Tiffany felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She glanced up from her meticulous notes to find Emma Chen, the usually bubbly class president, studying her with an intensity that made Tiffany squirm.

The hell was her problem?

Jacob Randell swaggered in right then, his leather jacket creaking as he moved. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto Tiffany.

Tiffany couldn’t look away fast enough.

“Mr. Randell, you are late,” their teacher, Mrs. Hawthorne, commented, glaring at Jacob.

Without missing a beat, Jacob flashed a cocky grin. “Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, but I had to save a kitten stuck in a tree on my way here. Can’t ignore a damsel in distress, right?”

The class burst into laughter, and even Mrs. Hawthorne’s stern expression wavered for a moment before she sighed. “Just take your seat, Jacob.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to groan. Of course, Jacob would say something like that and somehow get away with it.

Jacob sauntered to his seat, passing by Tiffany’s desk with a smirk. She caught a faint whiff of his cologne, and it annoyed her how aware she was of him—his presence, his stupid jacket, and his stupid dimples.

She shifted in her seat, trying to refocus on her notes, but a part of her was still rattled.

And why the he was he sitting behind her!?

Emma Chen, still watching Tiffany closely, raised her hand. “Mrs. Hawthorne, can we go over the homework again? Some of us had a hard time with question five.”

Jacob leaned forward behind her and she shivered as she felt his warm breath on her neck. “Hey, Foster. You free after school?”

Tiffany’s heart raced, but she kept her face impassive. “I’m busy, Jacob,” she said coolly, turning back to her notebook.

He leaned against her table, invading her space. “Aw, come on, Foster. Don’t you ever take a break from being so…perfect?”

She met his gaze, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. “Some of us actually care about our futures.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?”

Tiffany stood, gathering her things. “I don’t think anything,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to focus on what Mrs. Hawthorne is saying.”

Jacob’s smirk faltered for a second, but it quickly returned, as if he were amused by her coldness. “Sure thing, princess,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating confidence.

Tiffany could feel his eyes on her as she sat back down, her heart still pounding. She hated how easily he got under her skin. The way he acted like everything was a game, like her boundaries were just another obstacle for him to push through.

She buried her head back into her notes, forcing herself to concentrate. Numbers and formulas made sense. Jacob Randall didn’t.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully, but Tiffany remained hyper-aware of the boy sitting behind her, his lazy posture and easy swagger casting a shadow over her thoughts. When the bell finally rang, she exhaled with relief, quickly gathering her things.

As she stood, she noticed Emma Chen still watching her, something unreadable in her expression. It wasn’t the usual judgmental gaze Tiffany expected. Emma’s eyes flicked from Tiffany to Jacob and back again, as if she were putting together pieces of a puzzle.

What was her deal?

Before Tiffany could slip away, Jacob was already up, blocking her path.

“Let me walk you to your next class, Foster,” Jacob offered, that smug grin still plastered on his face. “Think of it as my good deed for the day.”

Tiffany sighed, her patience wearing thin. “I can manage on my own, thanks.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Jacob replied smoothly. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Jacob,” Tiffany’s voice dropped to a warning, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Leave me alone.”

For a split second, something dark flickered in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly that Tiffany wasn’t sure if she imagined it.

“Whatever you say, princess,” Jacob drawled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Catch you later.”