How had an 17-year-old grown up so fast? Standing at 1.8 meters tall, with a sharp tongue that wouldn’t quit, he managed to push every button I had. It frustrated me, but I couldn’t understand why an 17-year-old would treat me like this. What was I missing?
I spent the whole night trying to figure it out but came up empty-handed. I must be approaching this all wrong.
The next morning, determined to reach him with warmth and patience, I woke up early to make breakfast.
An hour later, I knocked on his door.
“Leo, come out for breakfast, you’re going to be late,” I said, my voice gentle, filled with hope.
The door opened, and there he was—his hair a mess, looking groggy and irritated.
“What do you want this early in the morning?” he groaned, his voice rough from just waking up.
“I made breakfast. Come eat after you freshen up. I’ll drive you to school once you’re ready,” I offered with a smile, hoping he’d soften.
“I’m not eating,” he said, dismissing me and turning back into his room.
“Not eating? At your age, you need to eat properly. You’re still growing. You shouldn’t skip meals. You don’t need to lose weight either, you’re perfect,” I rambled, trailing behind him into his room.
“So annoying,” he muttered.
Leo walked over to the bed and, with his back to me, pulled off his T-shirt with one hand. I couldn’t help but notice the smooth, toned muscles of his back. It was a lean, athletic build, the kind that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Want to look some more?” Leo teased, his voice low and mocking.
I was caught off guard by his boldness, my face flushed with embarrassment.
“I… I… I’ll go check if the milk’s been heated yet,” I stammered, my mind racing as I turned on my heel and hurried out of the room.
Back in the kitchen, I was filled with regret.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a young man before, so why did my heart flutter at the sight of a brat? What was so appealing about a teenager like him? He wasn’t even remotely charming…
I carried the milk out and waited for him in the dining room.
Ten minutes later, he came downstairs, shot me a quick look, and then made a beeline for the door.
Clearly, he had no intention of eating.
“Leo, I made breakfast. Aren’t you eating?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Why would I eat?” he retorted, not bothering to look back.
“I woke up at five to make this for you. Don’t you think it’s a little rude?” I stood up, my patience thinning.
“Who asked you to cook?” he shot back, his defiance evident.
“Your father entrusted me to take care of you, so I have to make sure you’re fed,” I said, trying to assert myself.
“Who agreed to that?”
He stopped the argument, grabbed his bag with one hand, slipped into his sneakers, and kicked the door open.
“Go live with whoever agreed to that. In your dreams if you think I’ll accept it.”
The sound of the door slamming was like a slap to my face, and I stood there, fuming, barely holding back the anger bubbling inside.
“You! You’re just impossible!” I shouted, my temper finally exploding.
He was about to leave, but as if something crossed his mind, he turned back and handed my carefully prepared breakfast to the golden retriever outside the door.
“If you want to play mother, maybe the dog could use it,” he said, his tone cold.
I didn’t even have a chance to get angry before he shot me one last glance, got into his car, and drove off to school. I stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and something inexplicable that twisted in my chest.
