The Fake Heiress Who Tamed the Young Don Chapter 02

The Fake Heiress Who Tamed the Young Don Chapter 02

I went quiet.

It seemed that in Ricardo’s mind, I really had become spoiled beyond saving.

I needed to fix that.

After a moment of reflection, I said to him, “Ricky, I’m not mad.”

He frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes.

I rubbed my arms.

“I just think I can do these little things myself from now on. You’re tired every day too, so you don’t need to heat milk for me at night anymore.”

After thinking for a second, I added, “Oh, right. If you don’t want to drink milk, don’t drink it. Just do whatever you want.”

The second I finished speaking, there was a crack.

The can in Ricardo’s hand caved in, and water spilled all over his hand.

My eyes widened.

I quickly pulled out a tissue and tried to wipe it for him.

[Ahhh, dirty hands! Get away from him! He hates the fake heiress touching him the most. Certain people have zero self-awareness. Every time, he has to go to the bathroom and wash until his skin turns red.]

[Can’t she see his whole body is resisting? She still has to shamelessly shove herself at him. I’m going to puke.]

Ricardo really did seem to dislike me touching him.

During New Year’s gatherings, I hugged relatives and friends one by one, but when it was Ricardo’s turn, he always found an excuse to walk away.

Whenever I ambushed him and touched him, he immediately stepped back and put distance between us.

Soon after, the sound of running water would come from his room.

Before, I never understood.

I even forced him to dry my hair and put face masks on me.

I took a breath and quickly withdrew my hand before I touched him.

Ricardo gave a half-smile.

“Not touching me this time?”

It took me a second to react.

Then I looked at his pale, elegant fingers.

Water slid along the blue veins between them and dripped onto the floor with a soft sound.

My heart trembled too.

As someone with a serious hand obsession, Ricardo’s hands were exactly my type.

Before, whenever I found a chance, I would force him to let me hold his hand and touch every inch of it.

But now, looking at his tense, whitening knuckles, I could only imagine how much willpower it took for him to suppress his disgust.

I looked away and said quietly, “No. I won’t touch you.”

The air suddenly went terribly still.

Half of Ricardo’s face was buried in darkness, making his expression unreadable.

Panic stirred in my chest.

“I… I’m going to bed.”

I had only walked halfway when another crack sounded behind me, louder than before.

I turned back in alarm.

“Ricky?”

Moonlight from the window outlined Ricardo’s tense profile.

But his voice was strangely calm.

“It’s nothing. Go to bed.”

When I woke up in the morning, my head throbbed.

I touched my damp hair and sighed.

When I walked into the bathroom and saw my waist-length hair in a tangled mess, despair hit me even harder.

My hair was soft and prone to tangling if I didn’t take proper care of it with oil.

And last night, I had forgotten completely.

“Ri…”

The moment the first syllable left my mouth, I snapped awake.

Things were different now.

I no longer had the right to casually order Ricardo around.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, and Ricardo’s voice came from outside.

“What’s wrong?”

The comments, which had finally calmed down, started scrolling again.

[Tsk. He was explaining the experiment to our princess. The moment he heard a certain person’s voice, his mood was ruined. What a buzzkill.]

[Our brother’s hands are for doing experiments with the real princess, not for brushing your trashy hair all day. Can you have some self-awareness?]

[Everyone, stop yelling. Let the fake heiress keep acting up. The more he hates her, the worse her ending will be.]

My heart clenched.

I immediately raised my voice.

“No… nothing.”

Ricardo said, “You called my name.”

I quickly made up an excuse.

“I was on the phone with a classmate. You… probably misheard.”

It was quiet outside for a few seconds.

“Mm.”

One cold syllable.

Only after his footsteps faded did my shoulders slump, and I started brushing my hair.

Half an hour later, I stared at the ends tangled even tighter in my hand and made a decision.

“You’re really cutting it?”

On the way there, my childhood friend Marino Rizzo asked me that question for the fifth time.

I said helplessly, “Really. I couldn’t be more serious.”

His gaze swept over the bun at the back of my head, his face full of regret.

“I remember you started growing it out before Liceo. It’s been six years. You really won’t miss it?”

I touched the bun behind my head and didn’t know what to say.

Rather than saying I had grown it for six years, it was more accurate to say I had forced Ricardo to grow it for me.

From washing to caring for it, Ricardo had handled everything himself.

Without those comments, I might never have known how he had forced himself to touch my hair again and again while suppressing his disgust.

Anyway, I couldn’t manage it myself.

I might as well cut it off.

At least that would be one less thing for Ricardo to hate.

I smiled.

“It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. There’s nothing to miss. Just make sure the stylist cuts it nicely for me.”

Marino patted my shoulder.

“Don’t worry.”

A new message came to his phone.

He glanced at it and smiled.

“The stray dog we picked up last time has recovered. The vet sent a picture. It’s pretty cute.”

“Let me see.”

I leaned over, all my attention on the puppy photo, not really noticing the person blocking our way.

“Sorry, excuse me.”

The second I said that, a chill seemed to fall over my head.

“Young Don Ricardo?”