Heiress's Sin And Salvation

"Ms. Hamilton, we need this."

"Ms. Hamilton, you have a schedule..."

"Reina, wash this."

"Reina, clean this."

"Are you guys in a rush? Don’t you see I’m just one person? One. Person. God, step back!" I yelled at them.

"Yes, Ms. Hamilton," one of them replied. The rest immediately shut up.

"I’m still the daughter of the company’s owner, may I remind you," I said coldly before walking out of the room.

"Ms. Hamilton, where are you going?" one staff member asked.

"Isn’t it obvious? Going home. It’s lunchtime, woman," I shot back sarcastically and left.

"Are you coming back?!" she shouted after me, but I didn’t answer.

Pft. As if I had any plan to come back.

Running the company wasn’t just signing documents and answering calls. It was scrubbing floors until my hands went numb, wiping down bathrooms, and washing clothes that weren’t even mine.

"That’s your only use after your brother passed away. Just be lucky we’re still keeping you."

I was fifteen when Mom said that. Fifteen, and the words carved themselves into my head so deep I could still hear them. I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t choose to be an heiress.

"Heiress, my ass," I mumbled, sinking into the softness of my bed after a long, exhausting day.

My bones felt like they were about to snap. Every muscle screamed for rest. For once, it was just me and my bed, missing each other.

Then came the loud, impatient banging on my door.

"Reina Callys Hamilton!" My mother’s voice boomed through the hallway.

Can’t she call me in a normal tone? She always shouted like she's not talking to her own daughter.

"Here we go again," I groaned, covering my ears. "What?!" I yelled back, matching her volume.

"Come out here. We have something to discuss." Yeah, I already knew. It was about what happened earlier.

"What?" I repeated, opening the door.

"They told me about your behavior again. They expected you to come back, Reina!"

"I said it was lunchtime and I was going home. I didn’t say I’d be back." I shrugged.

"Reina, can you please—"

"—take everything seriously? Whatever." I shut the door in her face.

"Reina! You're really keeping up with that attitude? If your brother was alive, I wouldn't ask you to stay here! I wouldn't ask a uselessdaughter to own a special position in the company!"

Her furious voice echoed through the hallway, but I didn’t care. They will calm down later. They're already used to my attitude anyway. I.....didn’t matter to them anyway.

Sliding down to the floor, my back pressed against the door, I whispered, "Mom, do you care for me?"

But when I realized she was already gone, I muttered, "Never mind."

Later, as I was finally resting and reading, another loud knock shook the door.

"Reina, honey? Can you come down? We have something for you." Her tone was suddenly soft and sweet.

That tone? Oh, I knew it. My parents only used that voice when they wanted something. Schooling. Marriage. Something I didn’t want.

"Reina!" she yelled through the door when I didn’t answer immediately.

Blah blah blah. Why couldn’t they just let me stay in my room for one day?

"I can hear you stomping your feet, little miss," Mom called.

"Whatever, Mom," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"I heard that!" she yelled.

"I’m coming!" I shouted back.

"We’ll wait for you downstairs, honey," she said in that fake-sweet voice. Definitely scheming.

God. These people.

I changed into my nightgown, tied my hair in a messy bun, and walked downstairs—only to freeze at the last step.

He was here.

Sitting on our couch like he owned it, looking just as relaxed as last night.

He wore a black cardigan with matching slacks and black leather oxford shoes. At first look, you could already tell he was neat and organized. His thick eyebrows and naturally rosy lips stood out, and his neatly styled hair added to his clean look. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe Henry Graves Jr. Supercomplication watch—the same one Dad had.

My heart pounded so fast. What if he told them?

"Oh, here you are!" Dad beamed, pulling me down beside him. My heart pounded harder.

He looked… better than last night. Too much better.

"Mr. Margaux, this is my eldest daughter, Reina. Reina, this is Mr. Margaux—your private tutor."

Tutor? Not this again.

"Tutor?!" I exclaimed.

Dad smirked. "I thought you were happy? You were smiling just now."

"I-I thought—"

"—that it was about marriage?" he finished, amused.

Mom added gently, "That’s why we want you to learn to be independent. Knowledge is power, sweetheart, remember?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fine."

"So, do you agree he’ll be your tutor?" Mom asked again.

"Fine."

Then he leaned toward me and whispered, "You sure? I’m afraid you’ll cause trouble during lessons."

I glared. "Can you shut up?" I muttered.

"Were you whispering?" Dad asked.

"No, I just asked what the first lesson is," I lied quickly.

"You’re too excited," Dad chuckled. "So, you can start today."

"What? No, I’m not—"

"Perfect," Mom cut me off. "Reina, take Mr. Margaux to your study room."

"But Mom—"

"Head on, little miss," he teased.

I clenched my fists. Fine. Wanna play, huh?

I marched to my study room, with him following.

When we entered, I winced. Books scattered everywhere, papers crumpled, chairs out of place—a total disaster.

"I didn’t think someone with such a pretty face could have such a messy room," he teased.

"I was busy, okay? I clean for everyone else. I do the laundry, the floors, the bathrooms. I even do secretary work and I’m the owner’s daughter. So shut up," I snapped.

"You’re really stupid," he replied flatly.

"Rich people call it training," I shot back.

"I didn't know that."

"Maybe because you’re not like us," I scoffed. "I told them I don’t want marriage. They said if that’s the case, I need to learn to live alone. I hate marriage. It’s toxic."

He raised a brow. "Miss independent and man-hater now? But last night…"

"I did not say that," I cut in quickly.

"That’s what it sounded like," he shrugged.

"Whatever. Where do we begin? Ignore this mess."

"Ignore?" His tone sharpened. "Work yourself to death for others but can’t clean your own space? We’re not starting in a pigsty."

Did he just—? Oh, he did.

"I’m used to it. Don’t mind it," I said, teasingly stepping closer.

"Don’t start, young lady. We’re here to study." His voice was cool and firm.

"You should’ve said that to yourself first," I scoffed.

I turned toward the door. "If my parents hear about this, I’ll make you regret it," I warned.

But he caught my wrist, pulling me back. His voice dropped, calm but sharp.

"Really?"