Bethany's bedroom was a shrine to everything pink and perfect. The walls were painted a soft rose quartz, the plush carpet a shade lighter, and the massive canopy bed dripped with blush silk and velvet. Even the air smelled expensive—rose, pear, and lychee notes from her Delina Exclusif perfume mingling with the scent of fresh linen.

She sat at her desk, textbooks sprawled open like unwanted party guests. Her white button-up shirt was crisp, pleated skirt perfectly pressed, high-knee socks pulled taut. She'd dressed the part—the diligent student, the good daughter doing what Daddy asked. But her mind was anywhere but here.

"Ugh, this is literally torture," she sighed, flipping her long blonde braid over one shoulder. "Like, who even cares about... mitosis? Mitosis? Is that even a word? Sounds like something my dermatologist would do."

She'd been staring at the same diagram of cell division for ten minutes. Or rather, she'd been staring past it, mentally planning her outfit for tonight's pool party later. The new Valentino bikini, obviously. Maybe the Gucci slides. Definitely the Dior sunglasses.

Her tutor sat next to her, silent as always. Patient. Attentive. Boring.

Bethany's eyes drifted from the textbook to him, then rolled dramatically. Fourth week in a row. Four Saturdays wasted inside when she could be getting a spray tan, or shopping for prom dresses, or literally anything else.

"Y'know," she began, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the desk, letting the front of her shirt gape open slightly. The top button was already undone. "Chloe said she saw Matt Thompson buying a promise ring at the mall. A promise ring. Can you believe? Like, we're seniors. That's so middle school. If he thinks that's gonna get me back after he hooked up with Jessica Morales—as if—he's dumber than this textbook."

She waited for a reaction. Nothing. Just that same patient look. Annoying.

"Anyway," she plowed on, "Daddy says if I don't pull my bio grade up, he's cutting my allowance. Which is so unfair. Like, what's the point of being rich if I have to do homework? I'm gonna marry rich anyway. Duncan Whittaker's dad is governor. His family's, like, old money. Old, old money. Duncan's kinda basic in bed, but whatever—he's got a trust fund and a Tesla. That's what matters."

Still nothing. Not even a blink. God, was he even listening? Or was he just... judging her? Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he thought he was better than her. Smarter. Poor people always got like that around money—quiet and judgy.

Fine. If he wasn't gonna engage with her gossip, she'd switch tactics. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face. She uncrossed her legs, her pleated skirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of thigh above the sock.

No reaction. Infuriating.

She undid the second button of her shirt. Then the third. The crisp white fabric fell open, revealing the delicate lace of her pink bra beneath. It was expensive—La Perla, a gift from her mother after her augmentation. The cups were full, perfectly sculpted, the lace detailing intricate and deliberate.

"It's just..." she sighed, feigning frustration as she undid the fourth button. "I get so distracted. My mind just... wanders." The fifth button came undone. Now the shirt hung open completely, framing her chest, the lace bra on full display against her tanned skin. She knew how she looked—the contrast of white cotton against pink lace, the swell of her breasts, the deliberate tease.

"See? I can't even focus on... mitosis." She dragged the word out, mocking it. "Maybe I need a different kind of lesson. Something more... hands-on."

She watched him, waiting for the usual reaction—the stammer, the flushed cheeks, the quickened breath. The power trip was usually enough to entertain her for a bit. But today... nothing.

Maybe he really wasn't interested. The thought prickled under her skin. Was he gay? He had to be. No straight guy could sit there with her shirt wide open, her tits right there, and not even blink.

"Hello?" she snapped, irritation cutting through the seductive purr. "Earth to tutor-boy. Are you even in there? Or did mitosis, like, literally put you to sleep?"

She huffed, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up further. "Whatever. This is stupid. You know," she said, her voice losing its playful edge, turning sharp and dismissive. "Maybe you're just not a good tutor. Maybe I need someone who can actually keep my attention. Someone... richer. Duncan's pre-law. He's probably way smarter than you."