Bella Woods rested her hand on the railing, looking down at Ashton Marshall dressed in a white shirt and black pants, her backpack slung over his right shoulder and her drawing board in his left hand. It was the simplest clothing, yet the man stood there with a commanding presence.
Many students passed by, unable to help but cast glances at him, yet no one dared to approach or speak to him.
Even though Ashton had an extraordinarily stunning face, the natural barrier he carried made others shy away, a typical aloof flower on a cliff—beautifully dazzling, yet no one dared to easily pick it.
To this day, Bella felt dream-like about the entanglement with Ashton between them. Every morning she woke up, she would feel a moment of disorientation as if everything that had happened was a dream.
How did she become Ashton's plaything?
