Angela had never encountered a man like this before—his aura sharp as ice, his gaze as fierce as a predator. He didn't raise his voice or make a scene, but his presence alone was enough to instill fear.
Morrison noticed the way Angela flinched and looked away, and a trace of disdain flickered across his face. He gave a soft, contemptuous scoff, then casually wrapped an arm around Lilian.
His voice turned warm, indulgent.
"Finished saying hi?"
Lilian's shoulder stiffened. She turned to glare at him.
Hadn't she just told him to keep his distance? And now he was holding her like this—in full view of Angela? That was as good as announcing their relationship outright.
Knowing Angela's envious, bitter nature, this was probably enough to make her explode with rage.
Morrison didn't care one bit about what was going through Lilian's mind. Still holding her close, he gave her a lazy smile, every movement brimming with affectionate intent.
"Then let's go," he said, gently guiding her past Angela and her group.
As they passed, Morrison added in a clear, deliberate voice:
"Lilian, you really don't need to say hi to just anyone. Some trash only exists to pollute the air—we don't need to acknowledge it."
Lilian: "..."
She had always thought he was the kind of man who smiled at everything, easygoing and good-tempered. Who knew his mouth was even sharper than her brother Dave's?
He actually called Angela trash.
Lilian had never wanted to provoke someone like Angela—she didn't see the point in wasting her energy on that kind of person. Better to focus on people who mattered.
But now? Morrison had stirred the hornet's nest for her. She could practically feel the flames of Angela's hatred burning behind them.
Thankfully, Lilian thought, they were graduating soon. Angela would be heading off to another city for her graduate studies. They probably wouldn't cross paths again.
If they had to keep dealing with each other after this, she'd honestly lose her mind.
Behind them, Angela stood stiffly, surrounded by a group of friends. When she heard Morrison call her trash, her eyes turned bloodshot from sheer rage. Her entire body trembled.
Trash.
That was, without a doubt, the most humiliating insult she'd ever heard in her life.
She had thought that man—with his aura, his refinement—was someone composed and dignified. Who would have imagined that he had such a venomous tongue?
And worst of all, he'd said it right in front of everyone.
Angela felt her pride crumble into dust.
She hated Lilian—utterly, irrationally hated her. There was no logic behind it, no specific reason. She simply couldn't stand her.
She hated that perfect face.
She hated that impossibly wealthy background.
But what she hated most… was Lilian's calm humility.
In Angela's eyes, rich girls were supposed to be arrogant, bratty, and spoiled. That's how the world worked.
But Lilian wasn't like that. She was flawless—wealthy yet low-key, beautiful yet unassuming, polite, composed, and even kind.
That kind of perfection made Angela sick.
Angela had been born into an average, ordinary family. She had no dazzling family background to rely on. Everything she had, she'd earned through sheer hard work and relentless studying. And thankfully, she'd been blessed with good looks and a decent figure—enough for her to walk with confidence in public.
But maybe that was exactly why she tried so desperately to outshine everyone. Deep down, she feared people looking down on her humble origins.
So she forced herself to be perfect.
But no matter how hard she tried, she could never erase the gap between herself and someone like Lilian.
And that was the most unbearable part of all.
Yet it was precisely Lilian's existence that made Angela feel constantly stifled.
That girl didn't even try to compete for anything, and yet whenever there was a class vote or any sort of collective decision, Lilian would always end up with the majority of support. If Angela hadn't gone around beforehand securing votes for herself, Lilian would've effortlessly outshined her every time.
Angela found it unbearable.
Unbearable that Lilian had everything already, and still came to take her spotlight.
Yes—Angela was convinced that Lilian's so-called humility, her aloof refusal to "fight," was just another kind of manipulation. It was the most dangerous form of competition: subtle, calculated, and insidiously effective.
And that was why Angela hated her. Hated her with a deep, visceral disgust.
To Angela, a rich girl like Lilian should've been arrogant, temperamental, and detestable—someone everyone mocked behind her back.
But no, Lilian had to be sweet. Gentle. Obedient. Well-mannered.
So all Angela could do was spread rumors behind her back, trying to drag her name through the mud.
She tried everything—twisting words, sowing discord, even feeding the other two girls in their dorm countless lies about Lilian in hopes of isolating her.
But none of it worked.
They still liked Lilian.
Now, standing there humiliated after Morrison's cold verbal slap, Angela never once considered whether she'd brought it on herself. If she hadn't gone out of her way to be malicious first, would she have been insulted in return?
Meanwhile, outside the cafeteria, Morrison and Lilian walked into the sunlight.
The moment they were out of sight, Lilian quickly stepped out of his embrace.
"What was that for?" she asked, half-exasperated, half-scolding. "Did you really have to insult her like that? And so harshly?"
Calling a woman "trash" outright—Lilian didn't even know how to respond to that.
Morrison leaned lazily against a tall plane tree, arms crossed, the picture of casual defiance. His sculpted figure cast a long shadow on the ground.
"She deserved it," he said flatly. "Why shouldn't I say it?"
He couldn't care less.
Morrison might be a romantic, but even his flirtations had standards. He wouldn't waste his time on someone as low-class as Angela. There had to be some baseline of dignity.
And for women like Angela—narrow-minded, malicious, and bitter—he had zero sympathy.
The world was full of Angelas. In business, in society. And when it came to dealing with those types, Morrison had never held back.
Lilian hadn't expected him to respond so directly. Not even a shred of "pity for a delicate flower" in sight.
Her eyes widened in surprise, soft lips forming a perfect little o.
Then, rubbing the tip of her nose sheepishly, she mumbled,
"You're so fierce…"
Morrison chuckled.
"She was being outright nasty to you, and I just helped put her in her place—yet you're calling me fierce?"
Lilian waved her hands quickly in explanation.
"No, no! I didn't mean it like that. I just meant… you seemed so different just now from the Morrison I thought I knew, that's all."
The version of him in her mind—gentle, composed—was nothing like the sharp-edged man who'd just verbally eviscerated someone on her behalf.
"Oh?" Morrison's eyes lit up, intrigued. "Then tell me—what kind of person did you think I was before?"
Without hesitation, Lilian blurted out her first thought.
"Playboy?"
There was no helping it—his reputation in Burg Eltz's upper circles was legendary.
And as a Burg Eltz daughter herself, even if she didn't run in the thick of society's events, she still caught wind of all the gossip. Between her classmates and those posh socialite girls, Morrison's name came up more than once—and rarely in a flattering context.
Morrison: "…"
He knew she didn't always filter what she said, but this?
Calling your boyfriend a womanizer to his face? That had to be a new record.
He stared at her, half exasperated, half amused.
"Only you," he muttered, "would say something like that right in front of your boyfriend."
But even as he joked, a vague discomfort stirred in his chest.
If she could say that so lightly, it meant she hadn't really seen him as a real boyfriend. Just a temporary role—someone to learn about love from.
And logically, that should've been good news. When he inevitably grew bored and decided to end things, she wouldn't cling or cry.
But for some reason, that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, then asked again, "Anything else?"
Lilian tilted her head in thought.
"Gentle?"
This time, Morrison let out a real laugh—low and heartfelt.
After a moment, he sighed and shook his head.
"Looks like… you really don't know me at all."
Then he stepped forward, reached out, and took her hand in his—firmly but gently.
"Come on. Let's go home."
Lilian let him take her hand, the two of them walking side by side toward the campus gate, where Morrison had parked his car. As they went, he added casually—
"You should really try to understand your boyfriend better—both what he looks like on the outside, and who he is on the inside. It helps with relationship development."
Gentle, huh?
She actually thought he was gentle?
That just proved how little she truly knew him. Anyone who really understood him would never use a word like gentle to describe Morrison.
Ruthless would be more accurate.
But then again, it was probably a good thing that her impression of him was so tame. If she'd known what he was really like from the beginning, would she have dared approach him and ask him to teach her how to be in a relationship?
Probably not.
And he… probably wouldn't have agreed.