Hate Me Love Me Novel by Rely _ Novel





Hate Me Love Me Chapter 01

The university locker room.
Charlotte Bennett grabbed my hair and shoved my head into the toilet bowl.
In an instant, water rushed into my chest through my nose and mouth, my lungs burning as if they were about to explode.
I fought back my survival instincts, letting her hold me down without a struggle.
Just as I was about to suffocate, she pulled me up.
I slumped to the floor on my knees, my shoulders trembling as I coughed violently.
Seven or eight girls giggled as they took photos of my pathetic state.
Charlotte took a wet wipe from a friend behind her, wiped her hands meticulously, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at my head.
From beginning to end, I didn't say a single word.
"A dog that doesn't bark is no fun."
Charlotte glared at me in disgust and led the group away, dropping only one sentence—
"If you dare tell Oliver, you're dead."
I was the only one left in the locker room.
Expressionless, I stood up, took a change of clothes from the cabinet, walked into the shower, and turned on the water to wash away the filth.
I did it with practiced ease, just like the thousands of times before.
Every time, Charlotte would emphasize to me—do not tell Oliver.
She was overthinking it.
I would never tell him.
Three years ago, Oliver's parents adopted me.
Perhaps it was because my foster father, Simon Sterling, was running for parliament and needed a charitable facade.
Or perhaps they wanted to mold a trophy daughter to showcase the Sterlings' upbringing and taste, to be used for a marriage alliance in the future.
I didn't care about their motives.
As long as I could escape that soul-crushing orphanage, anything was fine.
I had enough of the dark, damp dormitories!
Enough of never having a full stomach and fighting rats for slop!
Enough of being locked in solitary confinement for the slightest disobedience!
Enough of the director's slimy gaze roaming over my body...
I had enough!
As long as I could leave that place, I was willing to do anything.
But my foster mother, Victoria Sterling, had some concerns—
I was already fifteen at the time.
Although I was a beauty in the making, I was long past the ideal age for adoption.
What if I never truly bonded with the family?
Simon suggested keeping me around first; if I turned out to be obedient, they would go through the formal adoption procedures in three years.
So, for these three years, I had to be good, make them proud, keep them happy, and never cause them the slightest bit of trouble.
Most importantly, I had to make their precious only son, Oliver, like me and accept me as his sister.
I would never tell him that his future fiancée, the seemingly gentle and harmless Charlotte, bullied me time and time again.
I would never cause him any grief.
Compared to being sent back to the orphanage, this little bit of bullying was truly nothing.
I finished my shower, blow-dried my hair, and changed into an elegant little evening gown.
Oliver's cold voice sounded from outside the door.
"Chloe, are you in there? Hurry up, we're going to be late for Grandpa's longevity banquet."
I smoothed out the wrinkles of my skirt one last time and pulled a sweet, obedient smile at the mirror—an expression I had practiced countless times.
I pushed open the door and looked up at Oliver.
"I worked up a sweat in PE class, so I took a shower. Sorry for holding you up," I said, my voice as soft as cotton candy.
Oliver's gaze lingered on my slightly damp hair ends for a second.
He gave a faint "Hmm," took a long stride, and walked ahead.
I broke into a small trot to follow him.
But the gown custom-made for me by Victoria, was cinched extremely tight at the waist with a particularly narrow skirt.
I could only take tiny, restricted steps, making it incredibly difficult to keep up.
The distance between us grew wider and wider.
Just then, Oliver imperceptibly adjusted his stride.
I could finally catch up to him.
Walking side by side with him in the sunset, I felt a little happy.
He wasn't so mean to me anymore.
When my adoptive parents first brought me home, Oliver absolutely loathed me.
He pushed me down the stairs.
"You stink. Stay away from me."
He spat at me viciously.
Enduring the agonizing pain, I didn't even dare to cry, terrified he would find me annoying.
I limped back to my bedroom, threw away my old clothes, and showered over and over again, scrubbing my skin raw and red before I finally stopped.
Early the next morning, I made a hearty breakfast, carried it to his door, and waited quietly.
When he opened the door, I offered a sweet "Good morning" and handed him the breakfast.
Without even a glance, he knocked the tray over and walked straight downstairs.
I said nothing, quietly cleaned up the mess on the floor, and did the exact same thing the next day.
Finally, on the three hundred and ninety-first day, he picked up a piece of bread from the tray and took a bite.
"Hmm, edible."
The corners of my lips curled up slightly.
Later, he allowed me to bring breakfast into his room.
Allowed me to ride in the same car as him.
Allowed me to do homework with him.
And now, he was even willing to walk across half the campus to pick me up after school.
Even though his tone remained cold, I knew I wasn't far from victory.

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