How to Train Your Ex-Billionaire novel Chapter 19

Winifred transferred schools in her senior year of high school.

Yvan still remembered the first time he saw her. She stood at the front of the classroom, her hair cut short like a boy’s, wearing a pair of black-framed glasses. Quiet and reserved, she introduced her name in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum.

Her clothes were plain, carrying a strong rustic air—a stark contrast to most of the well-dressed, polished students at the school, giving her an almost otherworldly presence.

At the time, Yvan didn’t pay her much mind, thinking only that this transfer student seemed a bit timid.

For the next few months, they had no interaction and never exchanged a single word.

Yvan had always been aloof. He didn’t just ignore someone as unnoticeable as Winifred—even those who chased after him or tried to win his favor couldn’t capture his interest.

Then one day, while looking for a classmate, Yvan unexpectedly spotted Winifred by a roadside greenbelt.

She was squatting there, surrounded by a few children around five or six years old.

Out of curiosity, Yvan walked over to see what was happening.

In her hands, she was cradling a newborn kitten, feeding it milk with a syringe.

“Is that milk?” one of the children asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are you using a needle? Don’t you use a bottle for milk?” another child asked in a soft, childish voice.

Winifred explained gently and patiently, “Because it’s too small and doesn’t have the strength to suck from a nipple. When it gets a little bigger, it can use one.”

“Oh, I see,” the child replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Where’s its mom? Why isn’t its mom feeding it?”

But from that day on, Yvan found himself paying more attention to Winifred. Maybe it was the way she cared for the kitten that moved him, or maybe it was because she seemed different from other girls. Or perhaps he had glimpsed a kind of beauty in her that others had overlooked.

He sat in the last row; Winifred sat three rows ahead. During class, he often caught himself staring at the back of her head—just short hair, not particularly appealing.

Between classes, he would pretend to pass by her desk casually.

Once, he deliberately knocked her books to the floor, but she said nothing, simply picked them up quietly.

Yvan wanted to talk to her but worried that being too direct might scare her. After thinking it over, he decided to strike up a conversation on the day she was on cleaning duty.

When she swept near his seat, he casually stretched his leg into the aisle to block her path.

To his surprise, Winifred didn’t say a word—she simply walked around his leg from the other side and continued sweeping.