Amara's POV
"I've been fed up with him for years," Lucas muttered, his lip twisted in disgust. "Back in our final year, Byron would ride that beat-up scooter to work, constantly whining about how freezing it was during winter.
"He kept dropping not-so-subtle hints to our parents that someone really ought to get him a car. Some parents actually fell for it.
"Eventually, our entire class pooled money together to buy him something decent. But soon after he was back on that same scooter, claiming his wife needed their car.
"That wasn't even the worst part. We were expected to shower him with presents every holiday. He might forget who gave what, but he sure as hell remembered who didn't."
I couldn't help but grin. "I bet there's even more dirt on him."
"Like what?" Lucas asked, leaning forward eagerly. He was about to press for details when faint police sirens wailed from somewhere outside.
