Chapter 3

• “This is the venue?” I glance out the tinted window of Monique’s Maserati, eyeing the sleek yet understated building.
• “Yup.” She unfastens her seatbelt with a smirk. “Doesn’t look like it, right?”
• “Not at all.”
• “The real shit happens at the top.” She tilts her head toward the entrance, unlocking the doors. “Come on.”
• I exhale, pushing open my door and stepping out. The night air is crisp against my skin as I shut the door behind me, trying to balance my clutch under my armpit while tugging my dress down slightly.
• Tonight, I didn’t want to overdo it. I’m wearing a red corset dress—V-neck, spaghetti straps—paired with matching black heels and a black clutch. Classy. Simple.
• Monique, on the other hand, is glistening in dark blue sequins, her strapless mini-dress hugging her figure. She’s effortlessly stunning, her black heels wrapped neatly around her long, toned legs. A matching black bag completes the look, and her braids are twisted into a flawless bun.
• Damn, she looks good.
• We walk into the lobby side by side, heels clicking against the marble floor as we head to the elevator.
• “Are you nervous?” Monique asks as we step inside.
• “I’m not.” And that’s the truth.
• I’ve been to parties like this before—more than I can count. All thanks to my parents.
• “Great.”
• I side-eye her. “Are you gonna get drunk?”
• “Probably.” She winks.
• “Which means you’re planning on getting some tonight.”
• Monique grins. “God, you’re smart. You should too.”
• I sigh. “Monique, we’ve been over this. I don’t want a man.”
• “And I get it. Trust me.”
• I arch a brow at her. “You do? That’s a first.”
• She rolls her eyes. “I just mean… let loose tonight. No regrets.”
• “Please don’t tell me this is like… a sex party.”
• She laughs. “It’s not. But you know rich people. They’re capable of anything.”
• Before I can respond, the elevator dings, and we step into a well-lit, exclusive space.
• It looks like a club, but without the gaudy neon lights and suffocating crowds. The lighting is sophisticated, warm yet dim enough to give it that undeniable air of exclusivity.
• No strip poles—so definitely not a strip club.
• A bar sits at the far end, sleek and fully stocked, barstools lined up along its marble counter. Scattered couches are occupied by well-dressed men and women, engaged in hushed conversations and unapologetic laughter.
• But my eyes immediately land on the stage.
• Because standing under the spotlight, singing effortlessly into the mic, is none other than Lora Reign.
• The R&B popstar.
• She looks better than the last time I saw her. Six years ago, back in Italy. My dad had flown her in for my parents’ wedding anniversary.
• I hum, impressed. “This place is lit.”
• Monique giggles. “Right?”
• I smirk. “You’re such a child.”
• She nudges me playfully. “I’m just glad you like it.”
• Before I can reply, a sultry voice calls out:
• “Monique Palmer.”
• We turn.
• A woman—tall, blonde, stunning in a red floor-length dress with half her cleavage on display—approaches.
• She’s hot. And she knows it.
• But there’s something about her that immediately rubs me the wrong way.
• “Lenore, hi.”
• The two exchange a brief embrace, all smiles. But the way Lenore subtly scans Monique’s outfit, as if assessing her, makes my jaw clench.
• “You look stunning,” Lenore purrs. “I’m so glad Margot invited you tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you myself.”
• Monique waves a dismissive hand. “It’s okay.”
• And then Lenore turns to me.
• Her icy blue eyes rake over my dress, my face, my entire existence, trying to place me.
• I get it. I don’t belong.
• Most of the people here are models, actresses, actors, and powerful business moguls.
• I’m none of the above.
• Monique, sensing the tension, speaks up. “This is my best friend, Robyn. My plus one.”
• Lenore’s lips curve into a polite smile. But it’s fake as hell.
• “Right. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her voice is syrupy sweet, but I know a phony when I see one.
• “I’m Lenore.”
• I keep my expression neutral. “Nice to meet you.”
• “The pleasure is all mine.”
• Liar.
• Lenore’s smile lingers for a second too long before she waves goodbye and struts off.
• As soon as she’s out of earshot, I mutter, “What a phony.”
• Monique exhales sharply. “Yeah, I fucking hate that bitch.”
• I turn to her. “So what’s her deal?”
• Monique rolls her eyes. “You wanna grab a drink first, or should I start the rant now?”
• I chuckle. “Let’s grab a drink.”
• We walk toward the bar, slipping onto the vacant stools.
• “How do you two know each other?” I ask.
• Monique sighs, signaling the bartender. “We work for the same company. Shawty thinks we’re in a competition or some shit.”
• I raise a brow. “Damn. That must be fun for you.”
• “It’s not,” Monique says, accepting her drink. “But I just avoid her and pretend she doesn’t exist. It works well.”
• Something tells me tonight is going to be very interesting.
• “What are you getting?” I ask Monique, scanning the drink menu.
• “A Negroni.”
• “Great. I’m going with Sex On The Beach. I can’t remember the last time I got drunk. I’ve been working my ass off.”
• “Last week.”
• I turn to look at her, brow raised. “What?”
• “You said you can’t remember the last time you got drunk. So I said last week. We got drunk last week.”
• I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re a bitch.”
• Monique smirks. “And about working your ass off—you need to wind down a little. If you don’t get a spot as a registered nurse at St. José, you can always work somewhere else.”
• “It’s not that easy. I mean, it is, but… I love working there.”
• “What are you scared of? You’re good. You’re great with the patients, and people love you.”
• “You mean the men love me.” I roll my eyes. “The women think I’m a phony. That I do too much.”
• “They’re just jealous.” Monique shrugs. “You’re pretty, you’re hardworking, and you’re easily likable. That scares people. So instead of admitting they’re intimidated, they talk shit. Classic.”
• I scoff. “So what you’re saying is, I’m a threat?”
• Monique grins. “Absolutely. And I love that for you.”
• I shake my head, laughing softly. “Where’s the bartender, anyway?”
• Monique waves at one of them, catching his attention. A tall guy with sandy blond hair and sharp cheekbones approaches us. His eyes flick to me, lingering for a second too long before he turns to Monique.
• “Ready to order?” His voice is smooth, polite, but there’s something undeniably flirtatious about his gaze.
• “Yeah. One Negroni and one Sex On The Beach. Thank you,” Monique says.
• The bartender nods, glances at me again, then heads off to prepare our drinks.
• Monique nudges me. “Did you see that? The bartender was totally eye-fucking you.”
• “No, he wasn’t.”
• “Oh, please. He looked like he wanted to rip your dress off and devour you whole.”
• I glare at her. She just giggles.
• “I’m not interested. I’m not ‘getting some’ tonight.”
• “Your loss.” She scans the room with a smirk. “There are plenty of hot men here. I’ve already seen a few.”
• “I wish you luck.”
• The bartender returns, placing our drinks in front of us. His eyes find mine again, lingering just a second too long.
• I raise a brow. “Is there something on my face?”
• He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
• I tilt my head, sipping my drink. “You’ve been staring. A lot.”
• He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks tinged pink. “Oh, I—I’m sorry. I just… you look really beautiful.”
• I arch a brow, amused. “Thanks.” I pull out my credit card and hand it to him. “For our drinks.”
• His lips part slightly, as if disappointed, but he nods. “Sure.” He takes the card and walks off.
• Monique hums knowingly. “You just hurt his feelings.”
• “Well, fuck you very much.” I smirk, making her chuckle.
• A moment later, she downs her drink and stands up. “I’ll be right back—I just spotted someone.”
• I watch as she heads toward a man and a woman, both engaged in what looks like a friendly chat, but I can tell—the guy is definitely trying to get the woman into his bed.
• “Your card, ma’am.”
• “Thank you.” I flash him a small smile as I take my card from him.
• He nods and walks away.
• I roll my eyes, tossing my debit card back into my purse.
• Taking a slow sip from my drink, I let my gaze wander across the room filled with the city’s elite—actors, models, socialites, businessmen. A party like this should be fun, should be exciting, but instead, it drags unwanted memories back to the surface.
• Memories I’d rather keep buried.
• I exhale, turning slightly—
• And that’s when I see him.
• A familiar face.
• A face I didn’t expect to see anytime soon.
• My stomach drops, and I nearly choke on my drink.
• It can’t be.
• I stare harder, trying to convince myself that the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to throw us into the same room again.
• After all, what are the odds?
• But as if the universe is flipping me off, he raises his head—and our eyes lock.
• Recognition dawns on his face.
• Fuck. It’s him.
• Just when I thought I was settling into a normal life, I had to go and hit a rich man’s car, flee the scene, and now run into him at a celebrity’s party.
• Aren’t I the luckiest girl in the world?
• He doesn’t look away.
• Instead, his gaze sharpens, his expression hardens, and he raises an eyebrow like I’m a rebellious child caught sneaking out past curfew.
• I break eye contact first, throwing my head back and gulping down the rest of my drink in one go.
• I need to get the hell out of here.
• “Whoa, slow down there, lady.”
• A smooth, masculine voice pulls me from my thoughts.
• I set my empty glass down and turn toward the source of the voice.
• Omar Kingston.
• Hollywood actor. Former hotshot until someone younger and hotter knocked him off his throne.
• He’s dressed in a dark blue suit, brown skin glowing under the dim lights. I’ll admit—he looks better in real life.
• And judging by the flirtatious smile he flashes me, I already know how this conversation is going to go.
• Omar extends a hand toward me. “I’m Omar. Now, who might you be, beautiful lady?”
• I glance at his hand and don’t take it.
• His smirk falters for a fraction of a second before he pulls his hand away, clearly disappointed.
• “I’m Robyn.”
• “Robyn.” He tests my name on his tongue, smirking. “Rare but unique. You look stunning, Robyn.” His gaze slowly drags down my body.
• I fucking hate that look.
• It’s not admiration.
• It’s possession.
• It’s a silent declaration that he doesn’t care about me—just what I can offer him.
• What an asshole.
• “What do you want?” I ask bluntly.
• Omar raises an eyebrow, looking slightly offended.
• “Um… I don’t think you know who I am.”
• “Omar Kingston,” I say flatly. “Hollywood’s hotshot—past tense. Heard you got yourself a Bentley. You wouldn’t shut up about it on social media. I know you, Omar.” I meet his gaze, deadpan. “I’m just not interested.”
• His jaw tightens.
• “You don’t have to be a fucking bitch, you know that?” He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “You should feel lucky I’m even talking to you.”
• I snort. “Yeah, because you’re a god, and I’m just a nobody.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
• I lean in, voice lower. “Kindly fuck off, Mr. Hotshot.”
• His nostrils flare. His lips press into a thin line.
• I turn my head back toward the crowd—but he’s gone.
• The man whose car I hit.
• I scan the room, pulse spiking, but there’s no sign of him.
• Was I imagining things?
• Omar’s voice yanks me back. “You’re gonna regret this.”
• I turn to see him standing stiffly, shooting me a glare as he buttons his suit jacket.
• Then, he storms off, ego clearly bruised.
• I smirk, rolling my eyes, but as soon as I glance toward the bar, I catch the bartender from earlier staring at me.
• The second our eyes meet, he quickly pretends to clean a cocktail glass.
• I exhale, shaking my head. I need fresh air.
• I push off my seat, preparing to make a quick escape, but—
• The last person I expected to see is standing directly in front of me.
• Towering over me.
• Hands in his pockets.
• Ocean-blue eyes locked onto mine.
• Fuck.
• “Look who it is,” he muses, voice smooth, controlled—but there’s a strange undertone I can’t quite place.
• “The car smasher.”
• My heart plummets to my stomach.
• He gives me a once-over, slowly dragging his gaze down my body before locking eyes with me again.
• I swallow.
• Oh, he’s dangerous.
• His ocean-blue gaze pierces through me, scrutinizing, calculating—like he’s trying to decipher something about me.
• I swallow, suddenly aware of how close we are.
• He’s flawless, of course. Black custom-made suit. Black dress shirt. A face sculpted like sin itself.
• His golden skin practically glows under the dim lighting. His dark brown hair, slicked back, has a few rebellious strands framing either side of his chiseled face.
• He looks expensive.
• He looks powerful.
• He looks like he owns the goddamn room.
• And I hate that my body betrays me by noticing how devastatingly attractive he is.
• Right now, standing in front of me, towering over me with that unreadable expression, he looks like a god.
• And I hate it.
• “You should close your mouth,” he says, voice rich with amusement. “Anything could sneak in at this point.”
• I snap my mouth shut, mortified.
• I had been staring.
• Asshole.
• “Leaving so soon?” He removes his hands from his pockets, taking a step closer.
• I open my mouth—then close it again.
• Worst case scenario? I just have to pay for his car and move on with my life.
• “Not really,” I finally say. “Just wanted some fresh air.”
• He nods once, studying me. “Enjoying the party?”
• I nod. “I am.”
• His lips curve slightly. “So she can talk.”
• I frown.
• “For a second,” he continues, “I thought you were mute.”
• He’s so fucking rude—and yet, his baritone voice sends chills down my spine.
• I exhale sharply. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I hit your car, but I didn’t mean to run away. I wasn’t looking, and I didn’t mean to hit it.”
• His expression doesn’t change. “Twice.”
• “…Yeah.” I rub my temple. “I may have failed my driving test.”
• A ghost of a smirk plays on his lips. “Right.”
• His gaze flickers down my body for a fraction of a second before locking onto my eyes again.
• I can’t read that look.
• But I know it’s not good.
• I hate that my skin burns under his scrutiny.
• And I hate that I can’t quite tell if he’s amused, irritated, or just playing some fucking game.
• But one thing’s for sure.
• This man is going to be a problem.
• One glance at him through my driver’s window earlier today told me he’s powerful. That’s why I had to leave as fast as I could.
• “I’m guessing you didn’t think we’d meet again.”
• True.
• “Why did you run?” His voice is steady, too composed. He slips his hands back into his pockets, waiting.
• I sigh. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it. If you want, I can send you the money for the cost—so you’ll understand I’m sincerely sorry.”
• He tilts his head slightly, eyes darkening with amusement. “Alright. It’s $25,000 for the damage.”
• My stomach drops.
• “And an extra 10K for repairs.”
• What?
• I blink, my brain short-circuiting. “I—”
• What the fuck kind of car costs that much to fix?
• I stare at him, anger bubbling under my skin. Meanwhile, he looks annoyingly calm, like he’s ordering coffee instead of demanding $35,000 for a goddamn scratch.
• He doesn’t even flinch. Not a single ounce of emotion crosses his perfectly sculpted face.
• It’s just blank.
• “Thirty-five thousand dollars for a scratch?” I nearly yell, but I force my voice to stay level. “Your car wasn’t totaled. It was a scratch—a tiny scratch. And it wasn’t on purpose. There’s no way a scratch costs $35,000.”
• He exhales, like he’s indulging me, then steps closer.
• Close enough that I feel his presence.
• Close enough that I refuse to step back.
• I lift my chin, meeting his stare head-on.
• His blue eyes are sharp, unyielding.
• “You know what?” I exhale, giving up. “Whatever. I don’t have that kind of cash on me right now, but I can do a transfer.”
• His lips twitch. “I don’t need your money, sweetheart.”
• Sweetheart?
• My jaw clenches. “You just told me the cost of repairs.”
• “That’s correct.” He nods once, still unreadable. “And I’ve already fixed it.”
• I freeze.
• “You’re gonna pay for it,” he continues, his voice smooth, measured. “But I don’t need your money.”
• My pulse spikes. “Then how am I supposed to—”
• He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “Keep it at the back of your mind that you owe me.”
• I open my mouth, then shut it again.
• I owe him?
• Before I can respond, his gaze dips again.
• Slow. Calculated.
• Like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
• I should be annoyed—furious, even—but something about the way he does it…
• It’s not sleazy.
• It’s not desperate.
• It’s deliberate.
• Like he’s assessing the damage I just caused to my own life by running into him.
• Then, he smirks.
• I wasn’t expecting that.
• His voice is low, smooth, teasing.
• “Nice dress, by the way… Robyn.”
• I go completely still.
• Then—he winks.
• And walks away.
• Leaving me standing there like an idiot.
• My heart slams against my ribs.
• My brain short-circuits.
• And the only thought in my head is—
• How the fuck does he know my name?