BAD REPUTATION
It was her hair that fascinated him. The reddish-brown mass was parted high to one side, windswept almost. And then there was her make-up, neutral save for the liner around her eyes and the bold lip colour... was that purple?
His gaze narrowed over it and she must have sensed his attention, her eyes flickering in his direction. "You know, it's rude to stare."
Her voice was husky, a crisp edge that rasped along his spine and sealed her appeal. Derek was hooked. Her eyes were back on the doors, her lack of interest obvious.
He should've taken it as a sign, but since when had he backed off from anything he fancied?
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Chapter 3
"For the record," Derek added when he saw their reaction, "my preference is definitely for the former."
And then Olivia laughed. Really laughed. He really was charming. Good-looking. Dangerous.
No. No. No.
... And besides, she reminded herself, she was already in a relationship. With Jack Stewart.
__________
Derek was grinding his teeth. His arms folded across his front. His body rigid as he leant back against the door that housed what Olivia had referred to as an ample bathroom for this size of apartment, in this desirable area.
He'd say this: desirable or not, you could certainly save time going for your morning constitution while brushing your teeth over the sink. And the shower-over-the-bath-you had to be some kind of contortionist to use it. Why was he the only one seeing these issues?
At least this third property was an improvement on the previous two. It had natural daylight for starters, and no pounding pub or store adjoining.
He watched them cooing over the open-plan living space now-the strategically placed sofa that permitted the perfect view of the park across the road and the minute television that was as big as it could ever be in the space available-and bit into his tongue.
He wasn't sure what was more painful: The fact he'd been forced to take the estate agency's car when his state-of-the-art car was at the ready, seriously, what sense did that make? Absolutely none. Or the fact that his opinion, when he chose to voice one, was counting for nothing, despite what his sister had said to the contrary earlier. Or was it the fact that any fleeting look or touch from Ms Agent herself and his body stirred. Yet she'd made it ever so clear it wasn't happening, not in a million years.
He was now at the point where he was convincing himself his little sister was far more the agent's cup of tea. Or indeed, her choice of cocktail, the drink suiting her fire so much better. The attention she was lavishing over Isabella, totally OTT in his opinion, and yet his sister was lapping it up.
"So, come on, what do you think?" came Isabella's on-the-spot question.
They both turned to him expectantly, his sister's skin annoyingly aglow and happy-she liked it...really liked it. Ah, skit. He cleared his throat and pushed away from the door, heading to stand between them, careful to keep his eye on the window and the view beyond.
"It's...nice." He had tried to sound enthused, but the reality was his comment stank, its tone utterly tepid. Funny enough, just how he was feeling.
"Nice?" his sister pressed.
"The view is good; the location is convenient and-" he shrugged "- nice."
"What about the actual apartment?"
He turned and let his gaze sweep the living area, the dining table for two and the kitchenette; he didn't even want to think about the bathroom.
"You need to stop frowning so much," Isabella piped up. "Gives you wrinkles, you know."
"You're clearly not impressed," Olivia remarked and guilt nagged at him. It wasn't down to her ability, or lack thereof, to sell the place; she was doing her job plenty well enough.
"It's not your fault," he assured her. "I just want what's best for Izzy, and this isn't it."
"Why?"
"It's impractical."
"Why?"
"What the hell, Izzy, you're a tall woman-care to explain how you're going to use that bathroom?" He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. "Allow me to demonstrate..."
He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall. He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder-
"See?"
They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs-for fuck's sake.
He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. " You think it's so easy? You try it."
"I'd rather not," Isabella blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.
"Okay." He looked at Olivia pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. "Why don't you do the honours?"
His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, "Sure, could you just hold this?"
She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.
Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.
"It's like this," she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest -she could tell him anything now and he'd fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away. "Just back up a little," she ordered.
Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.
But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head, despite her height.
"And you can remove this for more height, like so," she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. "Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath." She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up-not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.
"Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Liv." His sister gave him a smug grin. "See, big bro, that's how it's done."
"You're welcome," came Olivia's response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn't be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit-did she know where his head was at? And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.
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8.4
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
7.4
For five years, Jodi was the perfect, compliant secret lover to billionaire CEO Armand Taylor.
Then, she woke up to a cold email and a seven-figure wire transfer. Armand was marrying European royalty. The money was a severance package to quietly warehouse her out of sight.
Refusing to be his dirty secret, Jodi invoked her contract's termination clause to leave for good. But Armand wouldn't let her go easily. He forced her to personally train her vicious new replacement, Selah.
Selah immediately tampered with a crucial financial file, framing Jodi for sabotaging Taylor Corp's multi-billion-dollar tech acquisition.
Without a second thought, Armand took the new girl's side. He cornered Jodi in the boardroom, his eyes dead and cold.
"You have three days to fix this. If you fail, I will personally see to it that you go to prison for corporate fraud."
He froze her bank accounts and stripped away her dignity, ready to destroy her life over a blatant lie.
He thought she was just a weak, discarded toy who would break under his threats.
What Armand didn't know was the terrifying secret Jodi had just discovered hidden at the bottom of her bathroom trash can.
Three positive pregnancy tests.
If the ruthless billionaire found out she was carrying his heir, he would never let her escape.
Wiping her tears, Jodi slipped into a severe black silk gown and crashed an exclusive Hamptons gala to intercept the tech CEO herself.
This time, she wasn't playing the obedient lover. She was going to clear her name and burn Armand's empire to the ground.
9.8
I was an unwanted foster kid taken in by the Goodwin family, about to marry into the wealthy Cantu family to secure my adoptive father's power.
But at my rehearsal dinner, my adoptive mother drugged my champagne, intending to have me assaulted and ruined.
The next morning, my fiancé and my sister burst into my hotel room with a swarm of reporters, pointing fingers in manufactured horror.
"You filthy whore! The engagement is over!"
My fiancé roared for the cameras, while my sister sobbed about my betrayal. They had brought the press to publicly slaughter me, justifying their own secret affair while my adoptive family cursed me as a disgusting stray.
For years, I had endured their toxic abuse, only to be thrown to the wolves so my sister could steal my life. They truly believed I was just a helpless pawn they could crush and discard.
But they didn't know I had anticipated their trap and deliberately walked into the bed of Dorian Underwood—the ruthless billionaire and the only man the Cantu family actually feared.
As I calmly hit 'send' to broadcast my fiancé's explicit sex tape to every reporter in the hallway, I met Dorian's dark, predatory gaze.
I wasn't just surviving anymore; I was going to tear both their empires to the ground.
9.4
Vera thought her life was over the moment she caught her fiancee cheating with his ex.
Broken and filled with pain, she is approached by a billionaire who presents a simple contract to her. Let's get married.
Sylas Gold is the man admired by the entire world. He is untouchable, powerful and incredibly controlled. Their marriage was supposed to be a contract. A performance. It was a way for both of them to win.
When Vera is kidnapped by a man who looks at her like she's already his, she learns the truth Sylas never told her, about his mafia empire, the blood, and the brother who was supposed to be gone.
Cassian Gold is the man who wants everything his brother has, including Vera.
Now caught between two brothers bound by hatred, power, and obsession, Vera must decide who to trust in a world where love is dangerous, loyalty is fragile, and desire might just be her downfall.