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 5
Gosh... This was wrong. She shouldn't be feeling or thinking this way about another man touching her. She loved Jack, right? Then why did she feel this way... This excited about another man touching her? When was the last time she felt this excited about Jack's touch?
"Fun?" he questioned softly, interrupting her thoughts, his hand following the contours of her neck and her head almost lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.
"Not this sort of fun." She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.
"You're going to have to clarify, because I'm talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less."
Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. "And so am I."
His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, "You're afraid of keeping it casual?"
She shook her head. If only that were her only problem. Why was she hesitating to tell him she had a boyfriend? "I'm not very good at it."
She stressed the 'it', praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame. Why admit that?
His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. "I don't believe that."
"It's the truth," she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.
She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. Derek wasn't getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered. He was going to kiss her!
She almost leaned in, anticipating his kiss, but at the last moment, she lifted a hand, "I can't," she said.
He stayed where he was, and made no attempt to stop her as she moved immediately, backing away enough to escape the kitchen.
A few seconds later, he followed, "Look..." he began.
But his sister took that moment to return, "I'm taking it," Isabella said, a huge smile on her face.
Olivia managed to smile back at her friend, "Perfect," she replied, "Let's get started,"
_________
Olivia stood outside Jack's apartment door for a full thirty seconds before knocking.
She could hear movement inside - drawers opening, the faint buzz of a phone notification, the low murmur of a voice. He was home. Good. No more last-minute texts. No more "Something's come up."
She knocked. The door swung open a moment later.
Jack looked immaculate as always - pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair styled with surgical precision. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something crisp and expensive. He looked like a man who had never missed a meeting in his life.
"Liv," he said, mildly surprised. "I thought we were doing dinner tomorrow?"
"We were doing dinner yesterday... Or was it two days ago?" she replied evenly, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting to be invited. His place was spotless as always. Everything aligned. Cushions perfectly placed. Surfaces gleaming. It was like walking into a showroom.
Jack closed the door slowly. "I texted you."
"At eight-thirty."
"I had a client."
"You always have a client."
He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. "Liv, please, you know how my job works."
"And you know how mine works," she shot back, turning to face him. "Except I still manage to show up for us. I'm the only one showing up for us."
That landed. His jaw ticked. "Is this really what you came over for?"
"Yes." She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. "I'm tired, Jack." She gestured vaguely between them. "Tired of getting dressed up just to sit in my apartment with takeaway because you 'can't get away.' Tired of rearranging my schedule for plans that don't happen."
Jack rubbed a hand down his face, already slipping into calm-and-rational mode. It was one of the things Olivia disliked about him. He was always so... composed. As if he lived in his own little bubble where nothing bothered him except he allowed it to. It drove her crazy.
Now, to someone else, it sounded selfish and perhaps bitter to want him to be bothered, but Jack had a way of hurting or pissing her off, and then reacting calmly when she exploded due to his behaviour.
"It's not personal." He told her. "I don't do it on purpose,"
"That's exactly the problem."
His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't feel like I matter." The words escaped before she could soften them. "Gosh. Why do I have to explain this to you? I hate that I have to,"
Jack blinked, taken aback, then he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's dramatic, don't you think?" he asked.
She laughed once - sharp, humourless. "Is it?"
"Olivia, I'm building something here. For us. Do you think this promotion is just about me? It's about security. Stability. A future."
"And when exactly does that future start?" she demanded. "Because right now, I feel like I'm pencilled in between conference calls."
"That's unfair."
"Is it?" she almost yelled, "You cancel all the time. We barely spend enough time together because you always have somewhere you need to run off to. I've told you so many times about how I feel...About the things I want. I want romance. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to go out with him. I want unplanned and surprise dates... Why do I have to tell my man to do these things for me? Even when you do it, it doesn't feel right because I've had to ask you over and over again for it,"
Silence stretched between them, tight and humming before Jack straightened slightly, composure sliding firmly back into place. "You know I'm not the spontaneous type."
"No, you're not," she agreed sadly, her voice lower now. "You're predictable. Safe."
The word lingered longer than she meant it to and his eyes sharpened. "Safe?"
She hesitated, and for some reason, Derek's face as well as his voice echoed in her mind. Heat flushed her cheeks - anger at herself, not at Jack. Why the hell was she thinking about Derek at a time like this?
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes, you did." He stepped closer. "Safe compared to what?"
"Compared to nothing!" she snapped, defensive now. "Why does everything have to turn into a courtroom cross-examination with you?"
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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.