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 7
"That," she said slowly, "is exactly what I need."
Izzy whooped softly. "Knew it."
"I'm in the mood for something strong," Olivia admitted. "Very strong. Possibly with a lime. Or three."
"Say less. Tequila it is."
"Oh God," Olivia groaned, though the heaviness in her chest had lightened by a fraction.
"Nine o'clock?" Izzy continued. "The Velvet Hour. Dress hot. Or comfortable. Or emotionally chaotic. Whatever vibe you're feeling."
Olivia glanced down at herself - rumpled blouse, skirt slightly creased from a full day of viewings. Emotionally chaotic sounded about right. "Nine's perfect." She said,
"Good. And Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't sound fine."
The softness in Izzy's voice made her throat tighten again. "I'm not," she admitted quietly.
A beat of silence.
"Then tonight," Izzy said firmly, "we fix that. Or at least numb it."
Olivia let out a breath that felt like it had been lodged in her lungs all day."Thank you, Izzy."
"Always."
They hung up, and the apartment didn't feel quite as suffocating anymore. Olivia walked toward her bedroom, phone still in her hand.
Nine o'clock. Three hours to shower off the day, paint on confidence, and pretend her heart didn't feel like it was splintering. As she laid her phone on the dresser, the screen lit up briefly from a delayed notification.
Her pulse jumped. She snatched it up.
Spam email.
She exhaled slowly, disappointment cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. Still nothing from Jack.
Fine. Tonight she wouldn't wait for him to show up. Tonight she would show up for herself. And maybe, just maybe, forget her troubles with Jack... And the sound of Derek Hawthorne's voice saying no harm, no foul.
Because harm? She was feeling plenty of it already.
_________
The apartment felt different now. Not lighter - not exactly - but purposeful.
Olivia stood in front of her mirror, the soft yellow glow of her bedroom lamp casting warmth over her skin. Music pulsed quietly from her speaker, something upbeat enough to drown out intrusive thoughts. Her bed was a mess of discarded outfit options - dresses deemed "too desperate," skirts labelled "too effort," and one soft sweater she'd briefly considered before deciding she refused to look like heartbreak tonight.
She chose the jeans. High-waisted, dark, fitted in all the right places. Knee-high black boots that gave her height and edge. And the black corset top - structured, unapologetic, hugging her waist and lifting her posture whether she felt strong or not.
She stared at herself for a moment.
Then she sat and began the real armor. Smokey eye. Dark, intentional, slightly dramatic. She blended until her sadness looked like seduction. A sharp line of eyeliner. Red lipstick - bold, dangerous, defiant. If her heart felt bruised, no one would see it.
When she stood again, she looked... hot. Undeniably so. Not fragile. Good.
She grabbed her bag and ordered a taxi. Driving was out of the question. Not with the kind of drinking she planned to do tonight. Not with the kind of night she needed. And honestly? She didn't trust herself to be alone with her thoughts behind a steering wheel.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside The Velvet Hour, the street was alive.
The sign glowed in deep crimson against black brick. Bass from inside vibrated faintly through the pavement. Laughter spilled out every time the door opened. She paid the driver, stepped out, and inhaled deeply. Tonight, she would not think about Jack.
It was 9:30 when she walked in. Dim lighting. Gold accents. Velvet booths lining the walls. The air smelled faintly of citrus, perfume, and something expensive and smoky.
It didn't take long to spot her friends. Tessa was already mid-laugh, head thrown back, her blonde waves cascading over her shoulders. Isabella sat opposite her, dark hair sleek and glossy, looking effortlessly polished in a fitted emerald dress. Olivia slid into the booth and both heads snapped up.
"Well," Tessa breathed dramatically. "Who is she?"
Isabella's eyes widened as she slowly looked Olivia up and down. "Liv Carter, are we seducing someone or ruining someone?"
Olivia smirked. "Can't it be both?"
They all burst into laughter, the sound warm and immediate and grounding.
"You look illegal," Tessa added.
"You look like trouble," Isabella corrected.
Olivia slid her small bag onto the table. "Good."
Tessa immediately waved down a waiter. "Hi, yes," she said sweetly. "We'll take shots."
The waiter blinked. "How many?"
Tessa glanced at Olivia. "How bad was the day?"
Olivia considered. "Scale of one to ten?"
"Sure."
"Jack."
Tessa didn't hesitate. "We'll take six. To start."
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
"Love that for us," Isabella said, adjusting her bracelet.
The shots arrived quickly. Clear liquid in neat little glasses, lime wedges on a small plate beside them. They didn't wait. Glasses clinked.
"To bad decisions," Tessa declared.
"To better ones," Isabella corrected.
Olivia lifted hers last. "To not thinking." she said
They drank. The burn was immediate. Sharp and cleansing, but they didn't stop at one. By the third round, the music felt louder and Olivia felt warmer. Looser. The tight band around her chest had eased... not gone, but blurred. And that was when Tess leaned back against the booth and narrowed her eyes.
"Right," she said. "Time for your Intervention... As promised,"
Olivia groaned and pouted. "Nooo"
"Yes," Isabella chimed in smoothly. "We postponed. We did not cancel."
Tessa pointed at her with a lime wedge. "Jack is a walking red flag."
Olivia laughed lightly. "He is not."
"He cancels on you constantly."
"He's busy."
"He didn't call after your fight." Tessa told her, "You said so in your text this morning,"
Olivia hesitated slightly before forcing a casual shrug. "Maybe... He needs space to think after what I told him,"
Isabella leaned forward, voice gentler now but firm. "Liv, you can do better."
The alcohol softened the sting of their words, but not entirely. Olivia smiled - calm, composed, and slightly flushed. "He's not that bad. He's just... bad at priorities. And communication. And timing."
Tessa stared at her. "You hear yourself, right?" she asked.
Olivia let out a small laugh. "We had a fight. It's fine. We'll fix it."
Isabella tilted her head. "Then why were you so sad when I called? I know it was about him."
That hit, and Olivia's smile faltered for half a second. "I was just tired," she said, softer now. "We argued. It happens. It's not the end of the world."
Tessa's eyes softened as well, but she didn't back down. "Liv-"
Olivia raised her hands lightly in surrender. "Please. I came out tonight to forget about him. Not dissect him. Can we not do this anymore tonight?"
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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.