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 8
There was a pause, then Tessa exhaled and lifted her shot glass again. "Fine, Liv," she said loudly. "I agree. We'll drop it for now, but only because you definitely need to loosen up and have some bloody fun."
And just as she said it -
A male voice cut smoothly into their space. "I can definitely help her with that..."
All three of them turned.
He stood beside the booth like he'd been summoned by the word fun itself. Tall. Broad shoulders under a dark button-down rolled at the sleeves. A drink in one hand. The other casually tucked into his pocket. His jaw sharp under the low amber lighting.
And that smile. Lazy. Confident. Slightly wicked. But it was his eyes that mattered. They weren't on Tessa, or on Isabella. They were glued on Olivia. Steady. Assessing, and definitely Interested.
Derek Hawthorne.
__________
For a split second, the noise of the bar dimmed.
It didn't actually fade - the bass still thudded, glasses still clinked, laughter still burst from nearby tables - but inside Olivia's head, everything narrowed to one point.
Him.
Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs, sudden and violent - whether from alcohol or the shock of seeing him, she couldn't tell. What the hell was he doing here, she thought, as every other thought flew right out of her head. And worse - why did her body react like this?
Oh... This was not good. Not when she was already two shots in. Not when her emotions were hanging by a thread. Not when she'd come here specifically to forget complications, not invite new ones.
She heard Tessa mutter under her breath, "Oh, this should be illegal." as she stared at Derek and couldn't even blame her friend.
Derek Hawthorne stood there like he belonged in the dim amber lighting. Effortlessly put together. Effortlessly dangerous. The man was too damn attractive for his own good or anyone else's for that matter.
"How's the evening going, ladies?" Derek asked smoothly. His voice was rich, controlled and entirely too confident. He finally dragged his gaze away from Olivia to address the table, and only then did she realize she'd been holding her breath. "Having fun?"
Isabella blinked at him. "You said you'd leave us alone, Derek." There was a slight frown on her face, but no real heat behind it. More sibling irritation than genuine annoyance.
Derek placed a hand over his chest dramatically. "Oh, come on, Izzy." He even pouted - actually pouted - in a way that would've been ridiculous on any other man. On him, it was annoyingly charming. "It's boring being alone here. I have no friends in this town. Everyone's gone now."
"Then make new ones," his sister shot back smoothly. "Or find some woman to pick up. You're very good at that."
Olivia didn't miss the pointed tone. Derek ignored it completely, and once again, his eyes slid back to her.
"So..." he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "She's finally here."
Her stomach flipped. He had known she was coming? She raised a brow at Isabella.
Isabella sighed. "He said he wanted to go out too. I told him he could come - as long as he stayed away from us, so I don't know why he's back here."
Derek gave an innocent shrug.
"Oh relax," Tessa chimed in, grinning. "His company is not all that bad."
"Thank you, Tessa," Derek declared grandly. Before anyone could stop him, he leaned over, gently took Tessa's hand in his, and pressed a theatrical kiss to the back of it.
Tessa gasped dramatically, cheeks flushing bright pink. "Stop it."
Olivia nearly rolled her eyes. Isabella didn't nearly. She fully did, and almost sent her eyeballs to the back of her head.
"Save your charms for your bimbos and twinkies, Derek." She told her brother.
He chuckled, low and unbothered, then moved. Olivia tracked him from the corner of her eye. And then her stomach dropped. He wasn't stepping away. He was stepping toward her.
Her body reacted before her brain did. Her spine straightened, her pulse spiked again, and for half a second she genuinely considered standing up and fleeing to the restroom like a coward.
Too late.
He reached the edge of the booth. And sat beside her. Close. Not touching, but close enough that the heat of him felt deliberate. Her nostrils flared slightly. He smelled... incredible. Something deep and warm. Spiced. Clean. Masculine without being overpowering. The kind of scent that lingered on pillows and in thoughts. She instinctively held her breath. It didn't help. Because he leaned closer.
"Hello again," he said, lifting his glass to his lips. The corner of his mouth tilted upward in a slow, knowing smile. Then he leaned just enough that his words were meant for her alone. "Happy to see me?"
Her throat felt suddenly dry. "Hello, Derek," Olivia managed, forcing her voice into something resembling calm.
She was not in the right mental state for this. Not tonight. Not when Jack was already a storm in her head. But the way Derek looked at her - like he was studying her, not just seeing her - made something inside her unravel.
"Izzy and Tessa mentioned they were doing some kind of... intervention," he continued lightly. "Are they done? Because I'd like to join in and point out a few things I've observed myself."
Her head snapped toward him. "It's none of your business," she replied, aiming for sharp, but it came out softer than she intended. Damn tequila.
Tessa straightened slightly. "Actually-"
"Tess," Olivia warned, shooting her a look.
Tessa immediately lifted both hands in surrender, though her grin suggested she absolutely would've betrayed her.
Derek laughed. It wasn't mocking. It was amused. "Fine," he said easily. "I won't push."
But he didn't move away. His arm brushed lightly against hers, barely there, but enough to send awareness crackling across her skin.
Again, that scent. That warmth. Her body felt suddenly hyper-aware of everything - the line of his thigh near hers, the subtle flex of his forearm as he adjusted his glass, the way his presence filled the small space without effort.
He was too strong to resist, too solid to ignore or pretend he didn't affect her.
Her mind whispered Jack.
Her body didn't listen.
Screw it, she thought.
If she was going to sit here next to Mr. Ruggedly-Too-Attractive while her relationship hung by a fraying thread, she needed insulation. Numbing. Distance.
Right on cue, the waiter returned with another round of shots. The glasses landed on the table with a soft clink.
Olivia didn't hesitate. She reached for one immediately, fingers wrapping around cool glass and lifted it before anyone could say a word.
If this night was going to spiral...She might as well meet it halfway.
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7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
7.3
Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.
9.3
On the first anniversary of our reconciliation, I thought my tech mogul husband and I had finally turned a corner. Then I discovered our entire marriage was a spectator sport. It was a cruel, year-long revenge game orchestrated by him and his lover, and I was the punchline.
For their amusement, I was poisoned with food contaminated with dog feces, publicly humiliated with a twenty-million-dollar auction scam, and beaten until my ribs broke by his family's private security. I endured it all, playing the part of the clueless, loving wife while they laughed about it in a group chat called "The Jillian Andrews Comedy Hour."
But their grand finale was a step too far. I overheard him calmly planning to leave me to die in a remote cabin during a blizzard, a "tragic accident" that would finally set him free to be with his mistress.
He thought he was writing the final chapter of my life.
He didn't know I was about to use his murder plot as my own perfect escape. I faked my death, vanished into thin air, and left him to explain to the world how his beloved wife disappeared off the face of the earth.
9.5
For nine years, I poured my soul into proving I was worthy of my wealthy boyfriend, Clayton Wright. I endured his endless, humiliating "tests," sacrificing everything for a place in his world.
But at our engagement party, the final test was revealed. He stood by as his ex-girlfriend, Anjelica, framed me for shattering a priceless family heirloom.
"You manipulative bitch!" he snarled, slapping me across the face. He then ordered his bodyguard to force me to my knees, grinding them into the sharp, broken fragments of the watch.
As I bled on the floor, he pulled out his phone and gave a single command: demolish my childhood home, the last piece I had of my deceased father.
He destroyed my past and my dignity, yet minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
"The engagement is just for show. I'll still marry you. You're my destiny."
That night, clutching the last of my father's life insurance, I booked a one-way ticket and vanished. He thought he had finally broken his little project, but he had just unleashed a woman with nothing left to lose.
7.4
Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash.
But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain.
When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable.
A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital?
Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear.
She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse.
When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table.
"Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.
9.1
I was supposed to be celebrating my twenty-first birthday and my engagement to the man I loved.
Instead, I was bleeding out in a crushed car, listening to my fiancé Greggory and my stepsister Alta laughing over the car's Bluetooth.
They had cut my brakes.
As the steering wheel crushed my shattered ribs, they cheerfully clinked their champagne glasses, celebrating their hostile takeover of my family's media empire.
I tried to scream for help, but my lungs wouldn't work.
Then, Alta's sweet voice delivered the final, fatal blow over the speaker.
"Your mother? I took care of her too."
I died in the freezing rain, my heart frozen with absolute hatred as I realized every touch and whispered promise was just a calculated step toward my murder.
I gave them everything, treating them like my closest family.
Why did they have to kill my innocent mother? Why did I blindly trust two vipers who only wanted to drain my blood?
Opening my eyes again, the smell of gasoline was gone.
I was back in my bedroom, safe and unharmed, on the exact day of my twenty-first birthday party.
The day the tragedy began.
Downstairs, my murderers were waiting to spring their trap, expecting me to blindly accept Greggory's proposal.
But this time, I put on a blood-red dress, grabbed the photo of their secret affair, and walked down the stairs to choose a new fiancé—the most ruthless billionaire in the room.