I'm pursued by superstar after betrayed
Chapter 2
Violeta Reynolds lounged against the headboard, tablet propped in her hand, picking apart her target’s assets. Raiden Evans grabbed a pair of pajamas from the dresser and headed for the bathroom. The steady drumming of the shower filled the room as Violeta blinked slow, mind spinning through exactly how much she’d walk away with if she divorced him.
This marriage was never anything more than a transaction between the Reynolds and Evans clans— a corporate merger, not a love match. If she was being honest, it probably had something to do with Clark, her so-called brother, too.
Her fingers glided across the tablet screen, just as a cloud of warm steam drifted over her shoulder. She felt Raiden’s chin settle on her shoulder, his sharp gaze locking straight onto the numbers glowing on her screen.
“Thinking about calling it quits?” he asked, casual as anything, swiping his thumb to go back a page. “Gonna leave me high and dry, huh?”
The unspoken threat hung thick in the air: divorce him, and you walk away with zero. Two years playing the perfect trophy wife, and she’d have nothing to show for it— no payout, nothing at all.
Raiden wrapped his arms around her, that innate, entitled authority rolling off him in waves. “Have I been all work and no play lately? Left you feeling forgotten, baby?”
She hit the power button on the tablet and twisted away from him. “I don’t care anymore.”
To Violeta, this marriage barely even mattered now. Staying together just meant keeping her family’s connections intact.
Raiden slid into bed behind her and tugged her back into his chest. “When we tied the knot, feelings weren’t part of the deal. It was always about what you represented.”
Violeta went rigid, bitterness bubbling up her throat. Two years in, and these grand, cold lines just felt ironic. Humiliating, even.
Raiden was incapable of warmth or real affection. He’d gotten sick of everyone kissing his boots, and never cared for anything sincere. Maybe a lifetime of luxury had blunted him. And Violeta, molded by the Reynolds family from the day she was born, paled in comparison to whatever he craved.
She really had been groomed for this exact life. Why else would the Reynolds have dumped so much money into raising her? Her family had shaped her into a strategic asset, a beautiful trap laid out just for the taking.
She shut her eyes, blocking out his lazy, mocking drawl. He must’ve gotten his rocks off with someone else tonight. That was the only reason he was this chatty.
“Violeta, even the prettiest flower wilts if no one waters it. Lonely? Maybe you should go find someone else to keep you warm.”
Her face went slack, draining of all color.
He had some nerve. He knew exactly how she felt about this sham of a marriage, and still he stood there, all cold and calculating, throwing this in her face.
This stupid emotional chess game? She’d already lost, bad. Pushing back would only make her look like a fool.
Raiden closed his eyes, brows lifting just a fraction. He’d said way worse to her lately, and still she just sat there, unresponsive as a stone statue.
The bed suddenly felt less welcoming, choked with monotony and the same old boring routine.
He laid back and shut his eyes.
Violeta waited until his breathing went soft and slow, then quietly pushed herself up. Sometimes she wondered if ending it all would save her from wasting half her life on this.
She picked up her tablet again. Raiden wouldn’t agree to a divorce because their families’ interests were all tangled up together. A messy public split would tank both their companies.
Lost in her own head, she decided to just get back to work for now, and figure a way out later.
Right as she got settled, a phone pinged with a new text. Instinctively, she reached for it, assuming it was hers.
The screen lit up with a private, compromising photo. Her heart kicked into double time when she realized it wasn’t her phone. It was Raiden’s.
She set it back down slow, careful not to make a sound. So that was his type: women who looked like angels, but didn’t give a damn about the rules.
Just as she shifted back against the pillows, his hand snaked out for the phone.
His voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges: “Did you go through my phone?”
“Picked it up by accident,” she answered, keeping her voice totally even, calm as can be.
Raiden turned away to answer the message, then stepped out into the hall to take the call.
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