When silence stretched too long, Gigi's face tightened, annoyance flickering in her eyes.

She yanked Scott's sleeve. He stepped up, radiating arrogance. "Mr. Arnoult, I'm Scott Fletcher, CEO of Fletcher Corp. My girlfriend wants your autograph." Like his title alone guaranteed obedience.

Silence.

Then Joel scoffed, cold and sharp. He grabbed his jacket and tossed it over me, blocking my view entirely. Before I could react, he pushed the car door open and stepped out, moving with effortless ease.

Wrapped in fabric, all I saw was shifting light and shadow—

Joel's voice was razor-sharp: "Tch. I don't know you."

Scott's tone darkened. "What did you just say?"

Joel's words cut clean. "I said, I don't know you." Then, with a lazy cruelty: "What, are you deaf or just stupid?"

Scott, coddled and worshipped his whole life, had never been humiliated like this. Even without seeing his face, I could picture the fury twisting his expression. I smiled slightly.

"Wait... is that—" Gigi gasped. "Is that a skirt in the car—"

Before she could finish, Joel shut her down, voice flat and lethal. "What's it to you? Get lost."

***

The car door slammed shut.

Joel slid back into his seat.

I moved to shrug off the jacket, but before I could, his fingers closed around my wrist. One sharp tug—my vision cleared, but soft fabric twisted around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

He leaned in, inch by inch, his striking features sharp in the dim light. Displeasure burned in his gaze.

"So, that was your cheating husband? What a coincidence."

Up close, the cold arch of his brow cut even deeper. Our bodies pressed together, heat pooling between us. I let out a quiet, amused sigh.

"And how am I any different from him?"

Joel didn't answer.

Instead, he kissed me—deep, forceful, claiming.

The familiar scent of blue eucalyptus and rain filled the air, wrapping around me, seeping into my skin.

As my mind blurred in the pull of him, his voice cut through—low, certain.

"At the very least, I have better taste than him. Leila, you chose me."

Outside, rain drizzled soft against the car. Inside, condensation streaked the windows, a misty reflection of the storm unraveling between us.

***

Joel's place wasn't far—just a thirty-minute drive.

The second we stepped inside, his hands found my shoulders. He kissed me—devouring, relentless.

"I'll be gentle," he murmured. "I won't hurt you."

His breath burned against my skin as he moved lower, his palm tracing the sharp curve of my shoulder blade.

Then—he stopped.

His fingers froze over the uneven ridges.

His breathing turned rough. "...What's this?"

His voice sharpened. "Did he hurt you?"

I hesitated, then understood. The whip scars.

A soft laugh slipped out. "No. With our families' business ties, he wouldn't dare—"

I never finished my sentence.

He kissed me again, swallowing the rest of my words in heat and recklessness.

***

Morning crept in, the sky just beginning to lighten.

Beside me, Joel slept soundly.

Our clothes—mine tangled with his—lay crumpled on the floor.

In the dim light slipping through the curtains, I spared him one last glance before slipping out of bed.

Downstairs, I slid into my car.

Tammy handed me an iced Americano the second I shut the door.

"Ms. Lloyd, the second phase of the stock acquisition was completed last night. No traces back to us so far."

I took a sip, listening as she ran through the details.

"Also, your father called this morning. He's demanding you return to the estate today."

I nodded. "Ignore him. If he calls again, block the number. Everything else moves forward as planned."

Tammy acknowledged with a nod but hesitated before starting the car, eyes flicking to my neck.

"Ms. Lloyd... your neck."

I checked the rearview mirror. Yeah. Obvious.

Calmly, I buttoned my shirt to the collar.

"Don't worry about it. Just a puppy bite."

***

I'd planned to swing by home for a quick change before heading to the office.

Didn't expect to find Scott there.

He lounged on the couch, shirt unbuttoned, casually flipping through a stack of documents. The second he saw me, his expression darkened.

"Leila, don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

My gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.

The divorce agreement.

I stayed silent.

"Say something. What, cat got your tongue?"

He shot to his feet, closing the distance in a few strides.

"You actually think you have the right to ask for a divorce?" Scorn dripped from his voice. "Have you forgotten how pathetic you were? Clinging to my leg, begging me to marry you?"

The papers hit my face.

A sharp edge sliced the skin near my eye.

Warm blood trickled down, sticky against my fingers as I touched the wound.

I exhaled slowly. "I thought you and Gigi were in love. Just giving her the place she deserves."

"You don't get to decide anything about me."

Scott let out a low, derisive laugh, his voice dripping with malice.

"Leila, you're just a dog your family trained and threw at me. And now, because they've been treating you a little better—because you can string a few words together at Lloyd Corp—you think you matter?"

His fingers clamped around my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"The second phase of the Rivera project? Fletcher Corp is pulling out, cutting all ties with Lloyd Corp. Consider it a lesson—you only matter when I say you do. That's the only time you get to act like a person."

With a scoff, he let go, slipping right back into his usual smugness.

"Think long and hard about how you're gonna make this up to me. Maybe if you get on your knees again, I'll consider forgiving you."

***

Scott left.

I didn't move.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, stretching long shadows across the floor.

Standing there, I exhaled slowly and reached for my phone.

That's when I saw Joel's name trending.

#JoelGirlfriend

[According to inside sources, after last night's regional finals, Joel Arnoult was spotted in the parking lot with a mystery woman. The two appeared to be intimately involved...]

The gossip account that broke the news had posted a photo.

A dimly lit parking lot, rain streaking down.

Joel stood by the open car door, one hand braced against the frame, his expression cold, gaze sharp.

Inside the car, the person was completely hidden—except for a glimpse of soft blue fabric from a skirt and the logo on a pair of high heels.

The comment section exploded.

[If I remember right, Joel Arnoult is only 19? He's already dating?]

[19 is legal. What's the big deal? It's not affecting his matches.]

[Am I the only one curious about who his girlfriend is? That brand—those heels cost tens of thousands, and that pair is a limited edition.]

[He didn't get scooped up by some rich woman, did he?]

The club called almost immediately.

"Boss, reporters are already asking. Should we handle PR?"

I pressed a finger to the cut on my cheek, my voice steady. "Deny everything about Joel's relationship."

But before a press conference could even be arranged—

Someone caught him on camera at a café near the club.

The photo showed Joel in front of a strawberry cake, his expression dark.

Even through the screen, his irritation was obvious.

A bold fan approached. "Mr. Arnoult, are you in a bad mood?"

His eyes flicked over. "Yeah. Had a fight with my girlfriend."

The video shot to the top of the trending list.

His call came just as I reached the gates of the Lloyd family mansion.

"Leila." His voice was tight. "So you really planned to sleep with me and run?"

***

The last traces of daylight bled into the night.

I stood in the deepening hues of the sunset, my voice calm.

"Yes," I said. "Got what I wanted. Turns out you weren't that special. Boring."

Silence.

Then Joel spoke, voice trembling ever so slightly. "I told you—don't play me, Leila."

A quiet laugh escaped me. "Joel, I warned you. I'm no better than Scott."

Silence again.

Then the line went dead.

I shoved the doors open.

A ceramic plate came flying—smashing right into my forehead.

"Leila Lloyd!" My father's voice was ice. "I sent you to the Fletchers to secure Scott and keep our deal intact. One job. And you failed?"

His face was stone. "Study. Now."

Inside, the leather whip waited.

The scars on my back came from the last time I refused to marry Scott.

Back then, his fiancée was my father's real daughter—Miriam. But after some stupid fight, she ran off and married someone else out of spite.

Scott lost it. Threatened to sever all ties with the Lloyds.

So my father dragged me back—the illegitimate daughter who'd spent more than twenty years in the slums.

Forty lashes.

By the end, I was on the floor, back split open, flesh raw, bones nearly showing.

Somewhere through the pain, I heard my own voice:

"Fine... I'll go. I'll make him marry me."

Tonight felt just like four years ago.