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.

The whip sliced through the air and landed on my back.

This time, I didn't shed a single tear.

Only ambition thrived in the pain, growing deep within my flesh.

Under the bright light of the study, I tilted my head back and smiled.

"Dad, I'll find a way to keep Fletcher Corp working with Lloyd Corp."

***

That night, I drank a little.

I dreamt of the first time I met Joel.

Back then, he had just transferred from an international team to the domestic league—already one of the most sought-after players in esports. At some mid-tier business gala, he was one of the night's main attractions.

I'd stepped into the garden with my wine when I ran into him.

"Hello, Mr. Arnoult. I'm Leila Lloyd," I greeted with a polite smile.

"Oh, I know you." His tone was lazy. "Inside, they're saying you're a doormat. I saw your husband speeding off with his girlfriend when I stepped out."

My smile didn't budge. "I know."

"Doesn't that piss you off?"

"No."

"Don't you want to get back at him?"

"And how would I do that?"

Under the moonlight, his sharp eyes and youthful features stood out. Something about him felt... dangerous.

A rush of drunken boldness made me lean in. "Unless... you'd be willing to help me return the favor?"

Joel laughed. "Not really my kind of hobby."

I blinked. "Shame."

I started to step back, but he caught my wrist.

"Giving up that easily?" He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe if you tried a little harder, I'd consider it."

***

My phone rang, jolting me awake.

I answered.

Joel's voice came through. "Leila, I'm outside."

***

The autumn air was crisp, but Joel burned.

His kiss was rough, heated, full of frustration.

"You act like you don't care, like you're done with me." His breath was hot against my skin. "But that was just for show, wasn't it?"

My head was still foggy with alcohol. I frowned, pinching his chin.

"Shut up. If you're gonna do it, do it. Stop talking so much."

Joel stilled.

Then, slowly, he smiled. It seemed dangerous.

"You said it."

The night wind howled through the city.

By the end, my fingers were digging into his shoulders, my body trembling.

Under the warm glow of the light, his palm pressed against my skin, slipping through like water.

Then Scott's call came in.

I tensed instantly.

Joel exhaled sharply, catching my wrist before I could decline. Instead, he answered.

Scott's voice was thick with alcohol. "Leila, went home, got yourself beaten—still haven't figured out how to make it up to me?"

He let out a low chuckle. "Forget it. I'll give you a chance. I'm at Obsidian. Come pick me up."

"I'm—"

Before I could even say "I'm busy," Joel suddenly thrust deeper, knocking the air from my lungs.

Even trying hard, I couldn't stop the breathy sounds that escaped.