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.

Scott's tone changed instantly. "What are you doing?"

But I couldn't answer or breathe.

Only when Joel finally eased up did I manage to fumble for the phone with shaking fingers and hang up.

He let out a low chuckle, breath warm against my ear.

"Leila... from now on, this time belongs to me."

***

Joel left the next morning.

Right before he did, I hesitated—then said it anyway.

"You shouldn't have told the reporters you have a girlfriend. You're still young—"

He glanced at me. "Aren't you my girlfriend?"

"It's just for fun."

"Oh." He nodded, completely unfazed. "Then you're only allowed to have fun with me."

I had no response to that.

***

A few days later, a grand business gala unfolded.

The moment I stepped in, my gaze locked onto the man at the center of it all—Scott, basking in admiration.

And Gigi, draped over his arm.

Someone in the crowd called out, "Leila Lloyd is here!"

The air tightened. Conversations died. Every eye turned to me.

Scott let the silence stretch before sneering. "Realized your little stunt didn't work, so now you're chasing after me?"

Gigi giggled. "Leila, this is just sad. If you're trying to make Scott jealous, at least make it believable. I mean, look at you—who would even want you?"

Then it clicked.

Scott had heard me on the phone that night.

And yet, he still thought it was all just a game—a desperate bid for his attention.

A few instigators at his side grinned, cueing up an old recording—one from four years ago, when I had begged him to marry me.

"Mr. Fletcher, I'm Leila Lloyd. You don't need to know me now, but if we get married, I can help you—"

In the recording, he had just stumbled out of a club, reeking of booze, his gaze dripping with mockery.

"An illegitimate daughter like you? What could you possibly offer me? You'd be better off getting on your knees, saying something sweet—begging properly. Who knows? I might actually consider it. Like... say you'll be my most loyal dog."

A pause.

Then—the unmistakable sound of my knees hitting the ground.

"Mr. Fletcher, as long as you marry me, I'll be your most loyal... dog."

Laughter erupted in the background.

"She actually said it!"

"An illegitimate daughter desperate to climb up—did you really think she had any dignity?"

Scott, still holding Gigi, raised an eyebrow, his smirk as taunting as it had been back then.

"Instead of playing these little games, why not get on your knees again?"

The weight of a hundred stares pressed down—judgment, amusement, scorn.

Then, from the crowd, a startled voice:

"Wait—her shoes! They're the same ones Joel Arnoult's girlfriend was wearing! No one can get their hands on that limited edition pair now!"

Scott's face darkened.

And before he could react—

A wave of cheers erupted from the entrance.

"Joel Arnoult is here!"