Across town, Jade was in the garage, throwing a basketball against the wall. Over and over. The echo filled the air.
James came in. Backpack still on. He looked drained.
Jade stopped throwing the ball and gave James a long stare. "You didn't notice Sabrina get hit?"
James swallowed hard. "I—I was focused on Poppy. She looked scared."
Jade tossed the ball down. "She was faking it, James."
James looked at the floor. He didn't argue.
"You think I can't tell?" Jade added. "She's been playing you since day one."
"Maybe," James whispered.
"Not maybe," Jade snapped. "Definitely."
The room went quiet.
James finally looked up. "So what do I do now?"
Jade shook his head. "That's up to you, man. But if you keep choosing the wrong side... eventually, there's no coming back."
*
*
The next morning came slower than usual. Jessy showed up at Harry's office, dressed in her sharpest white suit, face flawless, every detail polished like she had nothing to hide.
Harry didn't smile.
Jessy sat in the leather chair opposite Harry's desk, legs crossed, looking calm and flawless as always.
Harry didn't look up at first. He was tapping his pen on the table slowly, staring at his phone.
"Why didn't you pick up last night?" he finally asked
Jessy blinked.
"I fell asleep. Long day. You know how it gets."
Harry looked up. His eyes said he didn't believe her.
"Fell asleep? You told your guards to leave."
Jessy smiled lightly. "I wanted space. That's not a crime, is it?"
He leaned back in his chair. Still watching her. But before he could say anything else...the door burst opened.
"I swear this place hasn't changed a bit!" a familiar voice rang out.
Jessy turned.
Harry lit up for the first time that morning. "Drew?!"
There he was. Drew Carter. His childhood best friend, just back from England. Same cocky smile. Same smooth stride.
He walked past Jessy without a glance and wrapped Harry in a bear hug.
"You're still dating this one?" Drew muttered under his breath as he pulled away.
Jessy stepped forward. "Hi, Drew. It's been a while."
Drew looked at her, gave a flat smile, then turned back to Harry. "You're too smart to still fall for that act."
Jessy's smile cracked, just slightly.
Harry chuckled, pretending he didn't hear that.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" Harry scoffed playfully.
"Wanted to surprise you"
They sat down. Drew tossed his feet on the coffee table, grinning. "So? You finally settled down or still doing that workaholic thing?"
Harry smirked. "What about you? Finally stopped your playboy life? Got a real girlfriend yet?"
Drew leaned forward, eyes shining. "Actually, yeah. You won't believe it. Met her online. Stunning. Smart. We've been talking for months."
"Wow," Harry raised a brow. "Serious, huh?"
Drew pulled out his phone, showing a picture.
Harry froze.
It was Layla.
His fingers clenched. She really has no shame. How could she be dating online and still running after him.
"Her name's Layla," Drew said, pride in his voice. "Lives here in London. We're meeting tonight. Real date. At the Dela Vino."
Harry forced a smile. "You picked a nice place."
Drew tilted his head. "You okay, man? You look... weird."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said too fast. "Just surprised."
" You don't have to be surprised dude" Drew shrugged and eyed Jessy who rolled eyes at him.
---
Later That Evening
Jessy lay on Luca's bed, phone in hand, staring at the ceiling. It rang.
Harry.
She answered, voice soft. "Hey, babe."
"Get dressed," he said. "Meet me at Della Vino. Table's set."
"Right now?"
"Yes." Click.
Jessy sat up. "Weird," she muttered.
---
AT DELLA VINO
Drew waited at the table, trying to hide his nerves behind a cool smile. When Layla walked in, he stood.
She was stunning—elegant, poised, soft smile on her lips.
"Wow," Drew said, eyes wide. "You're even more beautiful in person." Drew couldn't help but compliment.
Layla smiled. "Thank you."
He pulled out her chair, then sat across from her, clearly smitten.
"I love your smile," he said.
Layla blushed. Then her eyes lifted—and froze.
Across the room, Harry walked in with Jessy on his arm.
Layla looked away quickly. Her heart was pounding.
Drew raised an eyebrow. "Wait here," he said, then walked over to Harry.
"You didn't say you were coming," Drew said.
"Plans changed," Harry replied, eyes flicking toward Layla.
"Come sit with us." Drew smiled.
Jessy started to decline. "Actually—"
"We'll join," Harry said, already moving.
Layla barely masked her surprise when they sat beside her. Harry's cologne hit her first—familiar, intoxicating. Dangerous.
Jessy leaned in close to Harry, purposely whispering in his ear and laughing too loud. Her hand brushed his arm more times than necessary.
Layla's chest ached. She stood abruptly.
"I'm just going to the restroom," she said quietly, and walked off.
Harry watched her go. A minute later, he stood.
"I'll be back. Don't follow me," he told Jessy.
She made a move, but Drew kicked her shin under the table.
Jessy winced. "What the hell? What's your problem?"
"My problem is you," Drew said, voice calm. "You're not fooling me. Never have."
Jessy scoffed. "I'm not here to impress you."
"You couldn't if you tried."
She hissed and started to stand, but Drew glared.
"Sit. Let them talk."
Jessy's eyes narrowed. "So you know about Layla trying to steal my man?"
Drew just smiled. He had done his homework. The minute Harry froze at Layla's photo, Drew knew something was off. Found out fast. And yeah, it hurt. But if it meant getting Jessy out of Harry's life, he'd play along.
---
In the restroom, Layla splashed cold water on her face. Her cheeks were still burning.
"It's nothing," she whispered. "You're fine. You're okay." She stepped out.
And just as the door closed behind her, a strong hand grabbed her waist and pinned her gently yet firmly—against the wall.
She gasped, about to scream—
"Don't," said a voice.
It was Harry.
His hands were braced on either side of her, eyes locked on hers.
"Are you dating Drew just to get back at me?" His voice was low. Intense.
Layla's heart pounded. He was too close. Too much. She was already shaken by it but she steadied herself. Smirked. "Are you sure this is about Drew... or is it about you?"
Harry's jaw clenched. His hand found her waist, tight.
"Ah—" Layla gasped. "You're hurting me."
"Answer the question," Harry said.
She tried pushing him, but he didn't budge.
"You don't get to question me," she snapped and shoved him harder.
This time, he stepped back. He didn't say a word.
Layla turned on her heel, heart still racing, ready to walk away.
"Layla—"
"No," she snapped, not even turning. "I'm done with whatever this is, Harry."
She started down the hallway, heels clicking fast against the floor.
But before she could make it two steps farther, Harry grabbed her wrist—gently at first, then firmer when she tried to pull away.
"Let me go," she said, not facing him.
"Just—wait."
"I said let me go!"
He spun her around. And before she could react, before another sharp word could leave her mouth—
He kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Like he'd been starving for it.
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands were pressed to his chest—like she might push him off again—but they didn't move.
For one long second, she let him in. Let herself remember how she wanted this. His mouth. His hands. The heat.
Then just as suddenly...
She shoved him back.
Hard.
Harry stumbled a step, eyes wide.
Layla wiped her mouth, staring at him like he'd slapped her. "You don't get to do that," she said, voice shaking.
Harry looked like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came.
Layla's eyes burned. "You think you can show up, mess with my head, and kiss me?"
"I didn't plan that—"
"No. You never plan anything, Harry. You just act. And people get hurt."
She turned again, this time walking away without looking back.
Harry stood there, staring at the empty hallway, fists clenched, jaw tight.
What the heck, why did he do that?
*
Back at the table, Layla returned first.
Her face was composed, calm_but Drew noticed her slightly trembling fingers as she picked up her glass of water. She didn't speak. Didn't look at Harry as he sat down a moment later.
Harry didn't say a word either. Just pulled his chair in, stiff and distant, his jaw still tight. His eyes flicked toward Layla once, but she didn't give him even a glance.
Jessy, sensing the tension, looked between them. "Everything okay?"
Harry didn't answer. He picked at the plate in front of him, took one bite, maybe two, then dropped the fork with a soft clink. "I'm leaving," he said abruptly, pushing his chair back.
Jessy blinked. "What?"
"I said I'm leaving." His voice was low but firm. His eyes never lifted from the table.
Jessy stood quickly. "Wait, why? What happened?"
But Harry was already walking.
Jessy followed after him, heels clicking frantically against the tile. "Harry! Hey!"
At the table, silence fell like a curtain.
Drew turned to Layla. "You okay?"
Layla gave a tight nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't.
---
Later that night.
Harry didn't wait for the valet.
He yanked the car door open himself, slid in, and slammed it shut before Jessy could catch up.
She got in a second later, breathless. "Harry. What the hell was that?"
He didn't answer. Just stared out the windshield, hands tight on the steering wheel.
Jessy touched his arm. "Talk to me."
He flinched, just slightly. "Not now."
She stared at him. "Is this about her?"
Harry's jaw tightened. His silence was all the answer Jessy needed. Her head spurn when she saw lipstick at the corner of his lips.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, pulling her seatbelt on with more force than necessary. "You kissed her, didn't you?"
Still, nothing.
Jessy let out a bitter laugh. "You know what? I hope it was worth it. Because whatever this thing was between us..." she gestured vaguely between them "you just buried it."
"Say that again" Harry glared but jessy swallowed. She was thinking he would beg like he always does.
She didn't dare to speak further.
The rest of the drive was silent.
---
Later
Harry sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, shirt unbuttoned, tie still hanging around his neck. The city buzzed outside his windows, but his room was dead quiet. The kind of quiet that lets everything inside you get too loud.
He ran a hand through his hair. Exhaled sharp.
He could still taste her.
Layla.
That kiss wasn't planned. Hell, nothing with her ever was. She just showed up:
And when she said "You don't get to do that", it hit harder than the slap he probably deserved.
Because she was right.
He didn't get to.
But he had. And now the image of her walking away was stuck in his brain like a loop. That sound of her heels. That final crack in her voice.
And what tore him up most?
She didn't look back.
---
That same night.
In the bathroom, Layla turned the shower on and stepped in before the water was even warm.
Let it hit her back. Her neck. Her face.
But it couldn't wash him off.
Not his hands. Not his voice.
Not that kiss.
God, that kiss.
She touched her lips without thinking. Closed her eyes.
It was all still there. The pressure. The way he held her. The way he said her name was like it belonged to him. Like he knew it in his bones.
"Why?" she whispered, water running down her cheeks. "Why'd you do that?"
No one answered.
She didn't say his name all night. But now, in the steam, in the silence, it slipped out.
"Harry." Soft. Almost a breath.
She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror.
"Why'd you kiss me?" she asked her reflection.
But there was no answer.
Because Harry never gave one.
He just acted. Left the mess behind.
And here she was—soaking wet, heart aching, lips still burning—wondering how a kiss could feel so good and so cruel at the same time.