Chapter 1
"What the hell is she doing in my house?"
I barked, my voice sharp enough to cut through glass.
I knew she would show up eventually—after I caught her tangled in bed with that worthless man.
Of course, she'd come back, pretending to be sorry.
"Michael, calm down. Let me explain," she said, her voice trembling.
Explain?
The image of her flashed in my mind—her body pressed against his, moving her body like a whore.
My jaw tightened.
My chest burning.
"I said, get out of my house!" I shouted, my voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.
She dropped to her knees immediately, hands pressed together as if praying.
"Michael, believe me, I didn't cheat on you," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I stared at her, disbelief and rage coiling in my chest. "Wow… I caught you in bed with another man, and you still deny it?"
"He… he wanted to… he wanted to rape me. I was struggling to defend myself," she stammered, trembling from head to toe.
"Kate… do you know how long I stood there, watching you moan like a fool, pretending it was something else, and you still told him I was horrible in bed?" I snapped.
"That… that moan… that sound… it's my way of shouting for help," she whispered.
I shook my head. "I don't ever want to see you step foot in this house again." I turned, leaving her kneeling.
But she didn't stay down. She ran after me.
"Michael, please… just one chance to explain," she begged.
"I'm done with you, Kate. I never loved you. I was only trying to convince myself that maybe not all women are the same. But you… you're exactly like the rest. Selfish. Manipulative. Weak."
Her face twisted with anger. "And I was just managing you for your money! You're horrible in bed. Your breath stinks in the morning. I don't like you!"
I laughed, cold and merciless. "Then that settles it. A stinking mouth and a sex worker will never make a good marriage."
She froze, regret flashing across her face.
Six months. Six months I thought she was different. I thought maybe she was the one. I was wrong.
I vowed I would never take a woman seriously again.
---
Kate was one of the few women I had a fling with. I kept her close, but seeing her in bed with another man didn't hurt me — because I've already closed my heart.
Betrayal? I'm familiar with it.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest. I didn't want to feel numb—I wanted to feel nothing.
Kate's pleading eyes lingered in my mind longer than I liked. How easy it had been to be deceived, how quickly I had let my guard down.
I had learned long ago that women were dangerous. Their smiles were traps. Their voices weapons. Love was a liability. I had tried it once, and it had burned me.
My phone buzzed. A text from my assistant: Meeting at nine tomorrow. The Johnson contract needs final approval.
I set the glass down and typed back: Understood.
Business never cried. Business never begged. Business never broke your heart.
---
By the time I reached my bedroom, night had swallowed the city. The darkness was my only companion. My sanctuary. My cage.
I stripped out of my suit and left the tie on the chair. Comfort meant nothing. I wanted emptiness.
Even in that emptiness, there were thoughts. Thoughts of Kate. Thoughts of all the women who had tried to make me something I wasn't. Weak. Vulnerable. Human.
I had been born into power, trained to take what I wanted, yet never taught to protect my heart. That was my choice. That was my curse.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the city breathed, oblivious to the pain of one man. I wasn't lonely—I had chosen solitude—but even a man like me could feel the hollowness creeping in.
I had built walls around my heart so high that no woman could climb them. And yet, for a fleeting moment, Kate had slipped past those walls. Just enough to remind me I was capable of feeling… and hating myself for it.
I reached for my phone, scrolling through contracts, numbers, updates. Work never cried. Work never begged. Work never broke your heart.
I poured another glass of whiskey and sipped slowly. I wasn't sad. I wasn't lonely. I was prepared. Ready for life as it always had been—controlled, calculated, unbroken.
The world believed Michael Kent had it all: money, women, power. And maybe I did.
But the truth was simpler. I had nothing that mattered.
Nothing except the certainty that I would never, ever let another woman make me feel weak again.
I don't think there is a woman who can make me fall in love again.