I was pulled down to her lips.
Warm. Soft. The moment they touched mine, an intoxicating rush flooded my senses. Her lips were sweet—like sugar—with the faint taste of expensive wine lingering between us. A delicate fragrance wrapped around me, slipping past reason and straight into something deeper. My heart lurched. Something sharp and exhilarating spiraled through my body, my mind, my very soul.
And I wanted more.
My judgment blurred. I didn't pull away. I didn't react with the revulsion I normally felt when women got too close. Instead, I stayed there—frozen—letting the kiss deepen into something dangerously pleasant.
It all happened in seconds.
My custom-made phone slipped from my fingers and shattered against the pavement, but I couldn't have cared less. In that moment, nothing existed except that kiss.
Then—just as suddenly—her lips were gone.
Only the lingering heat remained. A maddening tingle. A craving.
What the hell just happened?
What were those feelings?
I hated it when women tried to approach me. Their presence alone usually made my skin crawl. So why wasn't I repulsed by this brown-haired stranger?
I smiled—slowly—watching her with new interest, something sharp and deliberate igniting in my gaze.
"Now, Mr. Foster," she said coolly, turning back to him, "does that prove I don't love you?"
Julian Foster's eyes burned with jealousy. "Clara Bennett, you shameless vixen!"
"Yes," she replied calmly, smiling. "I am a shameless vixen. And I'm a shameless vixen who wants nothing to do with you. So would you please leave me alone?" Her smile didn't waver. "Mr. Foster—while I'm asking politely."
Fascinated, I lit a cigarette and observed quietly.
"Is this a threat?" Julian snapped.
"Take it however you want."
"You think I don't know your financial situation?" he sneered. "Sooner or later, you'll be rotting on the streets. Your family's already disowned you. No friends. No income. Are you sure you want to reject my goodwill?"
"That doesn't concern you." Clara tilted her head.
He knew too much about her. I could see it—the way her eyes sharpened, wary.
"I know why you're doing this," Julian said through clenched teeth.
"Oh?" she drawled. "Do enlighten me."
"You're desperate to prove you're over me. You want respect from me. You want to erase that pathetic image of yourself."
I almost laughed.
She looked like she was deciding whether to laugh—or kill him.
Instead, she inhaled slowly, then smiled sweetly. Dangerously sweet.
"Should I fuck this man right in front of you," she asked gently, "to convince you I have no feelings for you?"
Julian Foster: "…"
Me: "…"
I crushed my cigarette between my fingers.
This woman…
She was something else.
If Grace were here, she'd vomit blood knowing her boss had been kissed. She'd faint knowing I'd been ignored. And she'd probably die outright hearing what this woman had just suggested—about me—in public.
"You have no shame," Julian said hoarsely. "Chen—no—Emily was right about you. You act innocent, but inside you're just a woman with no honor."
The Clara Bennett he remembered was demure and obedient.
The woman standing here now was sharp. Unyielding. And unapologetically vulgar.
"Is this all an act?" he demanded. "So I'll believe you're over me?"
Her lips curved upward, eyes bright with mockery. Then she sighed theatrically.
"Fine. You win. I admit it," she said softly. "I love you. I've never stopped loving you."
Julian's chest puffed—just for a second.
Then she continued, sweet as poison."In fact, my whole family loves you. No—that's too small. The entire universe loves you. Now that everything and everyone loves you, would you spare me?"
His face twitched violently.
"I came to convey my family's goodwill," he spat. "But you're ungrateful. Don't expect help when you're thrown onto the streets."
He turned and stormed off.
Only when he was gone did Clara's shoulders finally relax. She exhaled.
Then she stiffened.
I knew that feeling—the instinctive awareness of being watched.
She turned.
I met her gaze.
Up close, she was striking. Smaller than me, but unflinching. Chiseled features. Clear eyes. An aura that reminded me of ancient nobility—proud, cold, untouchable.
"I—uh—about earlier," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Sorry."
My eyes darkened.
If she thought a sorry would be enough, she was gravely mistaken.
"You grabbed a stranger by the collar," I said coolly. "Forced him into an indecent public act. Destroyed his property. Made explicit comments about him—and now you want to walk away with a simple apology?"
Her head spun. I could see it.
"Well," she tried, smiling coyly, "you got to kiss a beauty. So I'd say we're even?"
That smile—sweet, charming, lethal—could have melted any man.
But I wasn't just any man.
And she was about to learn that.