I barely had time to breathe before my phone buzzed. Again. Alexander. My ex-husband. The man who thought he could ignore me for years and still have me waiting patiently.
"Lianna. We need to meet. Now. Don't ignore me this time."
I rolled my eyes. Classic. Impatient, demanding, thinking he still had the right to bark orders at me. I typed back slowly, savoring the words:
"Fine. Where?"
"The Orion Club. Forty-five minutes. Be there."
I laughed out loud, loud enough that Daniel, sitting across from me, raised an eyebrow.
"What?" I asked, smirking.
"Laughing at him already?" Daniel said. "You haven't even seen him yet."
"Oh, I've seen enough," I said. "And this is going to be fun."
---
Forty-five minutes later, I arrived at the Orion Club. Sleek, private, dim lighting—the kind of place where billionaires talk in whispers, and everyone knows everyone's secrets. Perfect.
I stepped in, heels clicking. I felt the room shift. People noticed me. Always a good start. And then… there he was. Alexander, looking like he had walked straight out of a boardroom ad. Black suit, white shirt, hair perfect, jaw set. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes scanning until they landed on me.
He froze for a fraction of a second. Just enough for me to smirk.
"You're late," he said when he finally approached, voice controlled, but the edge in it gave him away.
"Forty-five minutes late," I said, calm. "You do know the concept of irony, right?"
He flinched, and I loved it. "You're… impossible."
"Yeah, that's me," I said, leaning back casually against the bar. "But apparently, you can't stop thinking about me."
He didn't answer. Instead, he stared. And stared. And I could see it—the storm behind those dark eyes. Frustration. Anger. Desire. All mixing together in a mess he didn't know how to control.
"Lianna," he said finally, low and dangerous. "You're playing games."
I arched a brow. "Nope. I'm living my life. You're the one who's obsessed."
---
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Obsessed? Don't be ridiculous. I… I just… you don't understand."
"I understand perfectly," I said. "You ignored me. You dismissed me. You treated me like I was nothing. And now? Now I'm untouchable, and you don't know what to do. That's all you're feeling."
He clenched his fists, pacing slightly. "I can't just… let this go. Not you. Not like this."
"You shouldn't have," I said softly. "This is what happens when you throw something away that was yours and think it'll stay there forever. You thought you could ignore me? Pretend I didn't exist? That I'd just… vanish? That's over."
I could see him swallow hard. His pride, his control, his ego—it was all fighting inside him, and he had no idea how to win. Not yet.
"I… I don't know what to do," he admitted finally, voice tight. "I… I can't… I need… you."
I tilted my head, letting a small, wicked smile curl my lips. "Oh, Alexander. You need me now? Funny how that works."
He stopped, frozen mid-step. The tension in the air was electric. He couldn't touch me. Couldn't make me respond the way he wanted. He was desperate, and I was calm. Untouchable.
---
I pulled my phone out, casually pretending to check notifications. My plan was simple: tease him, frustrate him, make him chase. Make him realize he was no longer in control.
He leaned against the bar beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Lianna…" he whispered, almost growling. "Stop… stop playing with me. Just… just tell me what you want. Tell me what you're doing."
I smiled faintly. "I'm living my life. I'm enjoying my freedom. I'm thriving. You? You're over here, pacing and whining because suddenly you can't boss me around anymore."
He flinched at the word "whining," but didn't answer. He couldn't.
"You realize," I continued, calm, deliberate, "you don't get to have me back just because you suddenly noticed I exist?"
He grabbed my wrist lightly—just enough to stop me—but I didn't flinch. I let him hold it. Calm. Untouchable. "I… I don't care," he said, voice low, dangerous. "I… I need you. Now."
I pulled my wrist free slowly, letting the gesture linger just enough to make him burn with frustration. "Now? Oh, Alexander. You lost your chance. Years ago. You don't get to just—"
"Stop," he interrupted sharply, voice shaking slightly. "Stop talking. Just… be with me. That's all I want."
I laughed softly. "Be with you? You ignored me for three years, and now you think I just… drop everything? That I just… belong to you again? Ha. No."
His eyes darkened, full of something primal and possessive. He stepped closer, pressing into my space without touching me fully. "You think this is a joke? You think you can… just—"
"I don't think anything," I said firmly. "I know. I know exactly how this works now. I'm untouchable. You can't control me. You can't intimidate me. You can't make me yours with a snap of your fingers. You lost that. Remember?"
He exhaled sharply, like he had been holding it in for years. "Fine. But I'm not letting this go. You think… you think you're untouchable? We'll see about that."
I leaned back, letting the words sink in. His obsession was real now. Instant. Intense. Dangerous. And I loved it.
---
Over the next few hours, the game escalated. He tried to corner me, subtly, in conversations. He tried to dominate the social space, make me feel watched, control my interactions—but I stayed calm. Smiling. Laughing lightly. Moving effortlessly from conversation to conversation, letting him feel the sting of jealousy and obsession with every glance.
He tried the public approach. Leaning close when people weren't looking. Whispering in my ear: "Lianna… stop. You're killing me."
I tilted my head, smiling softly. "Oh, Alexander. You're already dead. And you don't even know it."
He tried the private approach, texting, calling, even leaving messages through mutual friends. But I didn't respond right away. Let him stew. Let him realize that control had shifted entirely.
By the end of the night, I had him exactly where I wanted: obsessed, desperate, completely out of control. And it had taken less than twenty-four hours.
---
As I walked back to my apartment, heels clicking against the wet pavement, I felt a thrill that I hadn't felt in years. Alexander Whitman had underestimated me. He had ignored me. He had thought I was nothing. And now? He couldn't stop thinking about me. He couldn't stop chasing. He couldn't touch me—yet.
I unlocked my apartment door, slipping inside. Daniel was waiting with a grin that mirrored my own.
"Well?" he asked.
"Better than expected," I said, dropping my bag and heels. "He's obsessed. Furious. Confused. Completely… addicted to the idea of me."
Daniel laughed softly. "Addicted? That's putting it mildly. You've got him wrapped around your finger. And he doesn't even realize it yet."
"I know," I said, leaning back, letting the exhaustion hit me. But it felt good. Powerful. Free. "And I'm not done. Not by a long shot."
We spent the next hour planning the next moves. Social media posts, public appearances, subtle teases. Every interaction designed to keep him off-balance, craving attention, desperate for me. And he would come—oh, he would come.
By the time I went to bed, my phone buzzed again. Alexander.
"You think you can play me? You'll regret this. I'll get you."
I laughed softly, slipping under the sheets. "Oh, Alexander. You already did. And I haven't even started."