Cheating Season

When silence stretched too long, Gigi's face tightened, annoyance flickering in her eyes.

She yanked Scott's sleeve. He stepped up, radiating arrogance. "Mr. Arnoult, I'm Scott Fletcher, CEO of Fletcher Corp. My girlfriend wants your autograph." Like his title alone guaranteed obedience.

Silence.

Then Joel scoffed, cold and sharp. He grabbed his jacket and tossed it over me, blocking my view entirely. Before I could react, he pushed the car door open and stepped out, moving with effortless ease.

Wrapped in fabric, all I saw was shifting light and shadow—

Joel's voice was razor-sharp: "Tch. I don't know you."

Scott's tone darkened. "What did you just say?"

Joel's words cut clean. "I said, I don't know you." Then, with a lazy cruelty: "What, are you deaf or just stupid?"

Scott, coddled and worshipped his whole life, had never been humiliated like this. Even without seeing his face, I could picture the fury twisting his expression. I smiled slightly.

"Wait... is that—" Gigi gasped. "Is that a skirt in the car—"

Before she could finish, Joel shut her down, voice flat and lethal. "What's it to you? Get lost."

***

The car door slammed shut.

Joel slid back into his seat.

I moved to shrug off the jacket, but before I could, his fingers closed around my wrist. One sharp tug—my vision cleared, but soft fabric twisted around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

He leaned in, inch by inch, his striking features sharp in the dim light. Displeasure burned in his gaze.

"So, that was your cheating husband? What a coincidence."

Up close, the cold arch of his brow cut even deeper. Our bodies pressed together, heat pooling between us. I let out a quiet, amused sigh.

"And how am I any different from him?"

Joel didn't answer.

Instead, he kissed me—deep, forceful, claiming.

The familiar scent of blue eucalyptus and rain filled the air, wrapping around me, seeping into my skin.

As my mind blurred in the pull of him, his voice cut through—low, certain.

"At the very least, I have better taste than him. Leila, you chose me."

Outside, rain drizzled soft against the car. Inside, condensation streaked the windows, a misty reflection of the storm unraveling between us.

***

Joel's place wasn't far—just a thirty-minute drive.

The second we stepped inside, his hands found my shoulders. He kissed me—devouring, relentless.

"I'll be gentle," he murmured. "I won't hurt you."

His breath burned against my skin as he moved lower, his palm tracing the sharp curve of my shoulder blade.

Then—he stopped.

His fingers froze over the uneven ridges.

His breathing turned rough. "...What's this?"

His voice sharpened. "Did he hurt you?"

I hesitated, then understood. The whip scars.

A soft laugh slipped out. "No. With our families' business ties, he wouldn't dare—"