THE REVENGE OF THE RAGDOLL

I felt dizzy from staring up at the towering building for so long. The lights from its windows were entrancing, hypnotic even—making me want to keep staring forever. The building looked to be eight, maybe ten stories tall, and judging by the silhouettes inside, each floor was teeming with guests.

This party was a lot larger than I expected. Great.

I climbed the flight of stairs and locked eyes with Harold. His smile was bright—almost too bright. I watched his iris glide upward slowly, assessing my dress like he was about to pounce—a baby seeing its mother’s breasts for the first time.

His gaze traveled along the red fabric, from the curve-hugging skirt with a slit up my left thigh, to the spiraling flower detail wrapping around my waist like a serpent coiling its prey, and finally, to the ruby-studded chest piece that gave my boobs a respectable lift.

This was a lie, admittedly. A disguise. A mask that hid the real me well—an unattractive, unfriendly, depressed emotional wreck.

His eyes finally returned to mine as I reached him.

“You… look amazing,” he said—because what else could he say? Still, I could see his dark, hidden desires swirling in his pupils, rising and falling like disturbed dust.

“Thank you,” I replied, smiling, cheeks flushing. “What’s all this? You didn’t tell me it’d be this big. And the limo? I never expected that.”

“Who are you?” I asked, squinting slightly.

“Well… I’m sorry I didn’t explain sooner. Let me show you around, and I’ll explain as we go,” Harold said.

He placed his right palm gently on my bare back and led me inside.

The party was quiet and sophisticated. Soft piano music played in the background, mingling with the scent of wine and pastries that lingered in the air. Guests murmured around white-linen dining tables while golden chandeliers hung low, casting the hall in a pale yellow hue.

“My family owns a major share in one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in New York City,” Harold said as we walked. “I manage those shares, and I also own a few research labs in Brooklyn and beyond. I dabble in real estate too—and a couple event centers. This one’s mine.”

He waved casually at guests who were, frankly, more focused on undressing me with their eyes.

Among them was a young woman whose gaze had been fixed on me since I walked in. She looked stunned—maybe even pained. Her blonde hair draped over one side of her face, and her red lipstick shimmered under the chandeliers.

She was beyond beautiful.

I looked away. “So… you’re basically one of the billionaires who run this city, and you said nothing about it,” I said, more resentfully than I meant to. I knew what I’d suffered at the hands of a billionaire.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” Harold replied. “I just wanted to have a real conversation, get to know the real you. And hopefully… find someone who loves me, not what I have.”

He stopped in front of me and turned, his eyes softening. “And I think I’ve found her.”

My heart thumped with a strange rhythm as I stared into his eyes.

Wait. I blinked. Did he say pharmaceutical company? My stomach tightened. Could Richard be—

“Harold,” a woman’s voice called from behind him.

He turned and beamed. The woman, seated at a round table with other guests, looked to be in her forties. Could she be…?

Harold grabbed my hand and led me over. “Mother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

It’s his mother. Oh my god. I can’t fuck this up—I cannot fuck this up, I repeated to myself, drawing a deep breath.

“Family, this is Angel Ramirez. My date,” Harold said.

“Good evening,” I said nervously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Ramirez?” his mother asked. “As in the Ramirez family—owners of the biggest hospital and research facility in the United States?”

“Uh, no. I’m just a surgeon from Forest Hills, Queens,” I lied.

I couldn’t let them know I was the banished daughter of that Ramirez family—or the ex-wife of Richard Angelo. Not after the lies he told the press.

“I… was an orphan,” I added. “I don’t know who my family is.”

Harold’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know who my family was—but he knew I had one. I’d told him. Still, he understood, and played along.

“Well, nice to meet you, Angel Ramirez,” said a man a few years younger than Harold. “Please make my big brother happy tonight. His life’s boring, and he’s a depressed fuck.”

The table erupted with laughter. I smiled and gave him a subtle nod.

The music changed—smooth, sultry saxophone notes now glided through the room.

“Time to dance,” Harold’s mother announced, standing up. “I can’t wait to shake these fifty-year-old hips.”

Harold’s brother took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Two younger girls—twins—remained at the table, smiling quietly. They looked much younger than the brothers and hadn’t said a word all evening.

Harold turned to me. “May I have this dance?” he asked, extending his hand.

“Yes, you may, Lord Harold Washington,” I teased, placing my hand in his.

He led me to the floor, resting his left palm gently on my right hip.

His gaze stayed locked on mine—and somehow, I could feel his heartbeat syncing with mine.

“I’m sorry I lied to your family,” I whispered.

“It’s okay. I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell them,” he said softly.

Then, “But tell me… are you related to the Ramirez family?”

“I…” I hesitated. “No. I’m just an ordinary girl from Queens.”

I hated lying to Harold—the only man I’d truly come to trust in four years. But telling him the truth would complicate things for both of us.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not ordinary, Angel,” Harold whispered. “You’re beautiful, smart, and you save lives every day. You’re kind-hearted, strong, and brave. I couldn’t ask for a better woman.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I clutched his shoulder.

“I’m in love with you, Angel,” he said, moving closer. “And I want to show you a whole new world—a better one than what you had four years ago. Better than what you have now.”

This time was different. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t want to pull away. I shut my eyes, ready for his lips to meet mine.

“Angel?”

A voice cut through the air, familiar and sharp.

My eyes snapped open. My stomach dropped.

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered, turning slowly toward the voice.

And there he was—Richard Angelo—standing like the devil himself, hand in hand with his wife, Jennifer. Both of them were staring at me, stunned.

Why… why didn’t I see this coming?