Chapter 4

It has been four days since I last saw Zander. Since we only have psychology on Mondays, I haven’t seen him.

Four days.

And yet, my mind refuses to leave that office.

The way he touched me like I was nothing but his toy, the way he looked into my eyes as if he owned me. And then, just like that he walked away. No explanation, no warning, not even a word meant for me.

My chest burned with anger every time I replayed it. Who does he think he is, using me and then tossing me aside like I’m disposable?

But beneath the anger, something darker sits. Embarrassment and shame. Because the truth I don’t want to admit, not even to myself, is that my body craves him. I wake in the middle of the night, heat pooling between my thighs, remembering the rough drag of his tongue, the way his voice sounded when he whispered filth in my ear.

I hate him.

And I want him.

And the mix of both is tearing me apart.

I’ve tried to distract myself, bury my head in books, and focus on shifts at the bar. But nothing helps. His shadow clings to me, every memory sharper than the last. And worst of all, I know he hasn’t thought about me once.

To him, I was nothing but a plaything he could walk away from.

The music throbbed through the bar, glasses clinking against one another, voices rising in laughter and arguments. I tried to focus on the cocktail shaker in my hands, the metallic sound steadying my nerves. A customer’s order had pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts.

Keep busy, Remi. Just keep busy. I said to myself.

I mixed the drink, but my head kept pounding from overthinking. Too many things swirling in my mind, my bills, my rent, my stupid life choices.

And then the air shifted.

The doors opened, and every head seemed to turn for just a second. He walked in. Zander. Not alone, but with a few men in sharp black suits trailing behind him.

My hands froze. My chest tightened like a knot had been tied inside it. His eyes found mine, locked on me for what felt like an eternity. My heart stopped beating, stopped everything. I thought maybe, just maybe he would look at me with some sort of recognition.

But then he looked away. Just like that. Like I was no one. Like I was invisible. And he kept walking, his long strides carrying him straight to the VVIP section.

Heat rushed through me. Anger curled in my stomach like fire. How dare he? After what he did to me a few days ago, he walks in here and looks at me like I’m a stranger?

Before I could calm down, Marcus, the manager, rushed out from the back, his face tight with nerves.

“Remi, stop standing there. Go attend to the boss.”

I blinked at him. “Boss? What boss?”

Marcus’s eyes darted toward the VVIP section. “That man. He owns this place. So go serve him before you get yourself into trouble.”

My mouth went dry. “He… he’s the owner?”

Marcus frowned at me. “Do you live under a rock? Now move.”

I wanted to scream. Zander wasn’t just some man walking into my life again, he was my boss and my professor. The one person I couldn’t afford to defy. I dragged a hand through my hair, cursing under my breath, before taking a deep breath and forcing my feet toward the VVIP section.

The doors opened and I stepped in. My pulse roared in my ears.

He was already watching me. His dark eyes were steady, and consuming, he didn’t flinch when I walked closer. He looked at me as if he was devouring me, piece by piece, with his gaze.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “How can I help you? What’s the order?”

Silence. His eyes were still burning into mine.

Then one of the men cleared his throat. “A Glenfiddich thirty-one years. And Luc Belaire Rosé. For Zander,” he said, pointing casually at the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

My throat bobbed as I nodded quickly and turned away, my legs shaky beneath me.

In the back, I collected the bottles, forcing myself to breathe. My hands trembled so badly that I told a co-worker to bring glasses instead of risking dropping them. Then I walked back in, my head lowered, trying to pretend this was normal.

I placed the drinks on the table, unscrewed the cap, and began to pour into a glass. That’s when his voice cut through the air, deep and commanding.

“You can leave.”

I froze. My eyes flicked up at him, then at the men sitting beside him, but they gave nothing away. Slowly, I placed the bottle back on the table and bowed my head slightly before turning to leave.

I sat behind the counter, pretending to scroll through my phone, pretending not to care. But I felt his gaze.

Every time I lifted my eyes, there he was, sipping his whisky, his body angled toward his men but his attention firmly on me. It made my skin crawl and heat all at once. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, checking the clock every five minutes, praying for my shift to end.

When my time finally came, relief rushed through me. I packed my bag quickly and took one last glance at the VVIP section. He wasn’t there anymore. My heart lifted. Good. Maybe I can leave without running into him.

I rushed outside, the night air cool against my skin. My steps quickened toward the street when I noticed a black car parked right in front of the bar. I tried to walk past it until the window slid down.

Zander.

My body stiffened. He was behind the wheel, his expression unreadable.

“Get in,” he said, his voice like a command, not an invitation.

I clutched my bag tighter against me. My heart slammed in my chest as I forced the words out. “No. I… I can’t get in the car with you.”

His jaw ticked. His voice dropped lower, laced with disdain. “It’s not a request.”

Fear crawled up my spine. I glanced around, desperate for help, but the street was empty, and lifeless. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my legs weak beneath me. With a shaky breath, I opened the door and slid inside.

The door shut, the sound sealing my fate.

He didn’t look at me. He just started the car, his hand steady on the wheel as the city blurred outside.

I tried to break the silence, my voice trembling. “My house is this way—”

“Not your house.” His words cut sharply.

I turned to him, shock rushing through me. “What? Then where—where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it. The orange glow flared in the dark, smoke curling lazily out into the air. He exhaled, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as though I hadn’t spoken at all.

My hands balled into fists. Anger rose hot in my chest, anger at his arrogance, his silence, and his control. But beneath that anger, fear coiled tighter. What if he doesn’t take me back home? What if this is the end?

The city faded behind us. The streets grew darker, and more quiet. My heart pounded louder with every mile.

And then the car slowed.

Ahead of us rose tall steel gates, black and gleaming under the floodlights. Security cameras watched us from above. Armed guards stood on either side, rifles in hand.

The gates opened the second they saw him.

My breath caught as the car rolled forward. Beyond the gates was a huge mansion, intimidating, lit up like it was alive.

The gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled closer. I couldn’t stop staring. My pulse thundered in my throat.