Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Red Flags in Plain Sight

I sat quietly on my father’s leather couch, the cool, polished surface doing nothing to soothe the restlessness in my bones. His voice droned on and on—lectures, warnings, reminders to guard myself, to choose carefully what I let the world see. He kept repeating that people with bad intentions might take advantage of our name, our wealth, our power… especially since I refused to carry a dozen personal bodyguards everywhere I went.

It was true—it could be dangerous. But I didn’t need ten guards. I only needed one person to stay beside me, and that was the one thing I was never allowed to ask for.

I’m just a woman trying to breathe freely before I end up exactly like my mother—beautiful, wealthy, admired by everyone… and utterly alone in a loveless marriage.

“Would you like to know who your fiancé is?” Dad suddenly changed the subject. He must have noticed my gaze drifting, my silence stretching too long.

I let out a long, heavy breath—one that carried all the resignation I’d carried since I was old enough to understand what “alliance” meant. “No,” I answered flatly.

“Maybe you’ll get along,” he said, and for a moment his voice sounded almost gentle. “Maybe you’ll grow to like him in time.”

That only made my heart ache all the more.

“I’m walking the same path as Mom,” I told him, meeting his eyes steadily. “There’s no difference. I’ll play my part. I’ll give him an heir. We’ll live in separate wings of the same house, travel separately, and find comfort wherever we can—just like you and her.”

Dad stared at me, stunned into silence.

I arched an eyebrow, my voice soft but unyielding. “I grew up watching the two of you. You act like strangers under the same roof. What else am I supposed to expect? A fairy-tale family? That’s too beautiful, too perfect… for people like us.”

He rubbed his temples, looking suddenly older. “Don’t you ever hope for something different? What if… what if I’ve finally learned to love your mother after all these years?”

I scoffed—sharp, bitter, and entirely honest. “You’re unbelievable! You’re telling me this now? Let me remind you, Dad—you’ve always been too busy with work… and too busy with other women.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I lifted a hand to stop him. There was more I needed to say—things I’d held inside for years. “I won’t tell her. She wouldn’t care anyway. She’d be far more upset if Porsha fell ill.”

Porsha—her beloved poodle. Spoiled, groomed, adored beyond measure. She got more affection, more attention, more warmth than I had in all my childhood combined.

Dad blinked, clearly caught off guard. “She doesn’t care?” he repeated, like he couldn’t believe his own ears.

“Tell me—when has she ever truly cared about you?”

My words landed heavy. I saw a flicker of sadness cross his face—raw, quiet, and heartbreaking. My own brow furrowed in confusion. We really are strangers in this house. We share a last name, a fortune, a legacy… but we’ve never shared a heart. I’ve never seen them sit together and talk—not really talk. Only ever speak to arrange things for me, and never for more than five minutes at a time. The last time they spoke without an agenda was two months ago, if ever.

We’re further apart than strangers. At least strangers might smile at each other.

Mom prefers living with Grandpa Eli. Even now, years into their marriage, she only stays in this house when Dad is in the country. The moment he leaves for business, I move back to the mansion with her. I’ve grown used to this life. I’ve stopped hoping for something better. Maybe I just don’t deserve a loving family. Maybe that kind of happiness was never written into my stars.

“But I care about her,” Dad blurted out suddenly, voice cracking.

“Since when?” I asked softly. “Are you forgetting we’re all strangers under this roof?”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, looking defeated. He studied me for a long moment, as if seeing me—truly seeing me—for the first time. “You wouldn’t understand anyway,” he said bluntly, his walls sliding back into place. “Go enjoy your freedom while you can. But once you’re done playing, you have no choice. You will follow the rules our families have lived by for centuries.”

With that, I enrolled in college—not to learn, not to build a career, but to follow him. It was Leonard Cohen Smidth’s final year. He’d repeated a semester to clear back subjects, and I’d waited. Patiently.

I scanned the list of most decorated varsity players on campus, and there it was—his name, standing out every single time. Beside it, inevitably, was Tyler’s. My cousin—charming, reckless, infuriating as always.

But my eyes never left Leon.

One look from him and you already understand. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that dark, intense gaze that seems to see right through every smile and lie. Girls flock to him willingly, offering hearts and bodies before he even speaks. And I… I’m just one of them. But I don’t want to be one of many. I want to be the only one.

I’ve been watching him. It’s not hard. We're in the same cirlcle but never ever met. Leon simply commands it has that kind of power thet draws attention. But he’s never once looked my way. He watches everyone who approaches him, weighing, measuring… while I stay hidden in the shadows, memorizing every tilt of his head, every lazy smile, every shift of his mood.

I don’t know why I crave someone like him. He’s a walking, breathing red flag. No one stays with him for a long time. He never runs out of women chasing after him. They throw themselves at him—some even saving their innocence just for a single night in his arms. And I’m not ashamed to admit—I’m one of them.

That’s my goal.

I want him to be my first.

Not because people whisper he’s wild, or skilled, or unforgettable in bed—but because I want him. Never in my life have I craved anyone’s attention. But the moment I saw him, I knew: I only wanted his.

So many men have tried to get close. Sons of tycoons, heirs to empires—polite, proper, safe. But none of them are him. None of them make my heart race just by walking past.

I swirled the drink the bartender had set before me, the ice clinking softly. Sometimes I wish I had friends—someone to laugh and share silly things with—but I’d rather be alone. I can’t pretend to like people just to feel less lonely. And besides… how do I even approach a man like him? With so many women already circling him like moths to flame, why would he notice the quiet girl standing in the shadows?

“Not in the mood for a drink?” a voice asked beside me—low, smooth, and entirely too close.

Men usually keep their distance. I’ve made sure of it—cold glances, sharp replies, an untouchable reputation. I lifted my brow, ready to shut whoever it was down… but every cutting word dissolved on my tongue.

Standing right in front of me was him. The man I’d only watched from afar. I blinked, dizzy. Am I imagining things? Has my longing finally driven me mad?

A wicked, knowing grin curved his lips—slow, confident, like he knew exactly what he did to me.

The bartender handed him a drink. He took it and sipped slowly, dark eyes never once breaking contact with mine.

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was certain he could hear it. It felt like it would burst out and confess everything. Butterflies swirled wildly in my stomach just from the way he looked at me—hungry, amused, interested.

He curled a finger, gesturing me to lean closer. Without thinking, I obeyed.

The next thing I knew—his lips were on mine. Fast. Smooth. Unapologetic. He slipped a cold piece of ice past my tongue with the kiss, then pulled back just enough to look at me, smirk playing on his lips.

Was this his way of asking?

Oh god. The ice was freezing… yet I felt like I was burning up from the inside out.

“My place or yours?” he asked, voice low and sure, like he already knew my answer.

I smiled back, fighting to keep my composure even as my heart did somersaults. “Mine.”

We ended up at my penthouse—it was closer to the club, and I wanted him away from prying eyes. This must be it, I thought. The night I’ve been waiting for. I am his for tonight. And tomorrow… we’ll go back to being strangers.

“Just call me Ava,” I corrected when he said my full name—Avar Sloan—like he was tasting it.

“What if I want to call you Sloan?” he asked, smirk widening.

I rolled my eyes, though warmth spread through me at the sound. “How do you even know my second name?”

He chuckled as he parked the car. “I know everyone. You’re Tyler’s cousin, aren’t you?”

I scoffed, undoing my seatbelt. Of course he knows. My face, my name, my family—we’re all known. Especially Tyler, who’s famous for nothing but trouble.

“Does that mean I get special treatment?” I asked, half-jesting, half-hoping.

He laughed—rich and dark. “I don’t make exceptions.”

“Good,” I told him, meeting his gaze. “Neither do I.”

I stepped out first. I didn’t expect him to open the door. Chivalry is dead with this man. And yet… why do I still want him so desperately?

I walked silently toward the elevator, feeling him follow close behind—heavy, deliberate footsteps. I stepped in first.

I expected him to stand across from me, or beside me, keeping a polite distance. Instead, the moment the doors slid shut, he moved. Pinned me gently but firmly against the wall, and claimed my mouth like he owned it.

His lips were soft, demanding, unyielding—but I kissed him back just as gently, just as hungrily.

The hungry lion seemed to soften. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, and my head spun. I wasn’t drunk—but he made me feel intoxicated. I was ready to give him everything.

Do all the women before me feel this way? But I’ve never seen him kiss anyone like this—like he meant it.

A soft moan escaped my throat when he swept his tongue into my mouth, tasting, exploring, claiming. It felt perfect. He really would be perfect for my first time.

Just one kiss… and I was already his.

His hands wandered from my waist upward—warm, sure, sending shivers racing down my spine. He brushed over my breast, teased gently, and I gasped.

“Leon…” I breathed his name just as the elevator gave a soft ding and slowed.

Panic flared. Someone might see us! It would be humiliating!

I tried pushing him away, but he held both my hands easily, keeping me close.

When the doors opened, I pulled free in a rush, cheeks burning. And froze.

Standing there were Rose and Saint. My schoolmates. And Saint—Tyler’s greatest enemy. They’d been rivals for years, especially over women. They’d fought over Rose before, and Tyler had been so furious he’d quit the soccer team entirely.

They’d clearly been waiting for the lift—and were stunned to catch us in that breathless, disheveled moment. Rose’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

Who could blame her? I’m known as the untouchable socialite—composed, distant, alone. To be seen breathless, flushed, in the arms of the city’s most notorious heartbreaker… it was scandalous.

I felt Leon’s grip tighten on my hand for a heartbeat. He looked back over his shoulder, calm and unapologetic. Before I could burn hotter with shame, I pulled away and hurried out. I didn’t expect him to follow.

I needed to be alone.

For the first time, I felt truly ashamed. It was my first kiss… and an audience had watched it happen.

Days passed, and I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Rose’s shocked face, and Saint’s knowing look. I was so close to having him—and then nothing.

Then he started managing one of their family companies. He traveled constantly. So I quit college. And I followed him.

I used my “influencer lifestyle” as my cover—posting photos, traveling, looking like I was simply enjoying my freedom. But everywhere I went, I was looking for him.

I chased him because I had nothing else to fill my days but spending money. And even abroad, in every city, women still threw themselves at him. He never turned them down. Never.

Wasn’t he afraid? What if someone gave him something contagious? What if one of them wanted more than one night?

But then again—neither is Tyler. He’s living proof. It’s like they can’t survive without a woman warming their bed each night.

As time passed, Leon’s appetite only seemed to grow. I even heard he’d been with two women at once!

Good heaven. Why am I still chasing this man?

It’s obvious. He doesn’t do serious. He doesn’t promise forever. He takes what he wants and moves on.

But then again—neither do I. I just watch him from a distance, memorizing every move, wondering what goes through his mind. In all the time I’ve followed him, I’ve learned so much.

When his brow furrows, he’s annoyed. When he’s about to lose his temper, he goes deadly quiet. When he’s happy, he laughs easily, head thrown back, carefree. And I think he looks most devastatingly handsome when he’s hard at work—focused, sharp, entirely in his element.

He always has a cup of coffee beside him—black, no sugar—and soft music playing in his earphones. He hates being disturbed. Interrupt him and he’ll scowl like a moody, beautiful storm.

I find it so terribly cute.

I want to walk up to him. I want to say hello. I want him to look at me and remember. But I keep my distance, hiding where I can watch him, smiling foolishly at every little thing he does… and wondering if he’ll ever look back.