One

### KIARA'S POV

"A minute," the reporters screamed, burrowing their way through the fence of guards.

"Ma'am, is it sheer luck that you’ve won best business woman for three years?"

Luck? I hissed. What sheer stupidity.

There is a clear difference between luck and how I built my empire. Luck was simply an excuse to latch onto. If I had believed in such a thought, I would have been wasting away in a poorly maintained orphanage with nothing but sorrows and dreadful memories of my misery to keep me company. Luck wasn't the one that propelled me to greatness; luck wasn't the one that made me who I was. I did. I didn't latch onto a cold corner waiting for an opportunity to shine; I created one and ran with it. I built myself. I went through hell to become who I was, to build my empire so high that it would take years—centuries—before someone reached my level.

I leaned into the mic, making sure the camera caught my every cold expression. "I don't believe in such nonsense. You either work hard or work harder." They gasped. "That would be all." I turned with my head held high as I navigated my way through the red carpet, ignoring the loud screams of the reporters, urging me for one more question.

In reality, they wanted to know my secret, to rip a page out of my success and go for theirs.

Tsk. No sense of originality.

My driver pulled the car door open as I sat, sparing no attention to the screaming reporters. In the next second, the driver sped out, whisking through the cool streets of New York as I lay back, calculating my next move.

Winning three awards doesn't give me the excuse to lie back and rest; I need to work harder than before because I know my opponent will. Securing the deal with the Russians would be the best and most satisfying way to start a grand month. The meeting went well; I knew it in my bones. I will get the contract.

I jolted out of my thoughts at the buzzing of my phone. There were only a few people who had my main line. My parents were among those I would rather bleed to death than give my number to.

I wouldn't want my mom calling me in the middle of a meeting to ask about whether "colors of courtesy" would fit with whatever gown she wore. I may love her, but I value my sanity more.

My P.A.?

I swiped the answer button. "Talk."

"Good evening, ma'am. I know you are busy..." I could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Linda," I called out, cutting her off. "What happened?"

"It's here."

"What?"

"The memo."

"Linda! If you can't speak clearly, then get off my phone."

"The Russians sent the contract memo." I stilled as she kept screaming in joy. "We got the contract! Congratulations!"

A proud grin curled onto my lips. "What did you expect? Kiara Monroe always wins. I always get what I want, how I want it." I breathed in. "I will be at the office tomorrow." I hung up. My grin blossomed fully into a smile.

Yes! Freaking yes!

I freaking secured the deal with the most brutal industrialist.

***

"Cheers to me," I screamed, tossing the drink down my throat, reveling in its scorching sensation. "A perfect celebration for a perfect day." I laughed, gulping down yet another shot. "I freaking secured a job with Russia! The Russians." The music blasted through the club, threatening to bust eardrums. I laughed even louder, not enough to overshadow the screams of the crowd of sweaty teenagers and old men who just didn't know how to not disrespect themselves.

"Finally! We are not only untouchable, but we will be the number one industrialist."

"Who wants to party?" I sprang from my seat, nodding insanely to the DJ's words. My grip around my bottle tightened while I spun myself to the dance floor, screaming and dancing my lungs out.

Thankfully, I had stopped along the way to change out of what I wore before. I couldn't imagine weathering through this crowd with a ball gown. I settled for a simple black short dress, which clung to my body, revealing a little more than it should. My blonde hair was let loose, covering the side view of my face.

I was practically good at everything except dancing; it was the craziest and most difficult challenge. But I was in the middle of a raging party, swirling my body to the rhythm of the music.

Occasionally, I took a sip of my drink, feeling lighter. The voices which haunted me slowly faded. All I could hear was myself and the DJ.

Just when I was with no care in the world, I felt a hand slowly crawling up my arm. I spun, my gaze landing on a man who smiled sheepishly, his teeth as rotten as his manners. I ignored him, shifting a bit. I was in a good mood, and I couldn't let him spoil it. He drifted closer, leaning in to sniff my hair.

"Self-control," I muttered, unclenching my fist.

I took a few steps away. "Hi, sweetheart. Do you want to dance?" He drawled. The foul stench of alcohol penetrated through my nostrils and gagged my breath. "We can go to my..."

"I am not interested," I gritted.

He inched closer.

"I could..." The last strap of self-control I gripped snapped into shreds as his hand curled around my waist. Swiftly, I pulled away, swinging my fist to his nose. He doubled over, letting out a loud cry. It was a low blow, not as painful as I intended it to be, but it didn't stop him from wailing. The music stopped as the spotlight landed on us.

"You little piece of..." I spat, ready to redesign his crooked face, my heel slamming between his legs. "I..." (hit) "...am..." (hit) "...not..." (hit) "...interested." The last kick got him screaming and begging in pain. I tossed the bottle I held two inches away from his head.

I expected people to shout, but waiters carried him off and the party continued like nothing had happened.

I stormed back to my chair, cursing inwardly.

"The hardest," I ordered, my fist clenched. Exactly what I freaking needed.

I emptied the cup as the waiter mixed more.

"You were amazing out there," a voice said, disrupting my "ten thousand ways to disfigure a guy" memo. I glanced at the lady, 5'8, the same height as I. Her skin color was barely noticeable under the disco ball.

I ignored her, gulping the seventh shot now.

"He deserved what he got. Some men don't know when to stop."

"Most!" She laughed.

"You have to let go of that anger. This is the De Luna club. Have fun."

I took the ninth shot, my gaze getting blurry with every shot. Not like I cared, or was it helping my anger?

"If the alcohol isn't working, the men would."

I scoffed. "I doubt that the men here are my type."

"Well, some are mine." I trailed her gaze to whoever she was drooling over. I turned and froze, my drink clogging up as I stared at the devil himself, clothed in the finest black clothing. I rubbed my eyes, peering at the figure. I couldn't see his details, but those piercing green eyes, which stared back at me, burrowed their way into my soul. For a moment, I felt unraveled.

"Who is he?" I asked, not daring to tear my gaze off his.

"No. He is a no-go. As handsome and tempting as he is, he's impossible to please, nor does he look at anyone."

"Arrogant and dashing. My type." I tossed the remaining drink down my throat, grabbed my purse, ready to visit Mr. Impossible.

"Where are you going?" she called out.

"To screw the infamous Mr. Impossible." I giggled, staggering my way until I stumbled on his table. Up close, he looked more like an angel, with a chiseled jawline and a sharp nose which nestled above his red lips.

"Since you couldn't come with me, I decided to take the first step." No reply. "What's your name? Or should I go with Mr. Impossible?" No reply. He just stared. "Are you usually this quiet, or did my beauty render you speechless?" My question earned a sly grin on his lips. He stood, bridging the distance between us. He leaned in, cupping my cheeks with his hand. I fretted, his hand cold, yet his touch was gentle, warming up my soul. "I would run and never look back if I were you." I barely registered his words, not when his voice was so calm yet held the cracks of a storm.

"Are you that dangerous?"

"That's one fine way to put it."

I smiled. "Perfect, I love danger."

He laughed, not a genuine one. "You have two options, sweetheart." Butterflies swirled in my belly. "You either turn back and run or..."

"Or..."

He retracted his hand, turned, and left. I blinked several times.

Did I just get stood up? No way.

I sprang to my feet, trailing him, narrowing through the hall of the VIP. Luckily, I sighted him before he entered his room. I fastened my pace, slipping into the room before the door closed.

The room was dark with only the moonlight to aid its light.

"Or what?" I asked as he dropped whatever he was holding and turned like he was expecting me. The glint in his eye proved my theory.

"Or..." He took two powerful strides towards me, caging me in his towering figure. "...you walk through that door and become my little toy."

"Tsk, I already chose." That was all I could say before he claimed my lips. One minute I was smacking a drunk in the club, and the next I was here, pinned to the bed and in the arms of a man I knew nothing about. Being twisted, jammed in several ways that gave me painful pleasure.

***

I blinked away the dizziness, peering at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Where was..." The memories of the previous night slammed back with a painful headache.

Party, drunk, se...? I got drunk and had...?

At least I didn't knock down a dog like last time.

The sound of water running pulled my attention to the door. Mr. Impossible must be the one in the bathroom.

I cursed inwardly, ignoring how sore I felt as I picked up my clothes. Thankfully, they weren't torn to shreds.

I dressed up, fixed myself with the little makeup I had. My gaze lingered on the bathroom, hoping he would step out. I would love to take a clear look at what he actually looks like. I smashed the thought, dropped a huge amount of cash on the bed with a note.

I had more important things to do, especially with the Russia project.

I turned and left.

I pulled the door to my car open, ready to slide in, when my phone buzzed.

"Head maid?"

"What happened..." I spoke after sliding the answer button.

"Ma'am..." Her voice came out shakily.

I stilled, fear slowly creeping into my body. "Morticia, what happened? Is..."

"Your mom!... She is dying."

I froze.