One Against Universe

Sienna

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been a day and a half since he left for his "business trip." He'd called—maybe once, maybe twice. I'd seen him in those meetings, a room full of suited men, laughing, shaking hands. I tried to keep my responses minimal, indifferent, as always. But nothing was working like it used to.

If there was anyone I wanted to avoid, it was Grayson. Always had been. Sure, maybe I'd judged him harshly. But for good reason—that's what I'd tell myself. Those charges against him—whatever they were—never made it into the news, and yet, I believed knew enough about him. I'd hated the way he could punch someone into near unconsciousness without a flicker of guilt. The way blood on his hands seemed trivial. And the women—God, the women. Countless, disposable. None ever mattered to him.

I could list a hundred reasons I despised him. And yet... he'd started giving me reasons to like him.

And that was the problem. He'd started giving me reasons to actually not despise him.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I buried my face in the pillow, groaning. "This isn't right. Am I just... another one of his toys?"

God! Was I?

I sat up, restless. Overthinking, always overthinking. "Then why the hell is he going out of his way to be... nice? He's never cared about being seen as a nice guy before." Typical Alex was—I will just fuck you, and then we are on our separate ways. Then, why wasn't he like that with me? Was this some sort of a game?

"I should know more about him," I muttered, opening my browser, fingers trembling as I scrolled through articles. But then I froze. One article—fresh, posted just three hours ago—stopped me dead.

I clicked the link.

The first image hit me like a punch to the chest. A beautiful blonde woman, standing across from him, champagne in hand, laughing. And he... smiling back at her.

Oh.

I swiped to the next photo. They were close. He leaned toward her, whispering something, and she laughed.

My throat went dry. The headline stared back at me: So, is this billionaire Alexander Grayson's New Girlfriend?

I stayed frozen on the bed, the sharp sting of betrayal burning in my chest. So... I'd been used. Again.

"What a fucking asshole." Bitter laughter escaped me as I flung my phone aside. "Going around fucking his girlfriend while calling it a business trip."

I remained still for a long moment, chest tight, before a deep, shaky exhale pushed me off the bed. I grabbed the huge canvas and my paints without bothering to tie my hair up.

Colors collided on the canvas, raw and wild. Rage mixed with sorrow, bleeding into every stroke—red for the fury in the background, black for the emptiness, lines in the red, white for the hollow ache blending with the blue, brown for the weight of it all. But...Blue surged, sharp and piercing, until his image actually emerged. Not the man himself, but his eyes. Those cruel, calculating blue eyes that knew exactly how to lie. The image spoke...as if it was actually him on the other side—laughing at me, cruelly.

And as I stepped back, the painting stared back at me—Grayson's eyes, unflinching, unrepentant, and devastatingly cold.

***

Two days later, my phone was blowing up—nonstop calls and texts from Grayson. Well, I'd ghosted him. That's exactly what he deserved for lying like a piece of shit. I wasn't going to reply, in this life or the next, and I certainly wasn't going to sweat his threats. Speaking of which—he actually had the nerve to threaten me. With what? Killing my ex.

I lounged on my bed, munching on popcorn, scrolling through his latest text:

"I swear to god, if I find out you're back with that asshole, I would fucking kill him."

Funny—calling Ryatt an asshole when Grayson himself was basically the CEO of Assholes.

He'd called at least twenty times in the last two days, sent fifty texts, and I couldn't help but wonder—between his business trips and his, well... extracurricular activities, how the hell did he even manage all this? Multitasking seemed to be his hidden talent.

I trudged downstairs, craving a tub of ice cream, when suddenly my popcorn vanished from my hand—replaced by a black file. My eyes shot to Mom, who stood there, smirking knowingly.

"Again, Mom?" I groaned, staring at the file. "Dad forgot it again?"

"Not quite," she shrugged, munching on my popcorns like it was her duty. "He's too busy today. So he asked you to take it to Alex."

Hell no.

"Sorry," I said firmly, "there's no way I'm doing this. I have plans."

"Plans for what?" Mom blocked my path to the fridge. "Empty another tub of ice cream? Hell no—you can't lose that body you have."

"Come on, Mom," I whined, "it's dairy-free."

"Doesn't matter. It's still junk."

"Ice cream or not—I am not going! I am not your husband's fucking employee—do it yourself!"

"Sorry, dear," she said, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. "But Alex is your friend—so go. Deliver the file, talk a little, and have fun instead of sulking in your room like you've been doing since your breakup."

"He's not my fucking friend!"

Curiosity flickered in her eyes. "Did you two have a fight?"

"I swear, Mom, you are so annoying sometimes!" I groaned.

"Yeah, I know," she smiled, unbothered. "Now take the file to Alex." She grabbed her bag. "I have a hair appointment!"

"Mom, no! I can't—"

"Bye, Sienna!" she called over her shoulder, blowing me a kiss as she strutted out the door.

I slumped in defeat, stomping my foot on the floor. I glared at the file. I wanted nothing more than to storm into his office and kick Grayson's handsome ass—but sadly, his office wasn't my personal punching bag.

"These two better start paying me for this shit," I muttered, resigning myself to my fate. I trudged to my room to change into something presentable—I was definitely not stepping outside in cherry-printed shorts and a red crop top.