Chapter 02: The Taste of Revenge

Seraphina

The cheers still echoed faintly in my ears, haunting me like a lingering echo from a nightmare or a fantasy I couldn’t wake up from. I stood there, rooted to the ground, breathless and dazed, like someone who’d just stepped off a rollercoaster… except mine had crashed straight into a wall.

My lips still tingled, raw, and sensitive from the kiss I had just stolen from a stranger. A stranger I hadn’t even asked his name. A kiss that didn’t mean love or lust or longing. It meant war.

It wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t romance. It was retaliation.

It was revenge.

And it was Ian’s smirk that haunted me more than anything.

That arrogant, knowing smirk he’d worn as if he owned the moment. Like he’d won some twisted game we hadn’t agreed to play.

I clutched my phone like a weapon like it could shield me from the emotions battering my chest. My pulse thundered. My fingers trembled. But my mind was sharper than it had been all night.

Dan.

That cheating, spineless bastard.

Did he want to flaunt his betrayal? Fine. I’d flaunt mine louder. Dirtier. Better.

A deliciously wicked idea curled into my thoughts like smoke.

If Dan could cheat and parade around like I didn’t matter, then I could show him exactly what he lost. I wanted to drown him in jealousy. Make him choke on regret.

Let him see I wasn’t broken.

Let him see I wasn’t crying—I was kissing better men, hotter men. Men who didn’t cheat. Men who didn’t lie.

And Ian would be the final blow.

I raised my phone, scanning the crowd like a hunter searching for prey. Bodies swayed beneath the flickering lights. Guys leaned against cars, beer cans in hand, eyes glazed over with drunken stupidity. They laughed too loudly, danced too messily, and didn’t care who was watching.

Perfect.

One guy after another.

Click.

Kiss.

Delete.

Another. And another.

Each kiss was more hollow than the last. I leaned in, and pressed my lips to strangers, letting the camera flash burn the moments into memory. But none of them felt right.

The images were useless. Blurry, awkward, desperate.

No heat. No spark.

Just cheap lipstick smudged across someone else’s mouth.

This wasn’t revenge.

It was embarrassing.

Frustration burned up through my chest, turning to rage. I shoved my phone deep into my pocket, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

And that’s when I felt it.

A hand.

Thick fingers gripped my waist, tight and sudden, yanking me backward with force.

Before I could react, I was spun and shoved against the side of a car. The cool metal bit into my spine as my breath hitched in my throat.

Eyes wide, I looked up—and my stomach dropped.

It was him.

The tattooed guy from earlier. The one who’d been watching me all night. The one with the sleazy grin and the kind of eyes that made your skin crawl.

“Didn’t think you’d leave me hanging, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a slither of amusement. “Not after teasing me like that.”

“Let go of me.” My voice came out sharp, defiant.

But he didn’t move.

He pressed in closer, trapping me with his body. His hand slid down my side, fingers trailing along the curve of my hip.

“You’re here to have fun, right?” he said. “So why not finish what you started?”

Then, without warning, his mouth crushed mine—aggressive and brutal. His lips were rough, his tongue forceful.

I froze.

Shock and panic crashed into me at once.

He wasn’t kissing me. He was claiming me. Taking something I didn’t offer.

His hands roamed over my body, gripping, pulling, pawing. He shoved me harder against the car, the pressure making it hard to breathe. I tried to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. He was stronger. Bigger.

His lips dragged down to my neck.

“No—stop!” I gasped, turning my face away.

But he didn’t stop.

He grabbed my wrists, slamming them above my head and holding them there with one hand. My heart pounded in terror. My legs trembled. I tried to scream again, louder this time—but the music was too loud.

No one heard me.

And then—clapping.

Slow. Loud. Mocking.

And a voice I knew all too well.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

The guy froze.

His body stiffened.

We both turned.

Ian.

He stood there a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, jaw tight, eyes burning with something I couldn’t read—fury, disgust, and something else… something dangerous.

The tattooed guy growled. “Mind your business, pretty boy.”

Ian took a step forward, his voice like steel. “Oh, but this is my business.”

Then he lunged.

His fist crashed into the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack. The guy stumbled back, clutching his face, but Ian didn’t stop. He grabbed his shirt, slammed him to the ground, and started swinging—fist after fist after fist.

Blood sprayed. The guy howled.

And finally, he scrambled to his feet and ran, disappearing into the shadows, cursing under his breath.

I stood frozen, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My wrists throbbed. My body was shaking.

Ian turned to me, his knuckles bloodied. But his expression had changed.

The smirk was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. Not mocking. Not amused.

Worried.

I nodded stiffly, but my throat was too tight to speak.

“Ian…” I whispered, but he cut me off gently.

“Annie told me.”

I blinked. “Told you what?”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “About Dan. About the pictures. The cheating.”

My stomach dropped.

“So now what?” I said, trying to sound unfazed. “You think I’m losing it?”

Ian tilted his head. “No. I think you’re hurting. And covering it with chaos.”

I swallowed hard.

His eyes swept over me, not with judgment—but with something heavier. Something honest.

“You gonna keep kissing random guys just to get a perfect revenge shot?” he asked.

I glared. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t blink. His jaw tensed. “Because you deserve better.”

His words knocked the air out of me.

And then—

“If I kiss you…” he said slowly, deliberately, “will you stop?”

I stared at him.

His eyes weren’t teasing. His tone wasn’t playful. There was no game this time.

This was real.

For once, Ian Hardin wasn’t the cocky jerk. He was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something tempting.

I nodded.

He stepped into my space. One hand found my waist, pulling me toward him. His other hand slipped behind me, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my phone.

He unlocked it, flipped the camera, and switched it to selfie mode.

“Ready?” he whispered, his breath feathering against my lips.

I nodded again.

And then he kissed me.

Hard.

Unapologetically.

No posing. No pretending.

Just raw, fire-lit hunger that burned through every thought in my brain.

His lips moved against mine like he needed me. Like I was oxygen. My fingers curled into his shirt. I kissed him back, helpless to stop.

The camera clicked.

And kept clicking.

But we didn’t stop.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was uneven, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

“Happy now?” he asked, handing me the phone.

I stared at the image, my lipstick smudged, hair wild, pupils blown.

It was perfect.

I nodded slowly.

Ian turned, opened the car door, and said, “Get in. We’re done here.”

I obeyed without a word.

The door slammed behind me.

He climbed in, started the car, and pulled away.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

The way it tasted.

The way it felt.

And the worst part?

I didn’t regret any of it.

Not even a little.