CHAPTER 5: Prove me Wrong

Killian's pov.

She was late. Or maybe I was too early. Either way, my patience was already thinning and I wasn’t exactly born with much to begin with.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I glanced down at my phone for what had to be the hundredth time. Her picture stared back at me; long braids, dark skin, hot curves. Not my usual type, but I’d make an exception just for tonight at least a pay for going through this mess.

Thank God I didn’t fight Dad too hard on the remarriage. How would I have known I’d be gifted with this?

I nodded softly.

The universe really does reward the patient… or at least the privileged.

People kept flooding in through the doors; loud, sweaty, half-dressed—but none of them looked like the girl on my screen.

Her mother said she’d be here to let off some steam about the marriage which meant she felt the opposite.

Bitter—which would make two of them.

Her and Nicholas.

Which I gave no fucks about instead the heat in the club was starting to get to me, coiling around me like a rope.

I tugged at my collar and loosened my tie. I’d never been to a place like this—drenched in sweat, soaked in alcohol, filled with strangers who partied like their lives depended on it. Maybe it did. If they had anything better to do, they wouldn’t be living like this.

I rolled my eyes. “Chicago, I never expected much.”

But I could’ve been anywhere tonight—Ibiza, Tokyo, a rooftop in Manhattan instead, I was here, babysitting my father's latest impulse and the daughter who came with her.

I leaned back, rubbing a slow hand down my jaw.

God, I missed New York.

Asides Dad's midlife crises, I have no business here and if not for the company, I'd be the last to be here. He hadn't even signed the divorce papers, but here he was, playing house in some lakeside cottage with a woman barely older than me.

She wasn't black, but white and blonde with curves that were perfectly my type.

“Mother and daughter, both hot…” I exhaled through my nose. “God, why make life so complicated?”

I sighed heavily, dropping into the seat at the counter, interrupting the bartender who was clearly enjoying himself.

A smirk tugged at my lips when I saw the flicker of disappointment on his face.

“One tequila bottle,” I said.

He gave me a hard glare before pulling away from the girl he’d been eating alive with his mouth. She looked flushed, hair messy, lipstick smeared.

Our eyes met. I rolled mine.

Girls like her? Just for fun.

I could feel her eyes still on me while he reached for the bottle.

If only he knew—with just a snap of my fingers, I could have her on her knees, gagging to take me whole.

He slammed the bottle on the counter with a little too much force, then looked up and froze.

The girl he was eating also looked like she had seen a ghost and that's it hit me too.

The musty, sweaty smell that’d been burning my nose since I walked in suddenly got replaced with something sweeter.

Lavender.

I followed his gaze and my eyes widened.

There she stood, tall, confident with the same skin glow, Long braids. Same face. Same curves.

She walked closer, taking her seat beside me and exposing those toned legs. “Hi, babe…” she said with a beaming smile.

Babe?

This thing was her babe?

Awful.

He smiled nervously, grabbed a glass, and passed it to me.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he said, forcing a smile.

The other girl was already drained of color, beads of sweat forming on her face as her eyes darted around for an escape route.

“Hi, Stasha. Grandma’s calling,” she said sweetly, still smiling.

Wait.

They were related?

Of course.

Of-freaking-course.

People always said I was bitter about love just because I hadn’t met the right one. That, I called it a sugar-coated poison because I didn’t understand it.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe not.

But tonight, one thing was clear—

My soon-to-be stepsister just drank from that poison.

The bartender cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Stasha just came to help. Business’s been crazy lately, and I didn’t wanna stress you.

I scoffed and reached for the opener, cracking the bottle open and pouring myself a drink.

“I don’t take much,” she said softly.

I glanced over, her hazel eyes were on me.

She reached for the glass and threw it back in one go. Wiped her lips and handed it back to me like it was nothing.

“I pay in kind,” she whispered, letting her fingers brush against mine, before turning her attention back to him.

The air in the bar got hotter. I can’t even say why. I mean, I’ve never had it tough with women, but this? Was the easiest.”

He leaned in, whispering angrily, “What are you doing?”

“Having a drink,” she replied, a smug smile still playing on her lips. “Since you didn’t offer me one.”

“Look, babe, there are—”

“—times I should’ve read the damn writing on the wall,” she cut in, raising her brows.

Her braids fell over one shoulder as she tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to say something else.

I stopped halfway into pouring myself another drink.

No way I was ignoring this show.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, trying to soften his voice.

“I’m done talking,” she said quietly.

Then she pulled something from her pocket and dropped it on the counter.

It made a small clink sound.

A ring.

She was engaged?

He was still frozen in place, staring at the ring, while she smiled, turned to me, winked, and then left.

I fixed my sleeves, adjusted my shirt, and leaned back against the counter, watching the poor guy squirm.

Dumbass.

His loss. My win.

Because by tomorrow, once the “stepbrother” label kicked in, it’d be game over.

I scanned the crowd and found her, surrounded by two older girls whispering to her while pretending to dance. Their eyes kept throwing daggers at the bartender.

While she downed a shot like it was water, her jaw tightening before she forced a smile.

I followed the trail of her throat as it moved. From her full lips to the swell of her breasts, round and bold like gravity itself bent the rules for her.

She whispered something to them, then walked away, slipping out through the back door.

Perfect.

I reached for the bills I had and dumped them at the counter, winking at the bartender before leaving.

He said something but I didn’t bother to listen.

The cold night air smacked me in the face, the chill sharp against the heat I’d just walked out from.

It wasn’t completely dark outside. The parking lot was lined with trucks and bikes, headlights flickering here and there.

Then I saw her.

She was leaning against my car, arms folded, lost in thought.

Must be worse compared to the marriage.

“Came for your payment?” she asked, noticing my presence.

“Did I make it too obvious?” I asked, trying hard to focus on anywhere but her tits.

They were calling me.

She took the bottle from me, gulping a shot.

“I should owe more to make you last,”

I scoffed. “Doubt you’ll be able to pay up.”

Her smirk widened. “Prove me wrong.”