OH IT WAS A BET

ERICA

CHAPTER NINE ERICA

The moment he called that man his dad, my entire world tilted on its axis.

A violent, suffocating shock ripped through my chest, instantly followed by a wave of pure, unadulterated hatred. I stared at the dark, sharp features of Andrew's face, my blood boiling so hot it felt like acid in my veins.

All I wanted in that split second was to leap across my mahogany desk, kick Andrew right in the face, and scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to shake him by his broad shoulders and demand an answer: Was your family created solely to destroy mine?!

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. His father—the man in that worn, black-and-white photograph—had pulled the trigger that ended my father's life twenty-five years ago. That man had turned my sweet, gentle mother into a terrified, grieving widow at a very young age. He had stripped away our family's fortune, forcing us to live in a decaying bamboo house in the dust while I grew up fatherless, poor, and wearing hand-me-downs.

And then came the son. Andrew.

Andrew had walked into my life, used his charm, took my innocence away, and made me fall head over heels in love with him, only to shatter my heart into a million bloody pieces by having a raunchy, explicit threesome with my two worst enemies.

Their bloodline existed simply to crush mine.

My mind raced with violent, furious thoughts. I wanted to slap the arrogant look off his face. I wanted to claw at his eyes. I wanted to tear up his legal files and throw them in his face. But as I stood there staring at him, overwhelmed by twenty-five years of buried tragedy and six years of personal heartbreak, the rage collapsed under the unbearable weight of pure sorrow.

Instead of slapping him, I began to cry.

A jagged, helpless sob tore from my throat. Tears flooded my eyes and spilled over my lashes, cascading down my cheeks in hot, uninterrupted streams. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my palm against my mouth, trying desperately to control my breathing, trying to hold onto a shred of my dignity as the chief legal counsel of this firm. But I couldn't stop it. The tears just kept flowing, heavy and relentless, soaking through my fingers and dripping onto the glass surface of my desk.

Andrew stepped closer, the cold, businesslike barrier on his face completely melting away. His dark eyes softened, filled with a sudden, deep concern that shattered my defenses even further.

"Why are you crying, Erica?" he asked softly.

His voice was thick, warm, and gentle—the exact same tender, smooth tone he had used six years ago on the night he carried me up to his master suite, the tone that had made me give him my pure, unfiltered love. Hearing that soft voice again after all the pain felt like a knife twisting straight into my heart.

"Just go!" I snapped, my voice cracking violently as I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my trembling hand. "Get out of my office! Just leave me alone!"

"Erica, talk to me—"

"I said go!" I yelled, taking a step back, my chest heaving with choked sobs. "Get out!"

But Andrew refused to let me be.

He didn't walk out the door. He didn't step back. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between us in one long stride. Before I could process his movement or push him away, his large, warm hands reached up, cupping both sides of my face with a firm yet unbelievably gentle touch.

"Andrew, don't—" I choked out.

He didn't let me finish. Andrew lowered his head, leaned down, and placed his lips directly on mine.

Dear Lord.

The moment his mouth touched mine, an explosion of electric heat shot straight down my spine. The kiss was deep, intense, and intoxicatingly passionate. It tasted like dark whiskey, salt from my tears, and six long years of desperate, unexpressed longing.

Every logical bone in my body screamed at me to stop. My brain screamed at me to fight him, to push his broad chest away, to bite his lip and send him bleeding onto the floor. I was kissing the very man I should be sending to jail. I was kissing the man who had caused me the most agonizing pain in this world—the very son of the monster who had wrecked my mum's happiness and murdered my father.

Yet, I was completely paralyzed. My body traitorously surrendered to his touch. I couldn't end the kiss. I had yearned for his lips, his scent, and his touch for six excruciating years, and despite all the heartbreak and hatred, my soul craved him like a drug. My hands, which were supposed to push him away, weakly clutched at the lapels of his suit jacket as I kissed him back, completely lost in the frantic, consuming heat of the moment.

And then, while I was stupidly standing there kissing the enemy, the quiet dignity of my office was shattered.

The heavy wooden door swung wide open without a single warning.

"Well, well, well..."

A sharp, mocking voice echoed through the room.

I gasped, tearing my lips away from Andrew’s as if I had been burned by fire. I stumbled backward, my heart hammering violently against my ribs, my face flushed hot with absolute shame and embarrassment.

Annabel and Jessica walked casually into my office, strutting across the carpet in high designer heels, their faces twisted into smug, malicious grins.

Jessica folded her arms over her chest, looking back and forth between Andrew and me with a nasty, victorious smirk.

"Andrew, we had a bet that she will still fall back for you, and you won the bet," Jessica said, her voice dripping with pure venom as she walked straight toward my desk.

Annabel took a step closer, her cold eyes scanning my tear-stained face, my disheveled hair, and my swollen lips with absolute disgust.

"How low can you get for a man, Erica?" Annabel added, letting out a cruel, mocking laugh. "Six years of running away, acting like a big-shot lawyer, and you're still just a desperate, pathetic street girl ready to open her legs the second Lord Andrew snaps his fingers."

My breath hitched in my throat. The shame hit me like a tidal wave, drowning out every lingering drop of passion. They thought I was in on a game. They thought I was just a weak, foolish toy that Andrew was casually manipulating to win a sick wager.

I didn't utter a single word to them. I didn't yell. I didn't defend myself. I didn't even look at Andrew to see the expression on his face.

My heart turned into absolute stone.

With cold, precise, and ruthless efficiency, I reached past the scattered legal files on my desk, extended my hand, and pressed the bright red emergency security alert button mounted under the edge of my table.

A sharp, piercing chime echoed through the firm's intercom system.

Within five seconds, the heavy office door burst open again. Four broad-shouldered, armed private security guards from the building's main detail rushed into the room, their eyes sharp and radio headsets buzzing.

"Miss Erica! What's the emergency?" the lead security officer demanded, his hand resting on his holster.

I lifted my head high, my eyes cold, clear, and unyielding, wiping the last remnant of tears from my face as I pointed a single, steady finger at the three people standing in front of me.

"Take all three of them away," I commanded, my voice flat, icy, and completely devoid of emotion. "Remove them from my office, remove them from this building, and if any of them ever sets foot on this floor again, have them arrested for criminal trespass immediately."