Chapter 12

Tristan

When I get home close to midnight, I already feel so irritated by how the night went. As I walk in, my house is quiet in the way only expensive spaces are. Neat and controlled. I loosen my tie as I walk in, shrugging off my jacket and tossing it onto the couch. My mind should be on work, on tomorrow’s meetings, on the dozens of things waiting for me at the office.

Instead, all I see is brown eyes flashing with anger. Defiance. That damn fire she carries like a weapon.

“Looks like someone had an eventful night.”

I stop mid-step. Shane is sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking entirely too entertained for someone who broke into my house without warning.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I mutter.

He grins. “Nice to see you too.”

I walk past him and pour myself a drink. The burn of the alcohol does nothing to calm the restlessness crawling under my skin.

“So,” Shane continues casually, watching me over the rim of his glass, “are you done guarding the woman you claim to hate?”

I freeze for half a second before snapping my head in his direction. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughs, full and unapologetic. “I’m just saying. You left a high-level meeting early to storm into a club like an overprotective–”

“I wasn’t guarding her,” I cut in sharply. “I just don’t want her having fun. I want her miserable. Exhausted. Angry. Exactly where she deserves to be until I decide I’m tired of her.”

The words come out harsher than I intend, like I’m trying to convince more than just him.

Shane raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Wow. That’s passionate for a man who doesn’t care.”

I glare at him but he  only laughs harder.

“You should be careful,” he says, shaking his head. “There’s a very thin line between hate and love.”

I scoff, taking a slow sip of my drink. “That line doesn’t exist for me.”

“Oh?”

“The hate I have for Zaria Buckley and her entire family isn’t a line,” I say calmly, staring into the amber liquid. “It’s a whole blue sea.”

Shane studies me for a long moment, his smile fading just a little.

“Whatever you say,” he replies lightly. “Just don’t drown in it.”

I don’t respond because for the first time since I started this revenge, a small, unwanted thought creeps in and it terrifies me.

After Shane leaves, the penthouse feels more quiet. I lock the door behind him and walk deeper into the apartment, loosening my tie as I go. The city lights bleed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, sharp and cold, reflecting off glass and steel. Everything here is polished and controlled. Exactly how I like it. Exactly how my life is supposed to feel.

I shower, change, and finally collapse onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping. My mind refuses to slow down. Zaria’s face keeps intruding, uninvited. The anger in her eyes. The way her body went rigid when I pulled her against me. The way she looked like she wanted to claw my eyes out and kiss me at the same time. The way her defiance got my cock so hard it could’ve burst. The way I’m hard right now, just thinking about her. Fuck. I need to stop thinking about her since I’m supposed to hate. 

And I do hate her. 

My phone suddenly rings and I slowly check my phone. Nancy Field.

A tired sigh slips out of me as I reach for it.

Nancy is a well-known celebrity singer. She’s beautiful and glamorous, always surrounded by flashing cameras and screaming fans. She’s my current sex partner. We show up together at events sometimes, which is exactly why people think we’re dating. They assume there’s something serious going on between us but there isn’t.

What Nancy and I have is purely physical. Sex and convenience. Nothing more. No emotions, no expectations, no promises. And that’s exactly how we both want it.

That’s one of the reasons I like her. She doesn’t demand affection or pretend intimacy means love. She doesn’t ask where this is going or what we are. Our arrangement is simple and straightforward, and it works.

I answer the call. “Hello.”

“Well, hello to you too, Mr Ghost,” she says, her voice playful. “And here I was thinking you’d forgotten all about my existence.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say, leaning back on the bed as I stare up at the ceiling. “New company. New problems.”

She laughs softly. “Busy enough to forget about me?”

“I didn’t forget,” I reply, even though I know it sounds half-hearted. “Things have just been… hectic.”

“Oh, I heard about your Buckley takeover. It’s trending everywhere! You really enjoy shaking tables, don’t you?”

I don’t answer that. There’s no point.

“Anyway, I’ll be back in the city in a few days,” she continues. “And when I am, I expect you to make it up to me.”

I can already imagine what she means. Nancy never sugarcoats things.

“I miss your hands,” she adds casually. “And I miss the way you fuck me.”

Any other time, those words would’ve done something to me. Tonight, they barely register.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll see.”

There’s a brief awkward pause on the line. 

“You sound distracted,” she says finally.

“I am,” I admit.

“Well,” she hums, unbothered. “You better get undistracted before I get back.”

“Goodnight, Nancy.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

I end the call and toss the phone aside. I try to picture Nancy’s face whenever I’m fucking her, but the urge doesn’t come. My body doesn’t even stir. Instead, the image that slips into my head is dark hair, defiant eyes, and a mouth that never knows when to stop talking back. And just like that, my cock is back up and rock hard.

I close my eyes, irritated. This is ridiculous. I refuse to masturbate to my office assistant whom I’m supposed to hate. But I can’t stop my hand from reaching down and stroking myself in quick pumps. It doesn't even take up to a minute before I spill all over my bed. 

Fuck. I’m in trouble. 

The next morning, by the time I arrive at the office, my mood is already sour. I loosen my tie as I walk in, drop my phone on the desk, and skim through the reports stacked neatly where I left them the night before. I need Zaria to work on this with me, and it’s not because I want to see her and feel her anger that’s a turn on for me.

I press the intercom. “Zaria. Come to my office immediately.”

There’s a brief pause before her voice answers. “Okay.”

Why does her voice sound different? Maybe she’s still hungover from last night. The thought irritates me more than it should.

I open a file and begin flipping through the pages, already preparing myself to tear into her about some missed details. A few minutes later, I hear the door open behind me.

“Sit,” I say without looking up. “We need to go through these reports before the meeting.”

She doesn’t respond. After a long moment of silence, I lift my head, ready to snap at her.

That’s when I see that it isn’t Zaria standing in my office.

It’s Samantha.

My jaw tightens as anger fills me up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She closes the door behind her slowly, wearing that familiar confident expression like armor. “Good morning, Tristan.”

“What. Are. You. Going. Here.” I repeat slowly.

She takes a few steps forward, folding her arms. “Zaria asked me to come.”

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

Samantha meets my stare without flinching. “She said she can’t continue working for you anymore.”

What the fuck? Zaria just made a big mistake. And I’ll make sure she suffers dearly for it. 

***