Chapter 1 Dumped

BOOK #1 - WRIGHT-PETROV SERIES

Drunk…? Not quite.

Tipsy…? Definitely.

Four glasses of wine shouldn’t have been enough to blur the edges of the world like this—but here I am, lightheaded, unsteady, and teetering on something far more dangerous than alcohol.

I want to get drunk. I want to drown in it—anything to quiet the sharp, relentless ache clawing at my chest.

My heart hurts. Or maybe it’s my pride. Either way, it burns.

It’s Valentine’s Day. The most romantic night of the year. And I just got dumped.

Two years—gone. Just like that. On the one day that was supposed to celebrate us.

We were meant to be here together, laughing over wine, sharing quiet glances across the table. Instead, I’m alone in a nearly empty restaurant, surrounded by couples who look like they’ve stepped straight out of some love story I’m no longer part of.

“I’m not frigid… I’m not a prude…” I murmur under my breath, as if saying it enough times might make it feel true—might make his words sting less.

“He’s just an asshole,” I add bitterly, downing what’s left in my glass in one long swallow.

“An impatient one at that.”

My gaze drifts to the reflection shimmering in the empty glass. A woman stares back at me—eyes glassy, lips curved into something between a smirk and a challenge.

“Is twenty-five too old?” I ask her quietly.

“Is that the deadline? Some invisible expiration date I missed?”

She doesn’t answer. Of course she doesn’t. She just keeps smiling at me like she knows something I don’t.

“Is it a requirement?” I press, leaning closer, lowering my voice. “To have sex because you’ve reached a certain age?”

Still, that same maddening smile.

I narrow my eyes. “You should answer me, you know. I could really use one right now.”

Nothing. A hollow laugh escapes me.

“Fine. Maybe that’s your answer, then. Maybe I should. Maybe that’s what you’re trying to say.”

The woman in the glass doesn’t argue.

I sigh and pull back, dragging my gaze around the restaurant. Every table is occupied by couples—hands intertwined, heads bent close together, laughter soft and intimate. It’s suffocating.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I mutter, pressing my fingers to my temple as a dull headache begins to bloom.

Two years with Coby. Two years believing he understood me.

I wasn’t holding back out of fear or indifference. I had a goal—a weight heavier than anything he ever cared to understand. Ten million dollars. That’s what it would take to reclaim my parents’ house—the only piece of them I had left.

I’ve been saving. Grinding through my 9-to-5, picking up modeling gigs on the side, stretching myself thin trying to reach something that always felt just out of reach.

And all this time, I thought he was patient. Thought he respected me. Turns out, he just got tired of waiting. Now he’s with someone else.

“Unbelievable,” I scoff softly.

“Good riddance.” My fingers brush over the fabric of my dress, the one I spent far too much on for tonight.

“Well,” I whisper, straightening slightly, “it would be a shame to waste this outfit.”

My eyes scan the room again. No options. No one alone.

Except…

My gaze lands on the man in the corner.

He’s been there the whole time—quiet, unmoving, a glass in hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the empty chair across from him. There’s something… intense about him. Closed off. Dangerous, almost.

I grimace. “Nope. Too scary.”

I make a small X in the air with my finger, dismissing the idea instantly.

But when I look around again, all I see are those same happy couples, their affection cutting into me like tiny blades.

I exhale sharply. “You know what? Fine.”

My eyes drift back to him.

I squint, trying to focus past the haze of alcohol. Strong features. Composed posture. And yes—definitely handsome. My pulse quickens.

“This is it,” I murmur. “Now or never.”

I push my chair back and stand, steadying myself when the room tilts slightly beneath my feet. The last thing I need is to make a scene.

“I’m not frigid,” I repeat under my breath, jaw tightening. “Not a prude.”

His voice—Coby’s voice—echoes in my head, laced with accusation and disappointment.

“I’m not just something for display,” I add, quieter now. “I’m more than that.”

I take a step forward.

“It’s your loss,” I mutter. “Not mine.”

Another step.

“I’m not spending Valentine’s sulking in a corner.”

And before I realize it, I’m standing right in front of him.

I freeze.

His eyes lift to meet mine—and the world seems to stop.

Cold.

That’s the first thing I notice. Not indifferent, not bored—just… cold. Like looking into something vast and empty, something that could swallow you whole if you stared too long.

“Ahm…” Brilliant. That’s all I’ve got.

Every word I had prepared vanishes. My confidence dissolves under the weight of his gaze.

For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t speak. The alcohol in my system evaporates, leaving behind nothing but nerves and the sudden, overwhelming awareness that this might have been a terrible idea.

No turning back, Lexie. The voice in my head is firm. I swallow.

“Yeah… no turning back,” I whisper to myself.

Before I can lose my nerve, I pull out the chair and sit across from him, forcing myself to meet his eyes despite the slight blur in my vision.

Silence stretches between us.

My mind scrambles for something—anything—to say.

Finally, I manage, “Do you… have a date?”

I try to smile, but I can’t tell if it comes out right—or if it looks as strained and unsteady as I feel.

No. Pull yourself together.

I straighten slightly, forcing my shoulders back. I am not pathetic. Yes, I got dumped—but I refuse to sit here and fall apart over someone who walked away so easily.

Seconds stretch. He doesn’t answer. He just… watches me.

That silence—thick, heavy, almost suffocating—starts to chip away at the fragile confidence I’ve pieced together. I can’t read him. Not a single flicker of emotion crosses his face, and it unnerves me more than outright rejection would have.

Fine. If he won’t speak, then I will. I inhale, steadying myself, then lift my chin.

“Alright,” I say, my voice firmer now, cutting through the tension.

“Let’s not play games. I want a dick tonight.” A pause—just enough to feel the weight of what I’m saying.

“Are you available?”

There. Said it. Bold. Reckless. Completely unlike me. But thanks to the alcohol—and the anger simmering beneath my skin—I don’t flinch.

I refuse to shrink into myself again. Not tonight. If he says no, then fine. I’ll move on. I know what I look like. I know what I bring to the table. I’ve modeled enough—lingerie, makeup, clothing—to know I don’t lack attention.

Maybe not from luxury brands. Not yet. But I’ve been seen. Desired. I won’t beg. I hold his gaze, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

The silence stretches again, thinner this time, sharper. It scrapes against my nerves until it becomes unbearable.

That’s enough.

“Okay,” I exhale, a faint, tight smile pulling at my lips.

“I’ll take that as a no. Thanks anyway.”

I push my chair back and stand, turning away before he can say anything—before he can see even a hint of doubt creep back in.

My steps falter slightly, but I catch myself on the edge of the table, regaining my balance. Don’t look back.

Scanning the room, I notice a few men gathered near the corner—standing, talking. Options.

Good.

Swaying slightly, I make my way back to my table.

“This is great, Lexie,” I mutter under my breath with a dry scoff.

“Absolutely flawless decision-making.”

I sink into my chair and grab the glass of water, downing it in one go. The coolness does little to steady the chaos in my head.

I shake it off, fingers combing through my loose hair.

No. This night is not ending with me alone.

“God… I sound desperate,” I whisper, half-laughing, half-groaning—but I don’t stop. Because desperate or not, I’m not backing down.

Grabbing my purse, I stand again and head straight toward one of the men near the entrance.

“At least he’s in a suit,” I murmur, squinting slightly as I approach. He’s tall, composed… intimidating, in a different way than the first man. I stop a few feet in front of him.

“Hey—”

“I’ll take you upstairs.”

The words cut me off before I can even finish.

I blink. My brows lift slightly. That was… fast. He gestures toward the hallway, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“To the elevator,” he adds when I don’t move.

I narrow my eyes, studying him, though my vision still isn’t cooperating.

“You’re not a serial killer, right?” I ask bluntly, tilting my head.

“I’m just here for a little fun. I’d rather not end up as tomorrow’s headline.”

For a moment, something flickers across his face—amusement. At least he’s human.

A faint unease curls in my stomach, but I push it down. This place is high-end, exclusive. People wait weeks just to get a reservation. No one here would risk something reckless—not over something like this.

And honestly, I don’t have much on me anyway. Just my earrings. My mother’s.

The thought makes my jaw tighten. Right. My ex brought me here… just to end things.

Classy. A bitter laugh escapes me under my breath.

“No,” the man says simply. “Nothing like that.”

My vision clears just enough for me to catch the calm certainty in his expression.

I nod once. “Alright.”

And with that, I head toward the elevator.

I notice more men stationed around the area, dressed just like him—sharp suits, composed demeanors, quietly observing everything. Strange. But I don’t dwell on it.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside. He follows. Silence falls again.

I stare at the reflective walls, my thoughts spiraling. Should I ask his name?

No.

That would make it complicated. This isn’t meant to be anything beyond tonight.

Tomorrow, I go back to reality—to work, to saving, to chasing that impossible ten million. To being careful. Controlled.

This?

This version of me—the bold, reckless one—I might never see her again. So I might as well let her exist tonight.

The soft chime of the elevator pulls me back. The doors open.

He steps aside, holding it for me, gesturing for me to go first.

My heels click softly against the polished floor as we walk down a quiet, expansive hallway. The sound echoes, almost too loud in the stillness.

I’m suddenly aware of how empty it is. How private. I catch a glimpse of him walking just a step behind me—silent, watchful.

What kind of man did I just choose?

At the end of the hall, a large door stands alone. No others. Just that one.

He moves ahead, swiping a key card. The lock clicks, and the door opens.

I step inside. And pause. The space is… breathtaking.

Elegant. Expansive. Every detail screams wealth and power, from the furnishings to the ambient lighting. It’s the kind of place you only see in magazines.

My gaze drifts slowly across the room, taking it all in.

He’s rich.

Very rich.

I barely notice when the man turns toward the door again.

“Wait—” I call, frowning slightly.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses, hand already on the handle.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says evenly. “The boss will be here shortly.”

And then—The door closes. Leaving me alone. I stare at it for a second, the word echoing in my mind.

“Boss…?”

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