Chapter 7: Ungrateful Little Witch 

Chapter 7: Ungrateful Little Witch

*Lucas’ POV*

I’m sure Hannah must have been wondering how I knew where she was and how I had brought her whole family here.

The moment she shoved that drink into my chest at the balcony, I was curious to know who she was and what she was up to.

She wasn’t like the other women in that banquet hall, her presence was edged with defiance.

She didn’t look like she belonged there, especially with the fact she didn’t know who I was, because who the hell in that banquet doesn't ? And she looked like she was one second away from smashing glass so I followed behind her.

Right there in the hallway, this heiress-turned-rebel kicked off her heels, muttered something under her breath, and carried on barefoot like she owned the world.

This woman threw her damn shoe! I had never seen a woman whose anger screamed so loudly and that heightened my curiosity because which lady in her sane mind would walk barefoot on the street.

But my excitement to explore her escapades was short lived because she waved down a taxi like some college freshman sneaking away from a bad date. That caught me off guard more than the barefoot thing, everything this woman did was just so alluring, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off her.

I stood on the curb for a long second, debating. I could’ve gone back inside, returned to the suffocating banquet, the fake smiles and the clinking glasses. I could’ve swallowed my boredom and played the dutiful son.

But a very talkative taxi rider came just in cue asking me if I wanted a ride, and then I thought, wouldn’t it be fun to do some scavenger hunt? So I took the ride and followed her all the way.

We trailed her across the city, her taxi weaving through late-night traffic like it was trying to lose us. From the backseat of my own taxi, I kept my gaze glued to the little yellow vehicle ahead, with my fingers drumming against my knee.

At one point, when the taxi slowed near a row of high-rise condominiums, my chest clenched. I was convinced she was heading toward some man’s apartment. The thought made my stomach twist, a hot, restless churn that burned low and sharp.

Why the hell did I care if she had a boyfriend? She is mature enough and she wasn’t my problem. She wasn’t anything to me after all.

But the image of her slipping into some stranger’s arms wouldn’t leave me. The thought had my teeth grinding before I even realized it.

When her taxi finally pulled up to a beat-up apartment building, paint peeling off the bricks, windows clouded with years of grime, my tension snapped as relief slid through me so fast I hated myself for it. Irritation followed immediately after.

That wasn’t a lover’s hideout. It doesn’t look exactly like the scene of a romantic rendezvous.

She wouldn’t possibly have a boyfriend in that dump, right? Did she live there? Then what the hell is she doing in a banquet as the one we just left?

The thought crept in before I could stop it. She’s way too pretty for that.

And then I cursed myself under my breath. What the hell was wrong with me?

I told my driver to keep going, voice clipped, like I could outrun the mess in my head if I ordered him fast enough.

By the time we pulled up to the Bristo estate, the irritation had boiled into exhaustion. I wanted nothing more than to kick off my shoes, put on my headset, and lose myself in a few rounds of Call of Duty.

It was the weekend and my one damn break from being paraded around like the crown jewel of Bristo Enterprises.

I didn’t even make it to my room before my mother intercepted me in the hallway like a military general lying in ambush.

“Lucas Bristo,” she snapped, arms folded tight across her chest. The pearls at her neck glimmered like a warning. “What on earth were you thinking, leaving the banquet in the middle of the evening?”

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to summon patience I didn’t have. “Nice to see you too, Mother.”

“Don’t joke with me.” Her voice cracked like a whip. The weight of it made me straighten instinctively, even though I hated giving her that satisfaction.

Her sharp, calculating eyes, the same eyes I had seen in boardrooms when she gutted opponents without breaking a sweat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I opened my mouth, but before I could even form the words, she pulled her phone from her bag and she shoved the glowing screen into my face.

I was mesmerised.

It was the balcony with Hannah, my hand gripping her wrist just as she tilted the glass, liquid splashing on my shirt like some dramatic battle wound.

“What the hell is this?” I muttered, but I already knew the answer, I was just shocked that I had no privacy to the extent one of these reporters had followed me and taken a video of that incident.

“Exactly what the press is asking.”

Mother’s gaze bored into mine, gleaming with fury and calculation all at once. “The Bristo heir caught in a scandal with a Black daughter? Do you realize what kind of irony this will cause?”

The words hit me like a punch then because I didn’t know.

I froze, my stomach lurching. “Black daughter?”

“Yes, Hannah Black,” she hissed, lowering her voice like the walls might gossip. “She disappeared right after this little incident, and no one has seen her since. The Blacks are frantic. They think she may have been kidnapped.”

My chest tightened. Kidnapped?

“So she is a Black,” I said slowly, piecing it together. “That explains… a lot.”

Mother’s stare sharpened. “What do you know?”

I hesitated. I could’ve lied but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “I know where she is.”

That was all it took for me to make one of the most drastic decisions of my life.

Within the hour, the Blacks were informed. Calls were made, plans arranged. By morning, I found myself behind the wheel of my car with half the Black family squeezed inside, two grim-looking bodyguards following behind, and heading towards the dump apartment I had seen Hannah entered.

I hated every second of it.

I had sacrificed my morning, my game, my damn peace of mind…all because I had opened my stupid mouth for some heiress who couldn’t even wear her shoes.

And now, standing in that cramped hallway, her eyes drilling holes into my skull, I realized Hannah Black wasn’t grateful. She wasn’t relieved that someone had sacrificed their Saturday morning for her.

She was glaring at me like I had dragged the devil to her home.

Ungrateful little witch.