Who The Hell Is He?

Chapter Two: Who The Hell Is He?

**Hannah's POV**

I needed air badly.

After that disaster with the necklace, every eye in that room felt like a knife pressed against my skin.

I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server, maybe my second or third, I wasn't counting anymore, and slipped through the crowd toward the balcony.

God, I hate this place. I hate these people.

The cool night air hit my face the moment I pushed through the door leading to the balcony, and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Finally, some peace.

I lifted the wine glass to my lips, letting the deep red liquid slide down my throat. It burned slightly, but in a good way, a welcome distraction from the storm still raging inside me.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Can't I have one damn moment of peace?"

The voice came from the corner of the balcony, low and irritated, followed by the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

I turned my head slightly, catching sight of a man leaning against the railing, his back to the golden light spilling from the hall. He was tall, sharply dressed in a fancy suit and he was smoking like he had all the time in the world.

Great. Another entitled rich boy who thinks the world revolves around him.

I considered turning around and going back inside, but hell no. I had just escaped that suffocating nightmare. I wasn't about to let some stranger chase me away from the only breath of fresh air I'd found all night.

So I stayed put, sipping my wine and deliberately ignoring him. If he wanted some space, he could leave.

I felt his eyes on me, a heavy, assessing gaze that crawled over my skin. I refused to look at him directly, keeping my focus on the sky. He was still staring, I could feel it.

What's his problem?

I glanced at him briefly, just long enough to catch the sharp lines of his face, the way his jaw was set like he was annoyed by my very existence. Then I looked away, taking another slow sip of wine.

He was handsome, I'd give him that. The kind of face that probably got him everything he ever wanted without lifting a finger. That alone was enough to irritate me.

I knew his type. Rich, arrogant, used to women falling at his feet. Probably thought I came out here just to get his attention.

"Don't bother. Whatever line you rehearsed, I've heard it before."

I blinked, my grip tightening on the wine glass as I turned to face him fully, my brow arching in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

He leaned casually against the railing, smoke curling around him like some dramatic movie villain. His voice was slow, deliberate, dripping with condescension. "You don't have to pretend you came out here for the view. We both know how this works. You want my attention, right? Congratulations. You've got it. But don't expect me to clap like a trained seal or gush over your 'fate-driven' balcony stroll."

Heat flared in my chest, white-hot and furious.

"You arrogant jerk," I spat, crossing my arms tightly, my stance solid and unyielding. "You think everyone is obsessed with you? What the fuck do you think you are? Irresistible?" I scoffed, glancing down at my wine. "You're just… an arrogant jerk."

I watched the surprise flicker across his face.

He turned fully toward me, his eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin prickle with anger. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, I wanted to slap it right off his face. "Trying to hit a nerve?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

I stepped closer, refusing to back down. My eyes blazed as I met his gaze head-on. "You don't want attention?" I shot back, "Then stop screaming for it. You must be so damn starved for love that you've convinced yourself arrogance is power."

"Careful, young lady," he said, his voice edged with a threat.

Young lady? What is this, a Bridgerton novel?

"Or what?" I countered, my tone dripping with challenge.

In one swift movement, his hand shot out, closing around my wrist.

I gasped, startled by the sudden contact, my heart hammering in my chest. His grip was firm, like he was trying to remind me of his control.

The nerve of this man.

I glared up at him, every inch of me radiating defiance. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the tension between us tightened like a drawn bowstring, coiled and ready to snap.

Without thinking, I tipped my wine glass forward, letting the cold red liquid splash across his chest.

The shock on his face was priceless.

The wine soaked instantly into his shirt, dripping down the front of his suit jacket. He froze, momentarily stunned, his cigarette slipping slightly between his fingers.

I wrenched my wrist free, pulling back just far enough to assert control. A victorious smirk curved my lips. "Try your intimidation games with someone else," I hissed, my voice low, dangerous, full of venom and dare all at once.

Before he could recover, I bolted out of the balcony.

My heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins like wildfire. I didn't look back until I was deep enough in the crowd that I could disappear.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

Who the hell was that guy?