003: a rebound

Allera's POV

I'm rethinking all my life's choices starting with my outfit.

Daphne clearly didn't get the memo. No part of the short black dress clinging to my skin like it was taped on, screams elegant gallery night. I've been tugging it down all night, to no avail. I hate the feeling of being exposed, especially in front of so many people.

"You can't attract hot guys if you're insecure about your body."

"Who are you talking to?"

Daphne smirks, doing an exaggerated bow. Her wavy pale blond hair tumbles over her shoulders. "Ah! My deepest apologies, Ojou-sama." The way she says it, Ojou-sama meaning princess, makes my nerves grate on each other.

I want to jab her eye out with my nails.

True, I may not be as pretty as Daphne. Daphne with her waist length golden hair, and her dark eyes, and her body that drives men and women crazy. That doesn't mean I'm insecure of my looks either.

Right now, she's dressed in a long, tasteful, red silk gown that draws all eyes to her. With her carefully curated smile, and champagne flute held delicately in one hand, she looks elegant, graceful, and every inch the millionaire artist she is.

While I look like a neglected shadow next to her.

What a bitch.

"So," She turns to me, flipping her hair over her shoulder. I swear flower petals and sparkles fall out. "Where is your husband?"

I roll my eyes and chug down some of my champagne. "At home."

Daphne gasps. "Oh my goodness! Did you lose our bet? Am I rich? Can I finally get that beach house with my sister's money?"

I really want to jab her pretty eyes out.

"I'm not going to lose to you." I snap.

Daphne giggles. I hate how pretty her laugh is too. Her eyes narrow to cruel slits, and she shyly covers her mouth. "Come on, give it up. You've kept up this appearance for three years. Are you going to such lengths to ensure you don't lose? Damn, you're so scary when you're determined. "

"I love Carter. And it's not because of your stupid bet."

"Love. That's rich. We both know you can't love."

My heart slows. I grip my glass tighter, shooting her a sharp glare.

Daphne notices, and goes ahead nonetheless. "Let's imagine for one second that you can, then why are you here, without your darling husband glued at your side. Oh and your text about hot guys? Wow, how you love your husband."

Her words hurt. A little. Carter and I always attended anything together. His company's dinners. My work dinners. Invites from friends.

This is the first time I'm attending an event without him.

And I do love him. I'm married to him still not because of the bet, but because of my feelings. Feelings that he has just hurt.

Daphne peers into my face, grinning. "So, do you still have my account number? Or should I send it now?"

"Fuck off."

I don't need to see her face to know she absolutely enjoys this.

I watch the event, the people in their expensive tuxedos and evening gowns, staring at the art on the walls and trying to form a deep understanding of the brush strokes, when my eyes catch a familiar figure.

"Who is that? The guy with the pretty hair and rose pin?" I ask Daphne, gesturing with my half empty glass.

"That guy? Oh, that's Niko Jonas. We went to art school together, egoistical prick if you ask me. Why?"

My eyes widen. "No way." I gasp.

The same guy who was fucking my husband just hours ago?!

Today must really be my unlucky day.

"You know him?" Daphne asks.

For a second, I contemplate telling her. But then I imagine the shit eating grin on her face, and the endless ridicule that will follow, and I banish the idea.

"Just someone I—" I start to say, but Niko turns. Our eyes meet. He smiles, waving slowly, like he knows me.

Niko looks like a fairytale prince. Gold spun hair that catches light, eyes blue like a summer sky, a smile that says: "I'm pretty and I fucking know it."

That's Carter's type? How did I never know that he liked men too? Urgh, just thinking about it is making me so angry.

"Lemme go and say hi. It's been so long." Daphne dumps her glass with me, hurrying off before I have the chance to chuck it at her head.

With a sigh of resignation, I head over to the bar to refill my glass. As I sip the sweet wine, I scan the crowd for any signs of Grandma Glenda.

She should be here any minute. I need to see her before I leave, which unfortunately is soon because this is so not my vibe. Plus I need rest from surgery. I wish I could put the world on pause and —

"Allera? Miss Akiyama?"

Hearing my maiden name spoken in a deep voice smoother than honey makes me bristle.

"It's Mrs Stein now." I grumble back, downing more of my watered down whiskey.

"Not for long."

My brows knit and my jaw drops at the sheer audacity. "You've got some nerve to come up to me talking such—" I turn around to get a look at the speaker.

My words fizzle out.

Whatever I have to say turns into a breathy gasp leaving my lips. "Woah,"

The man standing before me is tall, dressed in all black, and looking like a sleek black panther. Poised, predatory, powerful. Tattooed peek out from the collar of his black shirt. His dark hair is swept to the side, and he has an undercut. His dark gray eyes regard me with an amused interest.

My cheeks flame and I swallow hard, averting my eyes to my glass of pale whiskey.

"Like what you see?" The man asks, his tone teasing.

I make a face. Again. "Not at all," I say, facing him. "I didn't know Rosen Gallery was open to gangsters."

His brows lift a centimeter. "Gangster? Ah, you're the type to judge people based on what they look like."

"Please. I'm hardly ever wrong."

He smirks, and I hate the way shivers course through my body and gather between my legs. "And you look like a divorced woman looking for a night of fun."

My jaw hits the ground. "Excuse you!"

His eyes narrow, a glib light shining in them. "Doesn't feel good, does it?"

I huff. "What the hell is even wrong with you?"

His head cocks to the side, his heated eyes scanning me. From top to bottom, lingering a while longer than I would have liked at my exposed legs.

I wanted to cover myself. At the same time ram my knee into his groin. At the same time clench my thighs.

"I was made to believe you were calm, impressionable. You're quite the opposite, Miss Akiyama."

"Again, it's Mrs Stein. And I don't know who told you about me, but they fed you lies."

"I believe that person was your grandmother."

His words make me pause.

Then I do a one over on him.

The air of arrogance around him, the way he carries himself, his infuriating smirk.

"You're Devon Sinclair?"

"At your service."

A quick laugh of disbelief tumbles out of me. Of course, I've heard about the mysterious Devon Sinclair multiple times from Grandma Glenda. One of her highest paying patrons. He must really love art or really have a lot of cash to burn.

I imagined an older man with a receding hairline.

But this...this is quite pleasant.

"Mr Sinclair," I lean forward, watching him closely. "Tell me. Are you single?"

He appears shock. "Excuse me?"

"Do I need to explain the question?"

A dark shadow flits across his eyes. "Weren't you the one insisting on being called Mrs?"

I wave dismissively. "My husband wants to open our marriage. And you're right, I am a divorced woman looking for fun tonight. I would be, if he'd divorce me. He's convinced I won't leave, which is totally bullshit."

"Are you drunk?"

I laugh. I am rambling. To a total stranger.

"Not at all. Answer the question, Mr Sinclair. Are you single? I don't see a ring, but I don't want to assume. I did that and look where it ended for me, caught my husband in bed with a man and a woman. Oh and, one of them is here right now. The fucker even waved at me."

He leans in, his eyes shining, a wolfish grin on his face, showing pointy canines that I bet will feel incredible scraping on my throat. "What is this? You're planning to use me as a rebound?"

"Yes."

His eyes move to my lips. "You're honest. I like that."

"You're stalling. I don't like that."

He leans back, plucks my glass out of my hands and takes a sip. "I don't share my women, Miss Akiyama. And I also don't fuck married women."