The CEO Babied the Wrong Woman
On the day of our engagement, my boyfriend, Henley Chatham, handed his assistant, Kiara Dalby, an unlimited black card—then set me up with a shared wallet. Daily limit: twenty bucks.
I laughed. Cold. Said no.
He called me materialistic—then spun around and made some grand confession to Kiara.
So I ended it. Right there.
Then I signed with a classified agency.
Five years later, Kiara and I crossed paths at a car wash.
I was in line when she whipped her car in and cut me off.
I couldn't dodge. Metal slammed—my whole front end wrecked.
She rolled her window down. "Hey, you in the back—blind or what? Can't you see my car?"
I let out a short laugh. "You cut me off. Then you crash into me. And somehow that's my fault?"
Kiara sneered, same attitude, just louder. "I cut in line? Please. Every inch of Hawthorne Bay belongs to the Chatham family. Ever heard of Chatham Corp? My boss could shake this whole town with one move."
I actually laughed this time.
Pulled out my phone. Dialed.
"Ex-boyfriend, I hear Hawthorne Bay answers to you now?"