Charles pov
Women annoy me.
It's not their fault.
It's the ones who raised me—my mother with her fake smiles, my father with his cheating fists.
Love? Family? Marriage?
A joke.
I'm good with money, business, and pleasure.
That's all I offer.
That's all I want.
This trip to London is supposed to be clean and simple:
Meet the client.
Close the billion-dollar deal.
Expand my empire.
Return home and celebrate alone.
I don't need anyone.
"You're in a mood today," my assistant, Drew, says as we enter the private jet.
"I'm always in a mood," I mutter, loosening my tie.
She rolls her eyes.
I ignore her.
When the plane takes off, I stare out the window at nothing.
London.
Opportunities.
Money.
Everything I understand.
Relationships?
They can burn in hell.
Except…
Something feels strange this time.
Like London is waiting to throw something stupid and unexpected in my path.
I shake the thought away.
Focus, Charles.
This is business.
Nothing more.
London air always tastes like power.
The moment I step out of the airport, a slow, satisfied smirk spreads across my face.
My territory.
My world.
My rules.
David, my assistant—and the closest thing I have to a brother—had already arranged everything:
the meeting with Ethan Cole,
the documents,
the contracts,
the venue.
Perfect.
Like always.
I have hours before the meeting, so I decide to do something stupid—
take a walk by the beach.
Not relaxing.
Not peaceful.
Just… something to kill time while feeling superior to every other man breathing the same air as me.
I'm standing close to the water, adjusting my $25,000 jacket, when I whisper under my breath:
"Let's go."
But before I can take a step—
"NOOOOO!"
A voice slices through the night.
I turn, irritated.
And then she charges toward me.
A woman.
Wild, messy hair, panic in her eyes, clothes soaked with ocean mist—
and a desperation so raw it hits me like a punch.
She grabs my jacket.
My jacket.
"Don't do it!" she screams.
"Life is tough, but this is not the answer! You hear me?! You have to fight! You have to stay alive!"
I freeze.
What… what does she think I'm doing?
She clings to me harder, shaking me like some kind of mad angel.
"I have no dad! No boyfriend! No money!" she cries.
"But I didn't kill myself! So why would YOU?!"
"I'm not—"
She doesn't let me speak.
She keeps pulling, pushing, sobbing, shouting—
until my patience snaps.
"Get off me," I warn.
She doesn't.
So I push her away—lightly.
But she's drunk.
Very drunk.
She slips, falls, and hits the sand hard.
And she doesn't get up.
My heart slams into my ribs.
"Shit."
I kneel beside her, shake her shoulder, look at her pale face.
Nothing.
Panic—real panic—grabs the back of my throat.
I pick her up, carry her to my car, and drive faster than I ever have in my life.
At the hospital, while the doctors rush her inside, she's still clutching my jacket sleeve.
Her nails scrape my hand.
I don't even feel it.
I only feel… fear.
Why?
Why the hell am I scared?
I pay the bills.
Leave quickly.
Try to forget.
But when I try to sleep, all I see is her shouting, crying, fighting for a stranger's life.
For mine.
The next morning, everything is back to normal.
Suit sharp.
Watch expensive.
Face emotionless.
I walk into the hotel restaurant where I'm finally meeting Ethan Cole, the arrogant real estate "star" who thinks he can negotiate with me.
David sits beside me, absorbed in his tablet.
I sit down.
Fix my cuffs.
Lift my head—
And my blood runs cold.
Charging toward me like a drunken bull is the same woman from last night.
Her.
Her eyes widen when she sees me.
Her palms curl into fists.
Her face burns with humiliation, anger, and pure chaos.
I swear under my breath.
Because not only is she storming toward me—
—she's storming toward me in front of Ethan Cole, who just walked in behind her.
What.
The.
Hell.
One minute she's yelling at me like a lunatic,
the next she's clutching my arm like we've been together for years.
And now we're standing in front of Ethan Cole—
the arrogant prick I'm supposed to sign a billion-dollar deal with.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
The girlfriend—Ruth—beams at us.
"Oh my God, you two make such a cute couple!"
I almost laugh.
Me?
And this chaotic, broke, loud woman who thinks I stole her money?
Sure.
But then I catch Ethan's face.
He's not smiling.
He's studying Confidence with… familiarity?
Annoyance?
Disgust?
Interesting.
Confidence tries to escape. "We've eaten already, so we should—"
"No," I say calmly, pinning Ethan with a polite business smile.
"I'd love breakfast."
Confidence snaps her head toward me like I betrayed her soul.
Good.
Now I get to sit opposite Ethan Cole
and figure out why he looked at her like she's a stain on his expensive shoes.
And WHY Confidence looked like she was about to collapse when she saw him.
Something is off.
Very off.