ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

The cab ride was a blur. Streetlights smeared against the windows like they were mocking me, like even the city knew I was unwanted. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and when the driver finally pulled up in front of Wendy’s house, I barely had the strength to hand him the fare.

The second the door opened and Wendy’s familiar face appeared, everything inside me shattered.

“Wendy…” My voice broke, and then so did I. Tears came rushing down before I could stop them, pouring out in heavy sobs that shook my chest.

She didn’t hesitate. She pulled me into her arms, her warmth swallowing the cold I’d carried from that house.

“Hey, hey… Ari, breathe. What happened?” she asked softly, brushing my hair back from my damp cheeks.

But I couldn’t stop. Words tumbled out between gasps, broken pieces of my story spilling too fast for either of us to hold onto.

“Derek—papers—anniversary—he brought her—Tasha—kids—they—Wendy, they chose her!”

I was rushing, spitting the sentences out like if I stopped, I’d collapse entirely.

“Okay, okay,” Wendy whispered firmly, her hands gripping my shoulders to steady me. “Breathe. Just… slow down. Chill, Ari. I’m right here. Tell me everything, but slowly. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

And just like that, the sobs came harder. Because for the first time that night, someone actually meant it.

“Wendy…” I hiccupped through the sobs, my chest burning. “Today was supposed to be our anniversary.”

Her arms tightened around me, steadying me.

“Our anniversary, Wendy. Me and Derek’s.” My lips trembled as I tried to get the words out. “But instead—he walked in… with her. With her. And then—” I swallowed hard, bile stinging my throat. “He threw the divorce papers in my face.”

Wendy’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, the rest spilled out of me, bitter and sharp. “Do you know the worst part?”

“What?” she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“They sided with him, Wendy.” My voice cracked, raw. “My kids. My own children… they chose him. Chose her. They didn’t even want me.”

For a moment, the room felt so heavy I thought it would crush me.

Wendy cupped my face in her hands, her expression fierce but soft all at once. “Okay, dear… okay. Lay down. Rest your head while I get you some tea, hmm?” Her voice was calm, soothing, even as her jaw tightened with anger.

She gently eased me onto the couch, adjusting a pillow under my head like I was a child again. “Derek was an asshole anyway,” she muttered under her breath as she tucked a blanket around me. “Always hitting you, cheating, making you feel like you weren’t enough. Ari, you never deserved that. Never.”

But her words barely touched me. All I could do was cry. My tears soaked the pillow as my chest ached, and the only thing that rang in my ears was my daughter’s voice saying sign it already, Mum.

And I broke all over again.

I don’t even know how long I laid there, staring blankly at nothing, my tears long dried on my cheeks. My chest still hurt, my body heavy, like I’d been carved out and left hollow.

That’s when Wendy’s voice cut through the silence. Sharp. Decisive. “That’s it. Get up.”

I blinked at her from the couch, my throat hoarse. “No…” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes.” She folded her arms, glaring down at me. “Get. Up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re going to.” She marched into her bedroom, and before I could even protest again, something soft landed on my chest with a thump.

I glanced down—tiny black fabric. A short, skin-tight dress.

“Wear that,” Wendy ordered, hands on her hips.

I pushed it away weakly. “I’m not in the mood to go anywhere.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she dared me to try her patience. “You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I sat up, clutching the blanket tighter around me, glaring right back. “I said I’m not.”

She smirked, the kind of smirk that told me I’d already lost. “Oh, sweetheart… you are.”

After what felt like hours of bickering, threatening, and Wendy’s stubbornness, I found myself standing under a glowing neon sign that screamed Get Dirty’s.

A club. Of course.

The bass thumped so loud it rattled my chest, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and smoke. My stomach twisted. “I wanna go back to your house,” I muttered, already half-turning.

Wendy hooked her arm through mine before I could take another step. “Oh, no, sweetheart. You’re staying. You’re going to have fun, clear your head, and remember that Derek Whitmore isn’t the last man on this damn planet.”

“I don’t want fun.”

“Which is exactly why I dragged you here.” She smirked, tugging me deeper inside until we were swallowed by flashing lights and pulsing music.

Before I could resist, she waved down the bartender like she owned the place. “Two scotches. Neat. Keep ‘em coming.”

Minutes later, small shot glasses lined the counter, and Wendy shoved one into my hand.

I stared at the amber liquid. Maybe I should say no. Maybe I should—

But then I thought of Derek. Of Tasha in her black skimpy dress. Of my kids, my kids, choosing her over me.

I tilted the glass back, letting the burn scorch my throat.

One became two. Two became three. And with every swallow, the sharp ache inside dulled a little more.

Until I felt it. That pull.

My head turned, and across the crowded room—through flashing lights and moving bodies—my eyes locked with his.

The most striking, magnetic eyes I’d ever seen.

He wasn’t just looking at me. He was watching me.

And in that moment, I couldn’t look away.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

He was moving.

Through the crowd. Past the swaying bodies and neon haze. Coming right at me.

My stomach dropped. “Oh my God. Wendy… this guy—”

I turned, expecting her smug grin, but the seat next to me was empty. She’d vanished. Seriously? Now?

I swallowed hard, forcing my shoulders back as his shadow fell over me. “That’s… uh… that’s my friend’s seat.”

He didn’t even glance at it. Instead, his voice came low, smooth, almost teasing. “Then I’ll borrow it until she comes back.”

Before I could protest, he slid onto the stool, a presence too big, too magnetic, filling the space. The bartender, apparently in on the betrayal, set a fresh glass in front of him like it had been waiting.

He raised it slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “So…” He tipped his chin toward the dance floor, where the crowd pulsed to the beat. “You’re just gonna sit here all night? No dancing?”

The question was casual, but there was an edge in his tone—like he already knew I wasn’t the type to play along, and he wanted to see if I’d surprise him.

I blinked at him, trying to gather my words, but the alcohol was buzzing too loud in my head. “Dance? What, with a stranger?”

His lips tugged into something halfway between a smirk and a challenge. “Stranger, huh? I guess no one warned you that strangers are more fun.”

I laughed despite myself, covering my face with my hand. “Wow. That’s your line?”

He leaned in, close enough for his cologne to tangle with the alcohol fog around me. “You want me to use a better one?”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. God help me, he was charming. “Depends. Do you have better ones?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I own Meyer Enterprises. That’s better, right?”

The name slammed into me like ice water. Even through the haze, I knew that name. Derek had cursed it enough times, pacing our bedroom, spitting venom about his “snake of a competitor.”

Meyer Enterprises. Adrian Meyer.

I stared, heartbeat stumbling. My drunk brain wanted to laugh at the irony, the ridiculous cosmic joke of it all. My husband’s rival. Sitting inches away from me, watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

“Interesting,” I murmured, leaning back in my seat, trying to mask the sudden spark inside me. “Very interesting.”

“So…” I dragged the word out, tilting my glass toward him. “Meyer Enterprises, huh? That’s… big. What’s it like being you?”

He smirked, sipping his drink like it was water. “Dangerous question. I might tell you, and then you’ll never look at me the same.”

I leaned in, curiosity outweighing sense. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered over my face, too sharp for comfort. “How about you? What’s your name? Or should I just call you… mysterious stranger?”

I hesitated, biting down on my lip. Introduce yourself, Ari. Don’t overthink it. He doesn’t need to know.

“Ariette,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Ariette.” He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting it. “Beautiful name.”

Something fluttered in my chest, but I quickly masked it by tossing another question his way. “So why’s the big CEO sitting here, poking at strangers in bars?”

For the first time, his smirk faltered, just a little. “Because I’m freshly single. Girlfriend’s out of the picture.” He shrugged, casual but not really. “Guess heartbreak makes you thirsty. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

The truth burned in my throat, but I forced a laugh, shaking my head. “Guess we’re in the same boat then.”

He studied me, too closely, like he could peel me open with his eyes. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but I couldn’t look away. For a moment, it felt like the world shrank—just his eyes, my pulse, and the loud ache between us neither of us wanted to name.

One second, we were staring. The next, his lips crashed against mine. It wasn’t gentle—it was fire and hunger, sharp enough to drown the ache inside me.

I gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket, and before I even knew what I was doing, the words slipped out in a whisper against his lips. “Let’s find a room.”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise and heat crossing them, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand slid to mine, firm and commanding, and he pulled me through the crowd like the rest of the world no longer existed.

The door shut behind us with a heavy click. I barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on mine again, harder, deeper. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but my body didn’t care—it wanted this, wanted him.

His hands were everywhere—tugging at the straps of my dress, brushing over my skin with reckless urgency. My fingers fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel more, to forget more. The taste of whiskey lingered between us as he pressed me against the wall, stripping away every piece of hesitation with every kiss.

His lips trailed down my neck, hot and urgent, and my head slammed back against the wall with a soft thud. My breath came out in shaky gasps, every nerve in my body alive as his hands roamed like he already owned every inch of me.

The room spun—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from him—but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. My husband had thrown me away, my kids had chosen someone else, and here I was—choosing this.

I clung to him, nails dragging down his back as he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mouth claimed mine again, hard and desperate, while his body pressed into mine with an urgency that burned away every thought.

Clothes fell away—his shirt first, my dress slipping down in a rush, his hands skimming my bare skin like he was memorizing me. I moaned against his mouth, lost in the rhythm of his touch, the heat of his breath, the way he whispered my name like it already meant something.

And when he finally sank into me, the world disappeared. There was no Derek, no betrayal, no divorce papers—just the rough, relentless pace of his body against mine, the tangled sheets beneath us, the heat building until it consumed us both.

My thoughts blurred into nothing but sensation—his hands gripping my hips, his mouth devouring every sound I made, the way we moved together like we had been waiting for this moment all our lives. I felt alive, raw, wanted. For the first time in forever, I wasn’t invisible.

And the rest… the rest, as they say, was history.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

I woke up to the faint hum of an AC and the heavy rise and fall of a chest beside me. My chest tightened when I saw him. Adrian—still asleep, his face calm, lips slightly parted like last night hadn’t just happened.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My thighs ached, my head was pounding, and all I wanted to do was vanish. I scrambled quietly, gathering my dress from the floor, clutch, and heels, praying not to wake him. I wasn’t this kind of woman. I wasn’t.

By the time I slipped out of the room, I barely remembered how I even got there. My mind screamed you were drunk, Ari. And Wendy. God, I was going to strangle her for dragging me there.

When I finally got back to her place, Wendy opened the door with a smug little grin, arms crossed.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did you enjoy your night?”

I froze, heat flooding my cheeks. “No,” I lied—too quickly, too stiffly. The biggest lie of my life.

Images of him flickered in my head. His hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. I shook my head hard. No. I didn’t even know him. I wasn’t that kind of woman.

Wendy raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

I dropped my bag on the couch and collapsed next to it. “Never again.”

Big lie.

I wanted to crawl under Wendy’s couch and disappear. My head was pounding, not just from the wine but from shame. I can’t believe I did that with a stranger. Not just any stranger—Adrian. His face kept flashing in my mind, those lips, those hands, the way he—ugh, stop, Ari. Stop.

“You’re blushing,” Wendy teased, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just ruined my life.

“I am not,” I shot back, tugging my hair into a low bun. “And last night doesn’t count. I was drunk. I don’t even know him.”

Wendy arched a brow. “Oh, so you accidentally climbed into his lap, then his bed, while drunk? Got it.”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

She laughed, completely unbothered, then suddenly gasped. “Wait—aren’t you late?”

My eyes widened. “Oh my God, the conference!”

In a whirlwind, I snatched my purse, nearly toppling her vase in the process. This was no time for regret spirals. Vanessa Langford’s company was waiting. Vanessa—the queen of elegance, the kind of woman who could turn perfume into pure luxury. And me? I was supposed to go and pitch my idea to partner with her for the new line of body oils. Missing this would be social suicide.

“Ari!” Wendy called after me as I struggled with my heels by the door. “Don’t forget to smile. Perfume deals are all about mystery, allure…” She wiggled her brows. “And clearly, you’ve been practicing allure all night.”

I shot her the deadliest glare I could muster, but she just smirked.

“Ugh. I swear, when I come back, I’m strangling you,” I muttered, slamming the door behind me.

Still, as I rushed down the street, Adrian’s face slipped into my thoughts again. His touch. His heat. The way he made me forget everything for a few reckless hours.

I shook my head violently. No. Absolutely not. I am not that kind of woman.

This was a partnership, a career move, a chance to prove myself. That’s what mattered now. Not some man I’d never see again.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

By the time I got to the conference center, I’d practically run a marathon in heels. My chest was still heaving when the assistant ushered me inside. The air was cool, sterile, laced with expensive perfume that made me even more self-conscious.

And there she was—Vanessa Langford. The woman looked like she was carved out of marble and money. Silk blouse, perfect chignon, diamond studs that probably cost more than my apartment rent for a year.

Her eyes swept over me, unimpressed. “You’re late,” she said, her tone clipped. “Sit. You have five minutes. Give me what you’ve got.”

I swallowed hard, clutching my notes, but then something inside me snapped. I didn’t come this far to cower. So, I stood tall, steadied my voice, and poured everything out—my vision, my passion, the way her perfume line could evolve into something women didn’t just wear but felt. I painted it with words: intimacy, confidence, a brand that would touch not just the skin but the soul.

For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. My heart soared. Maybe—just maybe—this was my breakthrough.

But then, Vanessa leaned back in her chair, lips curled in disdain.

“That’s cute,” she said flatly. “But passion doesn’t sell, sweetheart. Strategy does. Do you even have the numbers to back that little speech? Because right now, all I’m hearing is a girl who thinks perfume is therapy. And I don’t run charities.”

Her words stung like a slap. I tried to keep my face neutral, but my chest tightened.

“I— I believe women want more than numbers. They want to feel—”

She cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Feelings don’t close deals. Come back when you’ve grown up.”

I stood there frozen, cheeks burning. Every ounce of confidence I’d brought into the room crumbled, leaving me raw and small.

But instead of crying, I forced a smile, nodded, and gathered my things. If Vanessa Langford wanted to see me break, she’d be disappointed.

As I turned to leave, my head was pounding again—not just from the hangover, but from the weight of last night, from the insult that hung heavy in the air, from the ache of wondering if maybe she was right.

But deep down, I knew she wasn’t. I just had to prove it.

I was almost at the door when Vanessa’s voice rang out behind me.

“Oh, and for the record—” she said smoothly, her heels clicking against the floor as she rose from her chair. “You didn’t get the contract.”

Her words sliced through the air, final and cruel.

I nodded once, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble, then pushed the door open and walked out with my head high—even if inside, I was breaking.