Friend? Right. And I was a choir boy.
A friend didn't look at a woman like she was something he'd been starving for. I should fire him for that look alone. She introduced him like it was nothing. But I saw it. The flicker in his eyes.
He wanted her. She didn't even realize it—how every guy in the room wanted her. But he? He was the one stupid enough to make it obvious. I didn't get jealous. I didn't. But I'd rip that tie off his neck and strangle him with it if he looked at her like that again.
"Mr. Fisher." Lucas's gaze snapped to mine, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the sight of my hand resting on Ariana's back.
Oh. They fucked. Lucas and my Angel had history—an intimate, undeniable history.
How the hell did I miss this?
My jaw clenched. Fists tight. Smile, Shane. Be patient. If Lucas wanted a front-row seat to my worst side, he just bought himself a ticket.
Jealousy wasn't foreign to me. I'd envied power, wealth, control. But this? This was different. This was primal. Raw. Her.
The thought of him touching her, knowing her, made my blood boil. He looked at her like she was his. But she wasn't. She was mine.
So what if they'd fucked? So what if they dated? That was the past. She had moved on—she didn't need him anymore. None of it mattered now. She was with me. And I wasn't going to let her go.
"Brooks," I said evenly, my gaze shifting between them. "Seems like you two are well-acquainted." The words lingered, heavy with implication, as the tension settled thickly in the air.
"Me and Ari were… friends back in college," Lucas said, dragging out the word friends like it held some deeper, unspoken meaning. His gaze drifted to her with a familiarity that made my jaw tighten even harder.
I didn't like the way he said her nickname. Too soft. Too practised. Like he'd said it a thousand times before. He said it like it belonged to him. Like he'd earned the right. I should've broken his nose.
The way he was staring at her? Someone needed to remind him she was engaged—to me. Maybe not out of love—but still.
Ariana looked away, a flash of guilt crossing her face.
"We were just catching up, right Ari?" he added, clearly sensing the tension. His voice was light, an attempt to smooth things over.
And there it was again—that damn nickname.
My fists clenched before I could stop them. It wasn't the name—it was the way he said it. Like she still belonged to him. If he said it one more time, I might just forget I was his boss.
"Are you done catching up, Ariana?" My gaze held hers with a subtle warning.
Of all people, it had to be Lucas – the smug who thought he was a business genius. I'd admit he was a little competent but common, like he'd ever have the guts to build something from scratch like I did. Lucas was a talker. I was the doer. That was the difference.
"Yeah, I was just leaving," he answered for her, his eyes flicking to her as he forced a smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to her, their fingers touching briefly before they both pulled away, the moment awkwardly charged.
Were they seriously doing this in my presence? The subtle flirting, the shy smiles, the goddamn lingering touch? It was pathetic. And infuriating. She flinched when our fingers brushed. But not with him. With him, it was soft. Willing.
I hated that.
"In case you're dead set on getting me a new suit because I know how stubborn you can be, that's one way to reach me," His eyes held Ariana's for a moment "Nice seeing you, Ariana," his tone became softer, before his gaze snapped back to me, his expression neutral. "Congrats on your engagement," the words felt more like a formality than a genuine sentiment. With that, he turned and walked away, leaving us standing there. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.
I stared at the business card in Ariana's hand, feeling a twisted sense of triumph. The memory of her phone shattering brought a dark, satisfying smile to my face.
When she refused to tear her gaze away from the card, I snatched it from her hands and flung it over my shoulder, "You don't need it," I stated, my words clear and direct.
Her eyes narrowed, and she shot me a withering look. "I ruined his suit...I was going to get him another one," she was seemingly vexed.
Like a little champagne spill was going to ruin his suit. It was just a cheap trick to get an invite to see her again.
My eyes locked onto hers, daring her to push the issue, "If you're so keen on getting him a new suit, I'll take care of it. He works for me, after all," My hands slipped into my pockets. "We're leaving," I added, brooking no argument.
I told her—no drama, no scenes. But what did I get? A live performance, right in front of me. She pushed every single one of my buttons today. And the worst part? She seemed oblivious.
I had been composed. I had been in control. But the second her eyes softened for him, it all cracked. Next time she wanted to test me, I hope she remembered—I didn't play fair.
"But they're not finished with the fundraiser," Her brow furrowed.
"I said we're leaving." I deadpanned. He stood too close. And she let him. She let him talk to her like that—soft and easy. Like I wasn't standing right there.
I'd tell James to cut the evening short, skipping the public announcement and dinner. They could all go home hungry for all I cared. Staying any longer would push me over the boiling point – and I was already perilously close to losing control.
I tugged Ariana's wrist, steering her out of the room without so much as a nod to the other guests.
Just as we were making our exit, Mia appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly into our path. "Leaving already?" she asked, her eyes jerking to Ariana, scanning her from head to toe with thinly veiled scrutiny.
Of course, she'd show up now. Mia always had a knack for bad timing—and worse intentions. Her gaze lingered on Ariana just a beat too long. Like she was trying to find a flaw and failing.
I gave her a blunt, one-word answer. "Yes."
"They haven't finished fundraising," Her smile was all teeth and no warmth. She spoke to me, but her eyes never left Ariana.
I almost shut my eyes in frustration, fighting the urge to just walk away. All I wanted was to get home and deal with the growing agitation gnawing at me.
I was mad. Jealous. There, I admitted it. Why had she been fawning over him? Did she still have feelings for him? How long did they date? And why the hell did it matter so much to me?
"My fiancée is tired," I forced out, offering a small smile. My hand moved from Aria's wrist to gently take hers, our fingers intertwining. The softness of her touch was enough to shatter any control I had left. She was slowly ruining me, piece by piece.
I felt her tense up, but I didn't let go. Instead, my grip tightened, maybe even became a bit harsher. She was fine with Lucas touching her. Why the fuck was she resisting when it came to me?
"I'll see you tomorrow then, have fun, Fisher" She sneered, before walking passed us. I watched her go, feeling agitated by the way she stared at Aria. But I pushed that feeling aside, my thoughts choosing to focus on the soft, infuriatingly gentle hand still wrapped in mine.
Ariana asked as she slipped her fingers out of mine. It was getting harder to keep pretending I didn't care. When in reality, I cared more than I ever should. More than I dared to admit.
We stepped out into the cool evening air, the valet ducking his head in greeting as he handed me my keys. I took them, "Thank you, Nick," I unlocked the car doors with the remote. I pulled her along with me, opening the passenger door for her because, apparently, she wanted to be treated like a lady.
"Get in," I ordered, and she complied, but I could practically see the words piling up behind her lips, waiting to spill out. Good thing she was keeping them to herself – I wasn't in the mood for a conversation. As soon as she was settled, I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the air like a declaration of my temper.
The car door still quivering from the force of my slam, slid into the driver's seat, keys jamming into the ignition. The engine growled to life and in an instant, I was flooring it, speeding away from the venue. The building dwindled into the distance, a rapidly shrinking blur.
My phone buzzed in my breast pocket, and I yanked it out, answering with a swipe of my finger. "We skipped everything except the final fundraising push," James reported from the other end of the line.
I grunted a "thank you" before killing the call, dropping the phone on the control centre beside the driver's seat. We'd raised enough money for the kids. That was all that mattered and for a moment, my anger eased—briefly—until Ariana's voice sliced through the silence, reminding me that her presence was a living, breathing echo of whatever she and Lucas pulled.
"Can you slow down?" She yelped, her voice a gentle caution from the passenger seat beside me.
"What was that?" I snarled, jaw tight, my grip on the steering wheel tightening to the point of strain. My eyes stayed on the road, but all my fury was aimed at her. The way she looked with him—too damn comfortable. Like it wasn't the first time. Like he knew her in ways I didn't. Yet.
He touched her hand like it was nothing—too casually, too familiar. And she didn't pull away. His eyes lingered on her like they shared some private fucking secret. And she didn't flinch. He spoke to her like he still had a claim. And she didn't shut it down. Then he gave her a damn card… and she considered using it.
"What was what?" she replied, her voice laced with fake innocence as her fingers curled tightly around her seatbelt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"You and Brooks," I snapped, my tone low but sharp as I took a hard turn without slowing. The tyres screeched against the pavement, and Aria let out a small whimper, her foot pressing instinctively against an invisible brake as her eyes squeezed shut.
"Is that why you've been acting pissed? Because of Lucas?" she asked, her eyes snapping open just as I eased off the gas, merging onto the highway. I kept my cool, adjusting my speed. The last thing I needed was flashing red and blue lights and a ticket to top off this already infuriating night.
"Answer my question, Ariana," I snapped, my patience hanging by a thread.
But instead of offering anything meaningful, she muttered, "It was nothing." Dismissive. Tight. Like she was forcing herself not to crack, and it only made my grip on the situation slip even more.
She had no idea about the chaos I'd orchestrated—every move meticulously calculated, every piece aligned just to get her here. And yet, she had been looking at him like he hung the damn moon. Was this some kind of twisted joke?
Glaring at her across the dimly lit car interior, I growled, "It didn't seem like nothing."
She turned to face me, her eyes sharp. "Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem like it's any of your business," she snapped back.
"Bullshit"
"What the hell is your problem?" she burst.
"I'm not removing the lock," A grim smile tugged at my lips. I couldn't trust her—not yet. Not until she understood. She was mine. Every inch of her. Her body, her thoughts, her silence, her fire. All of it belonged to me. Not Lucas.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You said you were going to."
I chuckled darkly. "I also said no drama and not to piss me off, but right now, you're really pissing me off."
"I didn't do anything!" she shot back.
"He... he handed you a goddamn card. You took it." I gestured with my free hand, my frustration spilling out in sharp movements, while my left hand gripped the wheel tighter, the anger building inside me.
"What was I supposed to do—reject it?"
"Yes! Is that so fucking hard, Ariana? You could've just rejected the damn thing! I host a goddamn event, and my fiancée is out here taking business cards from my employee like she's about to sneak off and fuck him in private. Does that make any sense to you? If you didn't look like you needed him so badly, maybe he wouldn't have had the audacity to even hand you a fucking card in the first place!"
I'd never lost control like this before. But her? She always found a way to pull it out of me—dragging parts of me I thought were long buried right back to the surface.
I used to pride myself on control. With her, there was none. Just raw, reckless emotion.
She didn't just push my buttons—she rewired them and made me malfunction in ways I didn't know I could. I hated that I cared. Hated that she mattered enough to make me feel this unhinged. She could start a war inside me with a single glance. And somehow, I still wanted her.
"Fuck you!" she spat.
Shit. I pushed too hard. Now she was mad, and rightfully so—but no, she didn't get to flip this on me. I had bled for this future. For our future. For her. And she was out here exchanging soft looks with her ex like I wasn't even real?
Let her be mad. Let her scream. But she didn't get to pretend I was the only villain here—not when she made me watch her act like he meant something.
She let him live in her memories. While I was the one standing here, fighting like hell just to be close.
"So what if I wanted to fuck him in private? Are you forgetting you have no reason to pry into my personal life, hell you have no reason to break my phone or force-feed me or lock me in a room all day but you do it anyway."
Every word out of her mouth chipped away at my composure. And I let it. I fucking let her. She brought out something primal in me—something I couldn't tame, no matter how hard I tried.
The muscles in my jaw worked. She was just trying to get under my skin, testing my limits. But damn it, hearing her talk about fucking Lucas twisted something deep inside of me. She was angry, trying to provoke me, but I couldn't shake the image of her with him. Beneath him.
I exhaled sharply, trying to focus on the road, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep my shit together. She was pushing my limits. And soon, I might just lose my patience completely.
"I don't get why you're so pissed, but I really hope you get your shit together and stop taking it out on me," she continued, her grip on the seatbelt tightening.
"You didn't notice the way he was staring at you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
There was a pause, and then "What?"
I shot her a sidelong glance. "You heard me,"
"I don't know, Shane, how was he staring at me?" She glared daggers at me.
"You know what? Forget it. I'm locking you in." I let out a deep sigh.
"You're being an asshole right now," she snapped, her voice thick with anger and hurt.
But I tuned her out, ignoring her protests. I was sorry… but not sorry enough. She needed me to push her. She needed me to break her. I was doing this for her own good. She'd thank me later. When she loved me the way I love her, she'd see it was all worth it.
"I didn't do anything" she muttered under her breath before looking out of the window.
Her words had been the final straw, snapping the fragile thread that had been holding me together since this day began. I knew this day would end in disaster. And of course, it did. Happy fucking birthday to me.