Steve's POV
The bathroom was empty, the only evidence of the struggle a few smears of blood by the sink. Her blood. I swirled the scotch in my glass, staring at the shattered window.
The damn bitch knocked me out! Me! And then she climbed out the fucking window.
A sigh came from the doorway.
Lisa leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a look of profound boredom on her flawless face. "Well. I didn't peg her for a climber. A very dramatic, very stupid exit. Let's hope she doesn't bleed out in an alley somewhere. That would be… messy."
"It was an accident," I snapped, not looking at her. My voice was tighter than I intended. "I was protecting you. I don't hit women...ever"
"Mm. Defending my honor. Unnecessary, but God, it was hot." She purred the words, slinking closer.
I finally turned, letting my eyes devour her.
Lisa Roland was a masterpiece—flame-red hair, a body carved by gods, a face that could launch a thousand credit card bills. A trophy. Everything Ira… wasn't.
Her tongue traced the shell of my ear. A jolt went straight through me. She always had that effect.
"Stop pouting. She'll get over it. You said she always does. She'll come crawling back, begging for whatever scraps you're willing to give her. Maybe you can keep her on the side. Like a pet."
"I don't want her on the side," I said, the good-guy script coming automatically. "I hate hurting her. She's… a good girl." I almost believed the sincerity in my own voice.
Lisa let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Oh, please. Spare me the performance. I know you like to play the tortured soul, Steve, but we both know the truth. You're not a good guy. It's why I'm here. Good guys are terminally boring."
She grinned, a predatory flash of white, and tapped my chin with a manicured finger. "The difference between you and me is that I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I enjoy it."
Arguing with Lisa was pointless. She saw through every facade, and she enjoyed tearing them down.
"I ended it. Or she did. Frankly… it's a relief." The admission was true. The lying, the hiding, the constant emotional pandering to Ira's neediness—it was exhausting.
I moved in to kiss her, to lose myself in her sharp, uncomplicated fire, but she pressed a firm finger against my lips.
"Don't get any ideas now that your little doormat has flounced out the window. I'm still with Jared. This?" She gestured between us. "This is a diversion. A very fun one, but that's all."
A hot spike of possessiveness went through me. "You don't have to be such a cold-hearted bitch about it."
Her eyebrows arched.
"What did you just call me?" She turned to inspect her reflection in the broken mirror, utterly unbothered.
"A heartless, status-obsessed cunt!" I waited for the reaction—the tears, the trembling, the wounded look I was so used to managing. The things Ira would do.
Instead, Lisa simply smoothed her lipstick, smacked her lips together, and turned back to me, her posture radiating control.
"You're right. I am. Some say it's a defense mechanism. I say it's just who I am. And I revel in it."
I grabbed her arm and shoved her against the wall, my hand sliding up the slit in her red dress, over her thigh, finding the warm center of her. She inhaled sharply, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips.
"Don't fuck with me, Monalisa. You love this. You love me. Jared might buy you things, but he doesn't make you feel this. He doesn't make you feel alive." I buried my face in her neck, biting just hard enough to leave a mark. "Only I do."
It was a standoff. A battle of wills that always ended the same way.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached behind her and snapped the lock on the door shut. "Are we going to fuck or not, Stevie? All this talking is tedious."
I traced her collarbone, torturing us both. "Say it. Say you love me."
She grabbed the front of my shirt, her other hand working at my belt. "Actions speak louder—"
I seized her wrist, hard enough to make her gasp. "Lisa!" I snarled, my face inches from hers. "Tell me you fucking love me or I walk out that door right now and you can finish the job yourself."
She studied me, her eyes narrowing, calculating the cost of the lie versus the reward. Finally, her features softened into a perfect mask of devotion. "I love you, Stevie."
The words were like a drug. A victory. I allowed myself a smug smile.
"Good. That's all I needed to hear. Now, you need to leave Jared."
"I will. I just need time. His family… the title… the Duke of Pembroke isn't someone you just leave. There are… appearances to keep."
"Lisa." My voice was a low warning.
"I'm serious! But… there are also rumors. About you. That you're being called to a significant position in Oswald. That changes things."
My triumph curdled. I wanted to tell her the "significant position" was Chief Aide to the Minister of Trade—a glorified secretary. The plane crash that wiped out the royal line was supposed to be my golden ticket, but the old, entrenched powers had closed ranks, leaving me on the outside looking in.
But I couldn't tell her that. Lisa didn't love a man; she loved his potential. His reflected glory.
"Love shouldn't have conditions," I whined, falling back into the script that had always worked on Ira. "If we love each other, we should be together. That's all that matters."
She rolled her eyes, grabbing my face. "Oh, shut up and kiss me, Steven. You're whining like her. Don't ruin the moment."
And as I did, one final, arrogant thought solidified in my mind: Ira will be back. She always come back. And when she does, she'll find I've upgraded.