đź“– Trigger Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content, power imbalance, revenge themes, and intense emotional manipulation. 18+ only.
Alice stepped out of the private elevator at exactly 9:05 p.m.
Five minutes late.
The velvet red dress hugged her body like liquid fire—deep crimson, sleeveless, with a dangerous slit that climbed high on her left thigh. Every curve was accentuated, every movement a quiet promise. Her curls were loose and wild, framing her face, coffee-brown skin glowing under the low penthouse lights. Lips painted to match the dress. Heels sharp enough to kill.
She knew she looked lethal.
She hadn't known she was walking into a trap she'd built herself.
Mara, the assistant, had guided her only as far as the elevator. No words. Just a nod.
Now Alice stood alone in the vast penthouse loft—dark floors, endless glass walls, city lights sprawling below like a conquered kingdom.
No Kevin.
Just silence.
She moved deeper in, heels muffled on a thick rug, until she reached the wide leather sectional. She hesitated, then sat—crossing her legs, the slit falling open to reveal smooth thigh.
Her eyes wandered.
And stopped.
A massive black-and-white painting dominated the far wall.
Young Alice. Fifteen. Uniform perfect, piggy puffs high and proud, dimples carved deep in a cruel, triumphant smile. The exact moment she'd once stood over a boy on the hallway floor.
Her throat tightened.
Footsteps—slow, deliberate—echoed from the shadows.
Kevin emerged.
Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing veined forearms. Top buttons undone, revealing the strong column of his throat. Black slacks hugging narrow hips. Hair slightly tousled, like he'd been waiting.
He was sex poured into a six-foot-three frame.
And his mismatched eyes—black and storm-gray—pinned her from across the room.
"You're late."
The words were quiet. Cold. Authoritative.
Alice stood immediately.
Kevin's head tilted. "I didn't say stand. I asked—who gave you permission to sit?"
Her lips parted. No sound.
She looked down, cheeks burning.
He closed the distance in measured steps.
"I give opportunities to serious people, my little Dimples."
His finger slid under her chin, tilting her face up until she met his gaze.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
His thumb brushed her jaw.
"Next time you're late," he murmured, voice dropping deeper, "count yourself fired."
He released her and began circling—slow, predatory.
"Some changes to the script. Lines I forgot."
He stopped behind her, breath ghosting her ear.
"Lines like… 'You filthy pathetic idiot. Don't cry over your books. Even if you do—you're going nowhere. You'll stay ugly and pathetic forever.'"
Alice froze.
He came around to face her.
"Or… 'You have no damn right to look at me.'"
His stare was unrelenting.
"Words from a beautiful girl I couldn't stop loving—no matter how much she hated me. No matter how perfectly she destroyed me."
He tucked a curl behind her ear, fingers lingering.
"Same beautiful hair."
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek.
"Same beautiful dimples."
Alice bit her lower lip—nervous, involuntary.
Kevin's gaze darkened. Gently, he freed her lip from her teeth with his thumb.
"Same lips I wanted to kiss even when they were tearing me apart."
His voice was rough now.
"These are the new lines, Dimples. So the audience feels every cut."
Her eyes flicked to the painting.
Kevin followed.
"You're looking at her."
He walked to the canvas, lifted it down, held it like something sacred.
"This girl… she lived in my head every day I built this empire. Her disgusted stares. Her cruelty. Her voice saying I'd never be anything."
Pain flickered across his face—raw, fleeting.
He pressed a slow kiss to the painted forehead.
"She broke me. Then rebuilt me into this."
He hung it back, turned, and walked straight to Alice—eyes locked.
"Her wrongs aren't forgivable. They're beyond repair."
Alice's breath shook.
He smirked.
"They left scars."
A beat.
"Scars that built success."
Her voice came small. "I… I know I hurt you. More than I can ever justify. And I know you still feel it."
She swallowed.
"I'll do anything to make it better. Even if it's only a fraction."
Kevin's eyes ignited.
"Anything?"
He stepped into her space.
"Anything," she whispered.
His hand slid to her lower back, pulling her hard against him.
"Then we start tonight."
His mouth found the curve of her neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing fire. Teeth grazed. Tongue soothed.
"The pain you gave me can't be erased, Dimples," he growled against her pulse. "It's in my blood."
He nipped her throat; she gasped, fingers clutching his shirt.
"But you offered anything."
His hand slipped through the slit of her dress, palm sliding up bare thigh—slow, possessive, until his fingers brushed lace.
"So I'm taking it."
The kiss that followed was brutal—hungry, claiming. Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. Years of restraint shattered.
He walked her backward until her legs hit the sectional.
The red dress slid down her body like silk surrender.
His shirt followed.
Skin finally on skin.
He laid her back, eyes devouring every inch.
"Beautiful," he muttered, voice rough. "Always so fucking beautiful."
His mouth traced her collarbone, down between her breasts, tongue circling one nipple until she arched, moaning softly.
Lower.
He parted her thighs wide, settled between them like he belonged there.
The first slow lick drew a shuddering cry from her.
He didn't rush.
Long, deliberate strokes. Circling her clit. Sucking gently. Fingers sliding inside her—curling, stroking, learning every spot that made her tremble.
She came hard the first time—back bowed, fingers fisted in his hair, his name breaking on her lips.
He rose over her, shedding the rest of his clothes.
Thick. Hard. Unapologetic.
He entered her in one slow, deep thrust—eyes locked on hers the entire time.
They both groaned.
He set a rhythm—deep, punishing, perfect.
Every stroke felt like memory.
Her legs wrapped around his waist.
Nails raked down his back.
He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She did.
He drove harder.
She came again—tighter, louder, dimples deep, eyes glassy.
He followed seconds later—burying himself deep, groaning her name against her neck, body shuddering.
After, they lay tangled.
Alice's head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
Kevin stared at the ceiling—expression distant.
Then he moved.
Slid from beneath her. Stood.
Began dressing—methodical. Belt. Watch. Shirt.
Alice sat up, pulling the throw to her chest.
"What about rehearsals?"
He didn't look at her.
"No rehearsals for you, Dimples."
Her heart sank.
"Am I… fired?"
He slipped on his jacket. Picked up his Phantom keys.
"No."
He walked to the elevator.
"You're going to learn manners."
The doors opened.
"Come early tomorrow morning. Hadassah will be waiting in the kitchen."
He stepped inside.
"She doesn't like to wait."
The doors closed.
Alice sat alone—skin still tingling, lips swollen, the scent of him everywhere.
Minutes later, she dressed. The red dress felt different now—marked.
She found her Bugatti keys and left.
In the elevator down, her reflection stared back—hair wild, eyes brighter, cheeks flushed.
She looked like a woman who'd just been claimed.
And tomorrow, the lessons would continue.