Chapter 20 The Third Wheel
Anya shook her head at once, trying to calm him down. “I didn’t! Stop it.”
But the manager kept going, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing at their table. “And here’s the wine you enjoyed last time—1963 Charlotte. You had mentioned how much you enjoyed its taste and texture. Mr. Stanson also instructed us to bring this wine every time you come here, whether alone or with friends. Of course, the bill will be covered by him."
The completely oblivious manager glanced between a fuming Dante and a visibly stunned Anya. With a bright smile and a small nod, he muttered, “I’ll send someone to take your order now,” and quickly walked away.
Anya’s eyes slowly shifted back to Dante, but he was already on his feet. The chair behind him toppled with a loud bang, the crash slicing through the restaurant like a gunshot.
“You even came here on a fucking date with Luca?!” Dante’s voice was dangerously quiet, his anger barely contained.
“It wasn’t a date!”
"We’re at this point in our relationship, trying to talk things out, and I still have to hear things like this? Do you really think I’m just another one of your men you can twist around your little finger whenever you want?"
Anya let out a frustrated groan, pushing back her chair and marching over to him. Her hands landed firmly on his shoulders as she forced him back into his seat, and then went back to hers.
"The manager said I came here with Luca," she snapped. “He didn’t say it was a date or that we were in a relationship. Did he?!”
Dante scoffed bitterly. “Why does that even matter? What difference does it make, Anya? You came here with him, you sat together, and even the damn restaurant staff knows you two well enough to bring your favorite food and wine without you even asking.”
His voice rose, thick with disbelief and something deeper—something raw and wounded. “You seriously expect me to believe that he feels nothing for you? After hearing how that bastard takes care of you, remembers every little thing about you? He acts closer to you than I’ve ever been allowed to. So tell me—who is your boyfriend here? Him or me?”
He leaned closer, eyes locked on hers. “Because friends don’t do things like this for each other, Anya. Not unless they’re something more.”
Anya’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded in her chest like it was breaking free. She slowly pulled her hands back, retreating a step, trying to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It felt like every word was pushing her further into a corner.
This is falling apart.
Her mind raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface. The harder she tried to explain, the more tangled everything became. ‘He’s getting so suspicious about Luca and me now. I should just tell him the truth, confess I’m Annie. About Luca… about everything.’
She took a steadying breath. “Alright, look. I’m not—"
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His face darkened even further. He looked like he was trying to hold himself together, but barely succeeding.
“It’s fine,” he said coldly. “I’m done.”
He turned sharply, voice low and shaking with barely-suppressed rage. “I don’t care anymore.”
Anya watched him in shock, her heart sinking as she saw him start to storm off.
And then something inside her snapped.
“You brought me here!” she shouted.
Her voice rang through the restaurant, stopping him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around to face her.
Her fists were clenched at her sides, and for the first time, Dante saw her angry. Truly angry. Gone was the calm, composed woman he knew—now, her eyes blazed with fury.
“You brought me here!” she repeated, stepping out from behind the table. “You said you wanted to talk. You dragged me here. And now that I’m trying to explain, you’re just walking away?”
Her voice trembled. “Dante Kingsley, I am losing my fucking patience. You want answers? Then sit down and let me speak. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t drag me into this conversation only to storm off when things get uncomfortable.”
Dante’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He took a furious step forward, hand rising as if to point at her—then stopped himself. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.
“Stay? For what?” he snarled, his voice laced with venom. “To hear how you and your fucking Luca are out here playing a happy fucking family? About your little moments together? About how everyone thinks you two are so damn perfect?”
His voice cracked with fury.
“I’m done, Anya. I’m not sitting through this bullshit anymore.”
Anya straightened her back, standing still, her eyes cold as ice as they locked onto his. “Alright,” she said, her voice calm but final. “If you don’t want to talk, then walk out. But if you walk out, remember—this is the end.”
His frown deepened.
“This is the end of you and me,” she added with chilling finality. “You walk out, and you’re out. No more talking. No more conversations. No more meetings. Not about Luca, not about us—nothing. You and I will have no relationship anymore.”
Dante’s temper exploded, jealousy burning so hot it threatened to consume him. ‘First, she ruined this perfect fucking evening I planned for us, letting Luca all over us. And now she has the audacity to threaten me, as if I’d die without her?’ His vision darkened, rage flooding through him.
“If that’s what you want, then fine!” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not going to be a part of your fucking harem of men!” With that, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him as if he could escape the fury eating him alive.
Anya stood frozen, her body tense, every muscle locked in place. Her fists clenched, nails digging painfully into her palms. She remained motionless, her emotions a chaotic storm inside her. It felt like she was losing control, like everything she’d fought to hold onto was slipping through her fingers.
Then, in an instant, all the strength she’d been clinging to vanished. Her body slackened, as if the weight of it all had crushed her. She turned, numb, and walked back to the table, sinking into a chair. Her chest ached, and she buried her face in her hands, fighting desperately to steady her breath.
“But we’re the gold customers of this restaurant! How can you stop us from coming inside? Get me your manager!” A familiar, annoying voice echoed from the door, and Anya stiffened at the sound.
“I don’t care,” came a cold reply, followed by the sharp sound of fast footsteps as someone stormed inside. “So what if someone has booked the whole place? We’re VIPs— we should be given priority—”
The voice abruptly stopped as it drew closer. “Anya?”
Anya looked up, her body still frozen. Zara stood in front of her, a boy next to her. He was the type Anya would never give a second glance—his shirt unbuttoned too far to expose his chest, a suit barely clinging to him, and that arrogant, disgusting smirk on his face as he casually smoked a cigarette. His arm was wrapped around Zara’s shoulder, leaning in to kiss her ear lightly.
“Mark, look,” Zara giggled, her voice dripping with amusement and cruelty. She tugged his arm like a spoiled child showing off a toy. “This is the girl I told you about—the one my parents picked up off the streets. Pathetic, isn’t she?”
Mark finally lifted his head, bored eyes landing on Anya with casual indifference. But then, something shifted. That lazy gaze sharpened, darkened, turning lecherous. His lips curled into a slow, mocking smirk. Anya’s stomach twisted with disgust. She could practically feel the filth of his stare crawl over her skin.
“Get lost, whatever your name is,” Anya muttered, her voice clipped and icy, her posture stiff with restraint.
Zara’s amusement snapped into fury. Her perfectly painted lips thinned into a sneer. “You know exactly what my name is, you bitch. You're a fucking waiter here and still acting like a queen? Get in your lane. Go bring us water.”
She slammed both hands on the table, the sound echoing sharply across the room. A few heads turned. “I said, get the hell up!”
Anya didn’t budge. She sat there, spine straight, expression blank. But the subtle tension in her jaw betrayed the irritation simmering beneath the surface.
Just then, the manager rushed over, clearly flustered, his gaze flitting nervously between them. “Ms. Fox, what are you doing to our guest?”
Zara scoffed, tossing her head back in a loud, derisive laugh. "Guest? You call this penniless bitch your guest?" She gestured at Anya like she was pointing to trash on the floor. "What kind of joke is that?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Fox. Mr. Wayne,” the manager said stiffly, stepping between them now, a hand outstretched toward the door, “The restaurant is closed to the public today. I’ll have to ask you both to leave.”
Mark bristled at the manager’s touch, his pride bruised, his temper barely hanging by a thread. With a sharp jerk, he shoved the man’s hand away, glaring like a cornered animal. His eyes landed on the untouched wine bottle on Anya’s table—an easy target.
In a burst of drunken idiocy and wounded ego, Mark lunged forward and grabbed the bottle. Without warning, he slammed it down against the table.
The bottle didn’t just thud—it cracked with a sharp, ugly sound.
Anya gasped and stumbled backward as deep red wine splashed across her cream-colored dress, staining it like blood. The liquid spilled over the table, dripping onto the floor, soaking into the linens.
And then, in the chaos of the moment, the bottle slipped from Mark’s slick hand, striking the table’s edge and shattering into jagged pieces. A sharp shard sliced clean across his palm.
Mark staggered back, staring at his hand in shock as blood began to drip, bright red against pale skin.
“Oh my God, baby!” Zara shrieked, latching onto his arm like a lifeline. Her eyes were wide with panic, but her tone was more drama than concern.
Mark looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he was too stunned to react.
The manager, not wasting a second, brushed past them without so much as a glance and rushed straight to Anya. He grabbed a stack of crisp, white tablecloths from a nearby stand and handed them to her. “Ms. Anya, please—your dress…”
Zara spun around, and exploded. “Are you fucking serious? My fiancé is bleeding, and you’re worried about her dress?”
The manager slowly straightened, turning to face her. His expression was cold, professional—merciless. “That bottle was worth fifty thousand dollars, Ms. Fox. The bill will be sent to your home.”
Zara froze, her mouth falling open. “Fifty thousand? Are you fucking serious? How dare—”
“And if you don’t pay and leave the premises immediately,” he cut her off without blinking, “we’ll be calling the police. You’ll also be charged with destruction of property and endangering a client.”
Zara stood there, trembling with rage and humiliation. But for once, she had no comeback. She tightened her grip on Mark’s injured hand, and without another word, dragged him out of the restaurant.
Silence followed their exit. The shattered glass still glinted on the table, wine pooling on the floor like spilled blood.
The manager turned back to Anya, his voice softening. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Ms. Anya.”
But Anya barely registered his words. After everything with Dante, she had no energy left for Zara.
She gave a small, dismissive wave, scooped up her purse, and walked out of the restaurant without a word.
The moment the door shut behind her, the manager picked up the phone. His fingers moved fast, his voice clipped as he relayed every detail of what had just happened.
On the other end, Charles sat frozen for a moment, absorbing the report. Then his hand curled into a fist, shaking.
Charles, trembling with rage, dialed another number.
“Luca,” Charles snapped after recounting the entire ordeal, his voice sharp with fury. “They don’t deserve to live in this city. I don’t care how you do it. Get them out of my daughter's sight.”
“Consider it done by tomorrow, Uncle,” Luca said, his voice low and cold. His eyes even more determined to protect Anya.
***
Anya returned home hours later, soaked in silence and exhaustion. She didn’t look okay. Not even close.
Charles was pacing in the hallway, his phone in one hand, his other raking through his hair. The second he saw her, the worry on his face deepened. He dropped everything and rushed toward her.
“Anya. Are you alright? What happened?”
She didn’t speak. She didn’t speak. She simply walked into his arms and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest.
Charles wrapped his arms around her, instinctively protective. His hand cradled the back of her head, stroking her hair in slow, calming motions.
Then came the broken whisper, barely audible. “Dad... I broke up with Dante.”
Charles froze.
His arms didn’t loosen, but his heart stilled for a moment, caught off guard.
Anya slowly pulled back. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her voice cracked with every word. “I met him today… tried to explain. He didn’t want to listen. So I ended it. I don’t want anything to do with him again.”
“Alright,” Charles said at once, his voice firm. “There won’t be anything between you and him anymore. No one will ever bring up his and your relationship again. Don’t worry, Anya. It’s all over now.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled softly.
“So you’re not getting married anymore?” Charles added, there was a touch of concern beneath his words.
Anya shook her head in quick denial, as though the very thought pained her. “I won’t get married. I need to sort out my life first… I won’t rush into marriage with anyone anymore.”
Charles nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Good,” he said quietly, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, almost a sigh in his voice. “That’s alright. Take all the time you need—until you meet the right person.”
“Yeah,” Anya muttered, her voice distant, as if her mind was far away. Then she shifted, locking eyes with him. “Dad… I want to move out. I want to live in an apartment by myself for a while.”
The words hit him like a blow. His face fell, and he immediately recoiled. “No,” he replied, his voice quick and sharp, almost defensive. “Anya, you’re living here. What’s wrong with that? Do you need anything?”
“Dad, it’s not that—”
“Tell me what you’re lacking,” he pressed, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “I’ll arrange it for you. Whatever you need. Why do you want to live alone?”
Anya’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Dad, I just need a little space for myself. I feel so exhausted... I need to breathe. Just for a while. To be alone. To sort through everything... my head is just too full.”
Charles’s expression faltered. The deep worry in his eyes gave way to a silent sadness, and for a moment, he looked like a man who had been punched in the gut. “Anya, I’ve only just found you again. How am I supposed to bear losing you all over again?”
Her heart twisted. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she needed this. For herself.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said, reaching for his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as they closed around his. “Dad, I’ll see you every day—no matter when, no matter how. I’ll spend at least two hours with you, drop by whenever I can. Maybe I’ll live just ten minutes away, maybe even next door—I’m not sure yet. But I’ve grown up now. I just… need a little space to be myself.”
His eyes softened, but the hurt lingered beneath the surface. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as though he was willing himself to be strong for her. “Alright then. If you want it that badly, I’ll let you be.”
Anya smiled and leaned in to hug him again. But even as she did, Charles noticed—that smile never reached her eyes.
***
At Blue Orchid Bar – Manhattan, VIP Room 203
“You went to get an explanation, but without even hearing her, you just walked out?” Triston’s voice rose over the low thrum of the music, pure disbelief twisting his features. “And twice ?! First when you were about to get married, and then again when she tried to explain?”
The table was a mess of half-empty whiskey bottles, crystal tumblers, and untouched cigars. The private lounge was dimly lit, shadows dancing off the walls and low chandeliers. The heavy bass from the bar outside thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat.
Four men lounged on sleek leather couches—each one a billionaire, each carrying their own reputation, power, and arrogance. Raiden, Adrian, and Triston all sat with glasses in hand, eyes fixed on the fourth man: Dante Kinsley.
Dante leaned forward, elbows on knees, head low. He shrugged, expression cold and detached. “It was just a court marriage.”
“Is that really any different?” Raiden asked, narrowing his eyes as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “You left her right before she signed her name next to yours. Doesn’t matter if there were guests or not. Wasn’t it still a marriage?”
Dante’s jaw ticked. He grabbed his scotch and knocked it back in one rough gulp, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache in his chest.
“It’s not the same thing,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. “I asked her what was going on with Luca. She kept insisting they are just friends. And I know—for a fucking fact—that man isn’t just a friend. He’s got a crush on her.”
“But she doesn’t see him that way,” Adrian cut in, rough and blunt, as always. “She told you that. Isn’t that what matters?”
Dante turned to him sharply, his temper beginning to bubble. “Is that any different? She took a ring from him. A fucking ring!”
“You talk like she married him, wore his ring, and then came running back to marry you for fun,” Triston muttered, shaking his head as he lifted his glass.
Dante didn’t respond. He just reached for the bottle again, eyes dark.
Raiden leaned forward, his fingers steepled together. “So… what are you going to do now? No marriage?”
“If she won’t explain what’s going on in her life or with Luca, then I won’t wait around either,” Dante growled, his voice tight with wounded pride. “I’ll marry another fucking woman. I’m not going to die single because of that little annoying thing!”
The room went dead silent.
No one responded. Triston looked away, his brow creased. Adrian stared into his drink. Raiden’s expression didn’t change, but the air had shifted.
It wasn’t the words—but the bitterness behind them.
The men exchanged looks, each one quietly sipping their drink.
Raiden finally sighed, sliding an untouched glass of whiskey toward Dante. “You’ve probably made a huge mistake, brother,” he said quietly. “And knowing women, that girl’s probably never coming back to you again.”
Dante stiffened at the words.
‘If you walk out that door, then we’re done. We won’t have anything to do with each other anymore.’ Anya’s voice echoed in his mind, repeating over and over again since the moment he’d stormed out of the restaurant.
His chest tightened. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another glass—this time to the brim.
He downed it in quick, harsh gulps, but the pain in his chest only grew more intense.
Just then, the door opened and Jennifer walked in. Hands clasped behind her back, she leaned close to Dante and spoke quietly.
“Mr. Kingsley… it’s about Ms. Anya and Mr. Stanson,” she said softly.
Dante’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed.
“What about them?”
“They’re attending an auction together tomorrow evening,” Jennifer replied. “Since you’d asked me to report anything involving the two of them, I came right away.”
“Auction?” Dante repeated, eyes narrowing. “What kind of auction?”
“It’s a high-profile diamond auction, sir. Exclusive entry. Requires a female companion for attendance.”
Dante’s jaw clenched. His glass cracked slightly in his grip, but he didn’t let go.
“They’re going together?” he asked again, just to confirm.
“Yes, sir.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. His knuckles turned white.
“You will go with me tomorrow,” he said coldly. “Call whoever you have to—make it fast.”
Jennifer gave a crisp nod. “Understood, sir.”
Raiden snickered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “So you're stalking her now? After throwing a tantrum and swearing you’ll marry someone else just because she had lunch with another man? What’s next—want to be the third wheel now?”
Dante’s grip tightened. He slammed his glass down hard enough to make the bottles rattle on the table. “If anyone’s a third wheel, it’s that bastard Luca!” he snapped, his voice laced with venom. “He’s the one always hanging around her like a damn leech!”
Adrian shrugged and said casually, “By walking out when she gave you the chance to marry her, and then making it clear you didn’t want to be part of her ‘harem of men’—you practically handed her over to Luca.”
Dante’s eyes snapped to Adrian, furious and pissed off.
Adrian smirked, taking a sip before twisting the knife just a bit deeper. “So brother, now you’re just the guy watching from the sidelines. A third wheel who won’t leave his ex-girlfriend alone.”
Dante’s chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood up, the screech piercing through the music.
“ Fuck !” he hissed under his breath before stomping out of the bar.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Behind him, the three men snickered under their breath, smug smirks and knowing glances shared between them as they watched him go.