Twenty
Ara
In the next few minutes, chaos unfolds. The small, intimate table where Sean and I sat is joined by a larger group, chairs scraping against the floor as Burke takes the seat right beside mine. Despite my slight protest, both my plate and Sean’s are cleared at his command.
“Fancy seeing you here, trash,” Pearl sneers, settling into the chair opposite me.
I summon courage I don’t truly feel and take a leisurely sip of my wine, refusing to let them see how much they rattle me. I’m not that scared college girl anymore.
At least, I pretend not to be.
“Beauty and brains—I'm earning mine, unlike you living off daddy’s fund." I quip back with a smile.
I refuse to acknowledge Burke, even as he shifts his chair closer.
Pearl’s cheeks flush with indignation, and she shoots a glance at Burke—her fiancé. I remember the flashy engagement announcement Ivy showed me, the one splashed across the entertainment section.
Burke remains silent, as usual. It takes a real man to defend his woman, and he isn’t one. Pearl’s steely blue eyes lock onto mine, and a nasty expression settles on her otherwise beautiful face. What good is beauty when your insides are rotten?
“Misplaced confidence doesn’t change the fact that you look like an ugly fat cow,” she retorts.
“My confidence has nothing to do with the validation of the men I let into my bed.”
She glares at Burke, who smirks, his gaze flicking to me from the corner of his eye.
“Are you going to allow her to talk to me this way?” Pearl’s voice climbs to an embarrassing octave.
Burke shrugs, his friends too engrossed in the menu to care. “Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”
With nonchalance I don’t truly possess, I take another sip of my wine, savouring the brief reprieve. I watch Pearl huff before storming away. I want nothing more than to follow her, but wouldn’t that mean he won?
After all these years, am I still scared of him?
“Seems like you’ve grown claws,” Burke says, his tone slurring slightly. He’s not drunk, but enough to make his words waver, a dangerous combination for someone who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.
“Who are you here with, baby?”
How I loathe that word. It churns my stomach.
“It doesn’t concern you,” I reply coolly, signalling for the waiter.
I ask for the check, eager to escape.
Burke’s friends turn to look at me after they place their orders, their eyes lingering too long on my cleavage. I can sense the monster lurking just beneath the surface of my ex. I can leave without showing him my weakness. I could call Sean, and we could salvage the night elsewhere.
But then Burke’s hand grips the leg of my chair, holding me in place.
“Your sass is a turn-on, but not directed at me. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
“Of course, I do know who you are. A spineless coward who cannot defend his woman,”
I’d love to retort, but I bite my tongue instead. My shoulders tense, the unmistakable tone of a chauvinistic swine sending alarm bells ringing. Unfortunately, this swine also has the power to upend my carefully curated life.
“I’m here on a date,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual.
“Where is he?”
“He had to step out for work,” I reply, hating the way I feel small against men like him.
So many sharp comebacks dance on the tip of my tongue, but I suppress them, not wanting to become a target again. The bullying may have stopped in college, but now these grown children wield real power, and there’s no telling what they might do if their egos are bruised.
Burke nods, dragging his hand along the back of my chair, his proximity sending waves of revulsion through me. When the waiter approaches with the bill, Burke clicks his tongue.
“Leaving the woman alone to pay? Seems like your choice of date sucks, baby.”
“Better than the one who never took me out,” I shoot back.
Burke’s lips thin, but he says nothing—thank God for that. I stretch my hand for the waiter, but Burke slips his card out without a glance at the bill. Rage boils inside me, and I turn to pin him with a glare.
“I can pay for myself,”
His eyes drop to my breasts, leering without shame.
“You don’t have to,”
I grit my teeth, the urge to slap him dancing just out of reach. No. I can’t give in to violent thoughts. Nothing good ever comes from anger. Instead, I turn away, biting my tongue.
“I don’t need some stranger's money who has no respect for my boundaries,” I hiss.
“I didn’t seem to be the stranger when you let me fuck your virgin cunt,”
I suppress the shock from appearing on my face from his sudden crass words. Tears of indignation burn in my eyes. I fist my hands over the material of my dress, doing my best not to drive the knife into his throat. His friends snicker around us, revelling in the spectacle.
“You did win the bet,” Matthew, Burke’s close friend, chuckles, his laughter dripping with condescension.
Why am I surprised that these spoiled brats would go as far as to place bets on me?
When I turn back to him, Burke scowls at Matthew but doesn’t say a word.
“You disgust me, Berrett,” I spring to my feet, wrenching my arm free from his grip.
The restaurant buzzes with chatter, and the last thing he wants is a scene, so he holds back. I know he’s following me, calling my name as I push through the doors. The cool air does nothing to quell the anger brewing inside me.
I stride toward the curb to hail a cab, but a grip on my wrist spins me around to face an angry Burke. His face, so tempting to slap, twists with frustration. We’re right beside the entrance, and thankfully, no one notices us. The staff are busy ushering patrons inside.
“When I call, you answer.” Burke orders.
“Why would I? We are over. Looking at your past behaviour and what I’ve learned just now, I doubt we were ever a thing.”
“Damn it, Ara! Did you ever stop to think about what it might look like for me? How-“
I don’t think. I act.
I slap his face, the sting of my palm echoing in the night air. His cheek flushes red, and the sound of impact drowns in the cacophony of traffic, but I relish it. I slapped him hard enough that the satisfaction of that moment will linger for years.
“Don’t you dare try to fool me with your stupid excuses! Be decent enough to accept that you’ve made a mistake, apologise and be done with it.” I seethe.
He takes a threatening step forward, and I back away, instinctively retreating from the man.
“You slapped the son of the man who will be this nation’s next Prime Minister, and you don’t see me retaliating. Anyone could’ve captured that moment; it’s on me to do damage control. But I’m not raising my hand at you. That’s how much you mean to me, baby.”
I cringe, his twisted version of affection is repulsive.
“That is bull crap. You know what? I’m done with this.”
I turn, but his grip tightens around my upper arm, holding me in place.
“Let. Go.”
I recognise this voice from me. I recognise the onset of the darkness that would descend before hell breaks loose.
Burke’s anger flares, the petulant child within him surfacing, demanding that he hear a ‘yes’ from me, no matter what.
“No.”
“Disgusting pig!”
I fight in his grip, swatting his other hand away when it comes to holding my waist.
“That’s not what you said as you bled on my cock, baby. I remember your screams; I remember the way your tits bounced as you let me fuck your tight, virgin cunt.”
Disgust.
Disgust washes over me, overwhelming and suffocating. I try to slap him again, but he catches my hand in mid-air. His touch feels like poison, and I’m afraid I might vomit on his expensive clothes, giving the tabloids a picture they’d love to spread all over Besall.
I wrench my hand free, and he loosens his grip only because something behind me catches his attention.
His scowl transforms into a mask of fear he desperately tries to suppress.
I want to hiss at him that his existence is despicable. Just as I go to,
“Mr Devlin,” he greets, his voice clipped.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Why?
Why does he have to be here out of all the other places? I was told that he doesn’t step out usually, but everywhere I turn, he is there, catching me in the most humiliating situation imaginable.
I turn away, not wanting to look at him, but my heart betrays me, pounding wildly as my gaze flicks to Zagan. His face is a careful blank as he regards Burke with an arrogant nonchalance. Iblis stands behind him; his expression is unreadable.
I linger by Zagan’s side for a moment longer than I should, waiting for him to defend my honour. He doesn’t. I would like to think that if Nico or Eero were here, they would at least get angry on my behalf.
I wonder when this hope will die.
Why would he stand up for me now? Just because he confronted Kent? Not with Burke—who clearly knows him, considering how easily he reassures Iblis about the private room he arranged for their meeting in Soleil. Why would Zagan risk anything for me when Burke could be useful to him?
When will I stop expecting something from people I know won’t give it? The burn of unshed tears stings at the back of my eyes as I force myself to turn away, taking steady steps down the street.
I quickly text Sean, letting him know I left because I wasn’t feeling well. He doesn’t check it, and I can only hope his patient is safe.
I’m relieved that Burke doesn’t follow. A gust of wind bites at my face, reminding me that I left my coat inside the restaurant, but I don’t dare turn back. I couldn’t care less about the cold. The tears spill over, hot and stinging, but what hurts the most isn’t what Burke said. It’s Zagan’s lack of reaction—his indifference feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
I expected something from him. Anything. But I’m left feeling more alone than ever.