Chapter 2
Veronica
I’ve been looking for an apartment for weeks, and nothing.
Well, I found a couple of places, but they are either owned by my family or my cousins, the Korolovs, which is the opposite of what I want.
Looking around at my cousin Caleb’s penthouse, I feel like such a hypocrite.
I left my parents’ house and came here, again.
It’s not like he needs it. Caleb is the eldest of the Korolov brothers.
He, along with his young brother Damon, owns the majority of the clubs and bars in Veridian Bay.
They have businesses worldwide. Like Ian, Caleb will also inherit his family’s empire, which I know expands beyond what I can see.
He would rather stay close to his business, so I get free rein to all his and Damon’s vacant apartments.
I love my cousins, but out of the two, I prefer Caleb’s place.
He’s the more discreet brother. I know I won’t find random, naked women walking around his apartment at all hours of the day.
It must be nice to be a privileged man in this world, where you can do anything and not be picked apart for your choice.
Meanwhile, women are constantly judged for what we do and who we sleep with.
Not that my family has ever judged me. They just want me to be safe.
My friend Berenice offered me her place, but I don’t want to impose on her with all my baggage, literally and figuratively.
Knowing my brothers, they had their lapdog, Miles, do a background check on her.
I hate how intrusive he is. That’s why I keep so many of my relationships a secret—not that I’ve had many.
I’ve tried to go on secret dates, and one time, I made it as far as sitting down at the table when my brothers’ security showed up.
Other times, I was stood up. I can’t even access my dating apps, and I know it’s all Miles’s doing, of course, on my brothers’ orders, but still, he could say no.
I’m not looking for my forever, but a girl has needs.
I don’t discriminate on how my needs are met.
Just as long as I get a great orgasm out of it.
Damn, I need a drink. I open the refrigerator and pull out my chilled wine and the slice of flan that I made a couple of days ago.
I save all my calories for my vices—alcohol and dessert.
I don’t have the healthiest eating habits, but at least I consume my fruit in the form of wine, so that’s something.
I drink one glass after another until the bottle is empty and I feel the buzz.
Looking around the apartment, I feel so small in such a large space.
The penthouse doesn’t feel like a home. Its high ceilings, marble floors, and expensive view of the city scream wealth. It’s a glass-walled cage.
I grew up in a mansion, but it was never too big; if anything, it wasn’t big enough.
I always had friends over, my mother loved hosting parties, and my brothers, well, they were in and out of the house all the time.
My chest aches when I think of those times, of my mother.
I’ve been such a shitty daughter ever since she was diagnosed over a year ago.
Her disease is being managed with medication, and overall, she is well, but she has her bad days.
I grab a second bottle; I need to numb these feelings because I know what comes next: self-loathing and fear.
I know exactly what will help. I grab my purse and look for a pill.
One thing about me is that I’ve become an expert on how to hide my secrets; the occasional use of drugs is one.
The first time I used, I was with my ex-boyfriend.
If my family found out, they would lock me up and throw away the key.
Rummaging through the contents of my purse, I don’t find it.
Instead, I find a business card, one I thought I threw away weeks ago.
I’m desperate, but am I this desperate? I don’t make the best decisions when I’m drunk, and I don’t think I’ll start today.
I refill my wineglass and contemplate my next steps.
I hear a phone ringing in the distance; my head is pounding, my eyelids are heavy, and my mouth is dry.
Shit, how much did I drink? The last thing I remember is finishing my slice of flan and calling Berenice.
The phone keeps ringing. There are two empty bottles of wine on the living room floor, an empty plate, and the contents of my purse are scattered across the floor. Damn, I passed out on the couch. Again.
I follow the ringing and find my phone under the couch.
It’s a local number, but I don’t recognize it.
My throat is so dry; I search for water to quench my thirst. The ringing stops, but the same number calls back.
Rushing to the kitchen, I grab a water from my refrigerator.
I take a couple of sips and set the bottle on the counter.
Feeling like crap doesn’t mean I need to sound like it.
“Hello,” I answer.
“He-hello, Ms. Veronica Kayde?” a woman asks.
“Yes, this is she,” I say with a chipper fake voice. The fake happy girl.
“This is Rebecca from R. Gomez Real Estate. Mr. Cam Villanueva told me to reach out to you and schedule a time to tour apartments.”
What the hell? “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I didn’t agree to tour anything.”
“I’m speaking to Veronica Kayde, correct?” she confirms.
“Yes.”
“There is no mistake. Mr. Villanueva personally called me first thing this morning and told me to schedule tours with you as soon as possible. He also told me to tell you that this is all per your request,” she tells me as a matter-of-fact.
I’m too hungover for this. I pull the phone from my ear and bring up my text messages. I look at the conversation I started in my drunk haze.
Veronica: Hi, this is Veronica Kayde.
Unknown: Hello Veronica, I was expecting you to reach out. What took you so long?
Veronica: I needed a lapse in judgment. Is your offer still open?
Unknown: Hmm. I won’t take that personally. And yes, my offer still stands.
Unknown: I’ll make arrangements.
Unknown: Hello? Are you there?
I don’t remember texting him, but then again, I wouldn’t.
“Hello, Ms. Kayde. Are you there?”
“Ye-Yes. I apologize, but I made a mistake. I won’t be needing Mr. Villanueva’s help after all.”
“He let me know that you may change your mind. He asked me to remind you that the majority of the real estate in Veridian Bay is taken. Owned by your family, to be precise.”
Fuck, he’s right; even in the midst of my hangover, I know that he’s right. Take a deep breath, Veronica. What’s the worst that can happen? A lot, considering I can’t stand the man. Does my freedom outweigh the fact that I can’t stand being in the same room as him?
“Okay, Ms. Gomez. I would like to make a couple of requests before we start looking at places.”
“Very well, Ms. Kayde, and please, call me Becca.” I take a moment to think.
“One, it can’t be near real estate owned by my family, which can be difficult. The other is that it needs to be small, something just for me.”
“I’ve made notes of your requests, Ms. Kayde. I can have a couple of places ready for tomorrow. Does that sound good to you?”
“Yes, Becca. Please send me the addresses with scheduled times.”
“I’ll send that information shortly. Have a wonderful day, Ms. Kayde.” Then she hangs up.
I’m standing in my kitchen, my brain trying to catch up. What just happened? Shit, my head is pounding. A moment later, I feel my phone vibrate, and a message alert appears on the screen.
Unknown: Lunch today at 1. Btw, this is Cam. Save my number.
What the fuck? That is so presumptuous of him.
Veronica: I have plans today.
To sleep
Unknown: Lunch at 1. I’ll send a car if needed. Be ready.
He’s got to be kidding. I’m barely able to function.
I’m curious as to why he’s helping me, since he doesn’t even like me.
It makes no sense. Although he’s my brothers’ friend, we rarely interacted.
It was always Gabe and he, but then he stopped coming around, and it was years later before I saw him again.
By that time, Ian and Caleb were doing their own thing, and Gabe was in his own world.
Our last interaction left me not wanting to ever see him again. It’s my own fault.
Veronica: No need. I’ll be there.
No response. Gee, what a gentleman.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the living room mirror; I’m a mess.
There are days that I can’t stand looking at myself.
Those are the days when my self-loathing is at its peak.
My best days are when I have a full face of makeup on and my outfit is immaculate.
Plus, the occasional drink helps. I drag myself into my bedroom to get ready for lunch.
A couple of hours later, my driver pulls up to the restaurant.
Fuck, I hate having a driver, and by the looks of him, he doesn’t want to be here either.
I can’t fight my family on this, especially after everything I’ve pulled.
And based on my current state, I haven’t learned from my mistakes.
The SUV comes to a stop in front of a small seafood restaurant, my favorite, but I’m not feeling hungry.
There he is, waiting outside. Looking like he owns the place, and he probably does.
If I didn’t dislike him so much, I would admit that he’s very handsome.
He might fool my mother with his charm, but not me.
Maybe that’s why he and my brothers are friends.
They’re all assholes with a god complex, and they can all hurt others without remorse.