"I don't know," the woman said, her tone sharp as glass.
"I just know you're an opportunistic, rotten son of a bitch who hides behind his good name so he can prey on women left and right."
Her words were harsh, but Ross barely blinked.
Instead, he smiled—slowly, wickedly—as if she'd just paid him a compliment.
He leaned back slightly where he stood, confidence oozing from every movement.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice low, amused, as though he found her outrage endearing.
His eyes never left her face, savoring every flicker of emotion across her features.
Anger. Disgust. But under it all? That glint of fascination she couldn't quite suppress.
He'd seen it before.
Ross Oakley had encountered all types of women—those who worshipped him, those who used him, those who wanted to destroy him—and this one?
She was the rare kind who thought she could resist him.
She wanted to believe she was above it all. That she wouldn't fall like the others.
