[Let's have a date.]
A text message popped up unexpectedly.
Emily Greyson ignored it at first, dismissing it as nonsense. But within seconds, another message followed.
[Are you free?]
Then another.
[Can I talk to you privately?]
[Tonight...]
[Right now!]
Her phone vibrated relentlessly, filling the quiet room with its sharp alerts.
Emily's frustration bubbled over. She was still seething from her father's shameless words earlier, his audacity suffocating her, making it hard to breathe.
Her anger pulsed beneath her skin, raw and consuming. She wanted to hit something, anything—to unleash the fury clawing at her chest.
She glanced at the screen again, irritated beyond reason. Whoever was texting her was just another annoyance on a night already ruined.
[I don't date men with a small p*nis, an impotent loser who's lousy in bed. Get lost and f*ck yourself! Stop bothering me, you jerk!]
She hit send without hesitation.
Whoever this arrogant idiot was, he needed a harsh reminder to leave her alone.
She had no patience for men who thought they could toy with her. Not tonight. Not ever.
Only a few people knew her number.
Her club manager.
Brian Xavier—her childhood best friend, her lifeline when everything crumbled.
Mr. Chris Stanley—her favorite teacher.
And the last person—the man she despised most.
Her father.
Just hours ago, he had resurfaced, trying to force her into signing away her mother's house for his mistress's demands.
Five years had passed since she cut him out of her life, and since he was happy with his new family, her father never contacted her, not even to offer simple greetings on her birthday or Christmas.
Yet now, here he was again.
Emily's stomach churned.
This wasn't just about selling the house.
Her father was ruthless.
And this time, he wouldn't stop until he had her signature—no matter what it took.
No way!
There is no f*cking way!
Emily needed to hide.
Desperately.
Her father must never find out where she lived, where she studied. But Brian couldn't shield her forever. She had to act before it was too late.
Releasing a breath, she tried to calm herself. After sending her furious reply to the relentless texter, she felt a flicker of relief. Her heart still pounded with irritation, but at least she had vented some of her frustration.
Then her phone rang.
Her stomach twisted.
The same number.
Her irritation spiked as she tightened her grip, ready to unleash hell on this arrogant idiot. She swiped to answer, voice sharp with anger.
"Wanna try me and prove it?"
A smooth, teasing voice poured through the speaker, rich and undeniably seductive.
Emily froze.
Her veins twitched, her ears burned, her pulse hammered wildly.
This man wasn't just arrogant.
He was dangerous.
A psycho.
A pervert.
Her eyes darted around her surroundings, searching for anyone lurking in the shadows. Was he nearby? Watching her?
She exhaled sharply. No one.
Just as she prepared to scold him, the call ended.
"Ugh!" she growled in frustration, heat flaring across her cheeks in anger and disgust.
Fine. If this jerk thought he could intimidate her, he had another thing coming.
She quickly typed her response, smirking as she hit send.
[If you were actually good in bed, you wouldn't need to boast to random girls. You sound desperate for attention. Maybe just be happy with what little d*ck you have. Confidence is the key, though… Pervert.]
Satisfied, she blocked the number.
Out of impulse, she kicked a tin can down the street, enjoying the metallic clatter as it hit a post. She could only imagine how furious the mystery man was now.
The sound echoed through the night.
She quickly crossed the street, avoiding patrolling officers, making her way toward the bus station.
Then…
A sleek sports car suddenly skidded to a stop right in front of her, blocking her path.
A Bugatti La Voiture Noire.
She had seen it in a newspaper just the other day, flipping past an article as a bus passenger beside her read it aloud.
She never thought she'd see one in person.
Emily frowned.
Expensive car or not, the driver had no right to stop like this, obstructing the sidewalk. Did he think he owned the road?
Was he drunk?
If so, he had no business behind the wheel, endangering people.
She sighed heavily.
Of all nights, she had to deal with endless madness.
Rolling her eyes, she turned to walk the other way, refusing to engage. She had no patience for yet another reckless idiot.
Then the car's window rolled down.
And the driver's face emerged.
Emily froze.
Her breath hitched, her heart skipping wildly as her eyes widened in shock.
She stared.
Then stared again.
Then...
"Wow!"
The exclamation burst from her lips before she could stop it.
She knew this man.
Adored him.
Loved him.
The man who had kept her going in her darkest days.
The man whose existence had given her something to look forward to.
The one person she secretly cherished from afar.
Charles Adam.
The global superstar.
Emily's jaw fell open.
She couldn't believe it.
Charles looked like a Greek god: tall, broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, intense eyes that held the mysteries of a world no one could access. His every feature was designed to captivate. His elegance, his poise, his commanding presence, everything about him was almost surreal.
People said Charles was God's favorite creation.
Emily believed it.
She blinked rapidly, trying to confirm that this was real.
She pinched her arm...
"Ouch!"
Okay, so she wasn't dreaming.
But was she dead?
Was this heaven?
Was Charles an angel?
She shook her head, forcing herself to snap out of her ridiculous thoughts.
But it was hard.
This night had been a disaster until now.
Emily stood rooted in place, unable to speak, unable to look away, afraid that if she blinked too long, he might vanish.
Then...
Charles raised his hand, his fingers moving in a silent invitation.
Emily felt herself step forward, almost subconsciously.
Who could resist?
The superstar himself was summoning her.
Dream or reality... she didn't care anymore.
The car door opened.
Charles tilted his head, silently waiting.
And without hesitation...
She entered.
Charles smirked, but the meaning behind it was unreadable.