“Take my clothes off?” Katherine laughed—a high, manic, completely unhinged sound. She didn’t move to touch her hoodie. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Are you out of your mind? My life is completely falling apart, David! Sean froze my cards. All of them! I was at lunch with Lacey, and they declined my card on a live stream! In front of thousands of people! I had to beg for money just to get my car out of the valet!”
David stared at her, his dark eyes narrowing into terrifying slits. He was actively bleeding out professionally. His fifty-million-dollar fee had just been incinerated, his managing partner was likely drafting his termination papers right now, and the woman he was risking it all for was throwing a temper tantrum about a declined brunch bill.
The glamorous, sexy illusion of his vibrant, twenty-nine-year-old mistress violently shattered.
He didn’t see a goddess anymore. He saw exactly what she was: a shallow, dependent, utterly useless burden.
“You are crying to me about a live stream?” David hissed, his voice dripping with pure, concentrated acid. He took a step toward her, his imposing frame entirely threatening in the small room. “I just lost a three-billion-dollar merger, Katherine! My firm is being audited by the SEC! I am about to lose my partnership, and you are standing here whining about your fucking avocado toast and your pathetic little spin instructor friends?”
Katherine flinched, but she didn’t back down. The desperation made her vicious.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she screamed, her face twisting into an ugly, furious sneer. “I am in this mess because of you! If Sean found out, it’s because you couldn’t keep your hands off me! You promised me you would take care of me! What am I supposed to do without money, David? Huh? I don’t have anything!”
“You’ve never had anything!” David roared back, the absolute ugliness of their affair finally boiling over. He pointed a shaking finger at her face. “You’re a leech! You’re a parasite who lives off a billionaire’s wallet because you have absolutely nothing else to offer the world! The only thing you are good for is opening your legs, and you can’t even do that right now!”
Katherine gasped, her eyes going wide with absolute, horrified shock. The brutal, naked cruelty of his words hit her like a physical blow.
But the shock only lasted a second before it hardened into pure, venomous hatred.
“You arrogant, pathetic bastard,” Katherine spat, her voice trembling with absolute malice. She stepped directly into his space, aiming her claws directly at his bleeding, shattered ego. “You think you’re so powerful? You’re a joke, David. You’re a failing, miserable old man who’s about to be completely broke. The only reason you even come to these disgusting motels is because you need to cheat on your gorgeous wife just to get your dick hard!”
The words hit their mark with devastating precision.
Something inside David snapped entirely. The rage blinded him. He lunged forward, his hands wrapping roughly around her waist, and violently shoved her backward. Katherine hit the cheap veneer dresser with a harshthud, her breath rushing out of her lungs.
“Get off me!” she shrieked, her nails violently raking down his forearms, drawing thin lines of blood.
But she didn’t push him away. The fight, the screaming, the mutual, toxic destruction ignited a sick, entirely abrasive spark between them. Katherine hooked her hands into the lapels of his ruined suit jacket, yanking him forcefully against her body, her mouth crashing against his. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a collision of teeth and bruised lips.
David tore at her sweatpants, completely uncaring of the fabric tearing. He yanked his own zipper down. There was no foreplay, no gentle worship, no breathless praises of how beautiful she was. He lifted her by the thighs, slamming her back against the dresser, and thrust into her dry, unready heat with a brutal, punishing force.
Katherine let out a sharp, painful cry, her fingers digging viciously into his back.
They hate-fucked each other in the suffocating silence of the cheap room. It was mechanical. It was entirely stripped of passion, thrill, or the forbidden rush that used to sustain them. The friction was agonizing, burning rather than bringing relief. Every hard, fast thrust was a punishment—David punishing her for being useless, and Katherine punishing him for his spectacular failures. There was absolutely no pleasure in it. It was just two miserable, drowning people desperately trying to use each other’s bodies to climb out of the dark, only to drag each other further down.
When David finally, mechanically finished, he pulled out immediately. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t offer a towel or a kiss. He coldly zipped his pants, grabbed his ruined tie off the floor, and walked out the door without a single word.
Chapter 17
Rosália
The assassination of Katherine Cole’s career did not happen in a sterile, fluorescent-lit boardroom, nor did it require the aggressive, loud brutality that David used in his corporate warfare.
It happened over a plate of perfectly seared Chilean sea bass, amidst the delicate chime of Baccarat crystal and the heavy, almost suffocating scent of white lilies.
Rosália sat perfectly poised at the center of a circular table in the private dining room of theLeighton Club. She was surrounded by five of the most powerful, unimaginably wealthy matriarchs in the city. These were women who did not work, but who effortlessly controlled the social and financial currents of high society with a single, manicured wave of their hands. They were also the exact demographic Katherine relied upon for her exorbitant, thousand-dollar-an-hour private Pilates sessions.
David had always arrogantly assumed that true power only existed in corner offices and courtrooms. He was a fool. As Rosália took a small, elegant sip of her sparkling water, she felt the intoxicating, dangerous thrill of real power vibrating in her veins. This was her arena.
“I must admit, Rosália,” Melanie Rosevelt murmured over the gold rim of her teacup. Melanie was a formidablewoman whose family owned half the commercial real estate in the district; a single word from her could bankrupt a small business. “You are handling Sean’s... rather tragic midlife crisis with far more grace than I ever could. The girl is so terribly loud. And that wardrobe. It screamsnew money.”
Rosália offered a soft, perfectly calibrated, melancholic smile. She carefully dabbed the corner of her mouth with a pressed linen napkin. She had spent ten years meticulously building a flawless reputation among these women as a refined, devoted wife and a brilliant gallery director. She had their absolute, unquestioning loyalty. She was one of them; Katherine was just the hired help who had overstepped.
“Sean is a dear, dear friend, Melanie,” Rosália sighed. Her voice was laced with the perfect amount of hesitant, fabricated pity, drawing the women closer. “But I do worry for him. The absolute lack of discretion is staggering. I heard through the estate manager that the girl’s financial situation has recently become quite... desperate.”
The atmosphere at the table instantly shifted. The polite, breezy chatter evaporated as the women collectively scented blood in the water.
“Desperate?” another woman whispered, leaning in so closely her diamond chandelier earrings caught the ambient light, casting sharp prisms across the tablecloth.
