It was what a well-meaning bachelorette party girl had forcibly placed on my head last night while I was drowning my sorrows in a Vegas bar—a fluorescent pink, disturbingly realistic "penis" headband.
My face instantly burned crimson, heat spreading allthe way to my ears. I practically ripped the headband off and stuffed it into my bag, wanting nothing more than to find a hole to crawl into. God, I'd been shouting in the airport terminal wearing that thing!
But the moment I looked at the smug, amused expression on his face—the look of a man who thought he had everything figured out—my embarrassment instantly morphed into an even stronger urge to fight back.
"My taste isn't for you to judge, narcissist." I laughed coldly, my gaze sharply sweeping over his wrist. There, beneath the charcoal suit cuff, a custom cufflink set with black onyx gleamed with cold light, carved with some complex family crest. "Dressed in a bespoke Savile Row suit, sporting a pair of outrageously expensive cufflinks, and showing up in an airport terminal to lecture a woman who has quite obviously just endured the worst night of her life. What's the matter? Are the mergers and acquisitions on Wall Street not entertaining enough for you, so you had to come here and get your ego boost instead?"
The man's eyes darkened slightly, a flash of surprise in those storm-gray depths, quickly replaced by deeper, more dangerous intensity. He clearly hadn't expected me to fight back.
"Sharp observation." He took half a step forward.
Just half a step, but the pressure radiating from him crashed over me like a tidal wave. I instinctively wanted to retreat, but pride nailed me in place. He was too tall—even in boots, I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye.
"But your judgment's nowhere near as good as your observation." He lowered his head slightly, closing the distance between us, voice dropping even lower with a spine-chilling vibration. "If I were you, I wouldn't use that tone with a stranger. You never know who's standing in front of you, little girl."
His gaze turned predatory in that moment, like an apex predator sizing up prey's throat. I could even feel the air thinning around us because of his proximity.
God, he definitely wasn't just some Wall Street elite like I'dsuggested. Those money-counting worms never triggered this kind of danger alarm.
But I had my pride. After Derek's humiliation, I refused to bow before any man again.
"Is that so?" I tilted my chin up, trying to overpower my inner panic with attitude, lips curving into a challenging smile. "Then remember this—whether you're some mafia boss or whatever the hell kind of multinational CEO, in this airport departure area, you and I are just names on boarding passes. Now take your designer suit and your arrogance and get out of my sight."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly—an intensely oppressive micro-expression. I could even see his sharp jawline tighten as his jaw muscles contracted.
Just then, the airport announcement crackled to life.
"Flight AA405 to Washington Dulles International Airport is now boarding first class and business class passengers at gate A12..."
This was the flight I'd just dropped two thousand dollars on.
I didn't spare him another glance. I decisively shoved my phone back into my bag, grabbed my beat-up suitcase with one broken wheel, straightened my spine, and strode past him in my worn-out ankle boots.
"By the way," I paused as I passed him, voice cold enough that only we could hear, "your temper's even more pretentious than your cufflinks. Have a terrible day."
I didn't wait for his response, heading straight for the gate.
Only after joining the boarding queue did I allow myself to relax slightly, exhaling a long breath. My palms were soaked with cold sweat.
Total lunatic.
A self-absorbed prick who looked like a supermodel but had the personality of a viper.
I vowed in my heart never to see that face again.
Though those broad shoulders and predatory aura did fit the standard I'd set for male protagonists in my novels, thatpoisonous personality? Definitely the type who'd make the heroine pull a gun and shoot him in chapter one.
The gate agent looked at my messy hair and wrinkled slip dress, undisguised contempt flashing in her eyes. But when the scanner beeped confirmation of a first-class ticket, her expression instantly froze into comically awkward embarrassment.
I didn't even bother with a fake smile, dragging my broken suitcase into the jet bridge.
The moment I stepped into the cabin, I didn't go straight to my seat. Instead, I headed directly for the first-class lavatory.
I locked the door, finally separating myself from that damn world outside.
The lavatory was small but softly lit, with expensive hand soap and moisturizer by the sink.
I looked up at myself in the mirror.
