That bastard.

Your boyfriend cheated on you—with your so-called best friend. You found out just hours ago, and the rage hadn’t left your chest since. Every heartbeat pulsed with betrayal. Tonight, you weren’t crying. You weren’t begging.

You were ending it. And you were going to make sure it hurt.

Fueled by fury and adrenaline, you stormed into the luxury hotel they were staying in. You had tracked the room number easily—he wasn’t exactly smart when it came to secrets. You marched through the elevator and down the hall, heels echoing on polished marble.

But in your blind rage, you slammed open the wrong door.

And entered a VIP suite.

The man inside looked up from a glass of whiskey. Dark, tailored suit. Sharp jawline. Eyes like ice and fire all at once. He didn’t look surprised. More like… mildly intrigued.

You stammered, ready to apologize—but then froze.

An idea flickered.

Why not turn the tables?

You looked back toward the balcony, and through the divider, you could see them—him, and her. Laughing. Comfortable. Your blood boiled.

You turned back to the stranger.

He was watching you now, one brow raised.

Without overthinking, you marched up to him, grabbed his shirt, and gave him a firm push toward the balcony.

He let you—amused, clearly—but said nothing as you tugged him into view. The moment your ex-boyfriend saw you, his smile died.

He stood up abruptly, storming to the edge of his balcony.

“What the hell?!” he shouted.

He recognized the suite instantly—exclusive, private, expensive. The kind of place he couldn’t afford. He tried to cross the divider, but hotel security appeared like ghosts, holding him back with cool professionalism.

You smirked. Perfect.

You leaned against the railing, your arm draped lazily around the stranger beside you like he was yours. Your ex’s face twisted in anger and confusion. Your former best friend paled, her fake smile dropping.

Victory had never tasted so sweet.

Until…

The stranger beside you tilted his head. You barely turned to look at him when—suddenly—he swept you off your feet, muscles moving with effortless strength.

“Wha—HEY!”

Before you could react, he tossed you clean off the balcony—into the pool below.

You hit the water with a splash, the shock stealing your breath. You surfaced moments later, soaked and gasping, hair plastered to your face as you whipped your head toward the balcony, furious.

He was leaning casually over the railing, that same damn smirk on his face. Cool. Unbothered. Deadly charming.

Then he turned, walked back inside, and shut the curtains.

You dragged yourself out of the pool, shivering, furious, mascara streaked and pride dented—but something inside you… sparked.

You stormed back to your car, teeth clenched, muttering under your breath.

“This isn’t over, you arrogant bastard…”

And in your heart, you already knew.

It definitely wasn’t.