Alisha's POV
Let's talk about mistakes.
Small ones, like leaving your coffee on the roof of your car.
Medium ones, like texting your ex "I miss you" when you actually meant to send "I pity you."
And then there are monumental ones.
Like kissing Dominic-freaking-Wayne and liking it.
Correction: Loving it. Something must be wrong with me.
My lips still tingled. My skin still buzzed. And my brain? My brain .....
Fried.
Absolutely deep-fried in spicy oil and dunked in insanity.
I was supposed to hate men. I'd built my identity on the very foundation of mistrust. I read dark romance for the drama not for the experience. So what the heck is happening now.
Yet there I was last night, backed up against a wall like some desperate heroine, kissing a man whose face alone could raise stock prices and whose name was synonymous with danger.
What the hell was I thinking?
Scratch that—what the hell was he doing to me?
One kiss and my knees forgot how to stand. My breath came in stutters. My soul trembled, and I'm not a poetic girl.
I paced my tiny apartment barefoot, hugging a cold glass of juice like it might save me from spontaneous combustion.
"You don't like him," I muttered to myself for the fiftieth time. I think I might be running crazy.
"You can't like him."
Because Dominic Wayne wasn't just powerful.
He was power.
He made men cry in boardrooms and women forget their surnames.
He had a girlfriend, for crying out loud. A stunning, leggy brunette with razor-blade cheekbones and enough seduction in her eyelashes to kill a priest.
And me?
I was Alisha Brandon.
Waitress. Bookworm. Walking daddy issues.
There's this question that have been bugging my mind. How the hell did he know I read novels till early mornings.
And how...how had I found the guts to sass him?
I replayed it all: the way I leaned in and told him to go back to the woman he didn't love. The way I smirked after he kissed me like I was the last taste of sanity he'd ever have.
Where the hell had that boldness come from?
What did I eat that morning - liquid courage and delusion?
"I blame Tessa Bailey," I groaned to the ceiling, dropping onto my tiny bed dramatically. "Reading spicy romance at 3 a.m. has turned me into a menace."
And worse now I couldn't stop wanting more.
Ugh.
---
Saturday.
The dreaded weekend.
The only reason I left my peaceful shoebox of an apartment was because of one person: Grandma Melissa Brandon.
The queen of old money. The only soul in that wretched family who loved me like I mattered. A woman with enough assets to buy an island or two, if she ever stopped spending them on rose gardens and antique tea sets.
Her one rule?
"Come home every weekend. Or I'll send John to drag you by your ears."
(Side note: John may be seventy-two, but the man bench presses gold bars. I don't tempt fate.)
So I packed a bag, glared at my reflection one last time..."Get it together, drama queen"....and headed off to the Brandon estate.
Which brings me to Exhibit A of the Apocalypse: Lauren and Judith.
My half-sisters.
Twin terrors.
Blonde. Glossy. Dead inside.
Their idea of fun included fake crying, designer drama, and making my life hell since we were in diapers.
They greeted me like cats who'd just spotted a mouse in stilettos.
"Well, well," Lauren said, examining her perfect nails. "If it isn't Cinderella without her pumpkin."
Judith popped her gum. "Smell that? It's the scent of public transportation and failed dreams."
I smiled sweetly. "Still jealous Grandma likes me more?"
Judith narrowed her eyes. "We're family."
"Yeah," I replied, "like rats are family when they live in the same sewer."
Lauren gasped like I'd committed war crimes. "You're getting snarky. Has someone been watching too many Netflix thrillers again?"
"Actually," I said, strolling past them, "I've been kissing billionaires and reading about men who spank with their hearts."
Their jaws dropped.
I winked.
And that's when I knew something was up.
Because Lauren smirked. Judith giggled like a squirrel on espresso. And they let me go.
Too easy.
Suspicious.
So I did what any mentally stable woman would do: I tiptoed to my room, checked for booby traps, then locked the door like a paranoid raccoon.
---
Ten minutes later, there was a knock.
Grandma's voice filtered through. "Alisha, darling, come down for tea?"
Of course.
Tea was code for "Let me observe my heirs and see who's worthy of my empire today."
I straightened my blouse, fluffed my curls, and descended into battle.
Lauren and Judith were already seated, looking angelic in pale pastels. The scent of lavender and evil hung thick in the air.
Grandma poured tea with her usual regal flair. "So, girls, how was the week?"
Lauren leaned forward, blinking innocently. "I passed my yoga instructor course. Judith's working on her fashion line."
Judith nodded. "And we've been very health conscious lately."
I sipped my tea. "Fascinating."
Then Lauren turned to me, eyes twinkling. "And Alisha? Any bad habits you've picked up? Something...unladylike, perhaps?"
Uh-oh.
Red alert.
Grandma looked up, curious. "Bad habits?"
Judith produced a small, evil smile. "Like smoking, maybe?"
My cup froze midair.
Grandma's brows rose. "Alisha? You smoke?"
I laughed. "Only when I'm on fire. Which, last I checked, isn't often."
Lauren giggled. "Funny. Because we found something."
And like two game show hosts revealing a prize, they pulled out a ziplock bag of cigarette butts.
"Oh my god," I said, genuinely impressed. "You went full forensic files."
Judith pouted. "We found them right outside your bedroom window."
"I sleep on the second floor."
"Maybe you...leaned out?"
I deadpanned. "With a lit cigarette and no balcony? Am I Spider-Man?"
Grandma looked skeptical.
They leaned in for the kill.
Then I smiled.
Because I had a secret weapon.
I stood, walked to the French doors, and called out sweetly, "Mr. Barton?"
The gardener shuffled in, hat in hand.
"Yes, Miss Alisha?"
"Where do you smoke your breaks?"
He blinked. "Under your window, ma'am. You're the only room with shade."
I turned, slowly, to face my lovely sisters.
Judith's face drained of color.
Lauren's mouth flapped like a confused goldfish.
Grandma stared.
Then snorted.
Then laughed - full belly laugh.
"Oh, girls," she said, wiping her eyes. "You're too obvious. Stop watching reality TV for strategy."
They fumed silently and I inwardly laughed at their stupid tricks. There schemes compare to Maggie was nothing. Maggie , my step-mother was someone I couldn't match up against and I don't think I will ever do.
---
Later that night, I curled on the balcony with a mug of tea, staring at the stars.
Dominic's face hovered in my mind again.
The way his lips crushed mine like he wanted to erase the space between us. The way his eyes had burned like he hated wanting me.
He was dangerous.
But maybe I was too.
I wasn't that shy girl anymore.
Maybe all the pain, all the rejection, all the trauma - they'd built a woman who didn't back down. Who could handle cold CEOs, jealous twins, and fake smoking scandals.
Maybe I was the main character.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One text:
" Let's meet up" I have something important to discuss "
Nope never again. I have to stay clear from this man.