His Crimson Obsession

Chapter twelve — Who is she?

Selena’s POV

The steam curled against my skin, sticky and sweet, and I sank into the spa chair like it was a throne made just for me. God, I deserved this. Two attendants hovered—one pressing cucumber water into my hand, the other dangling a tray of tiny sandwiches I never actually eat but like having around.

My girls were there too, chirping praises like trained songbirds.

“Selena, your skin is glowing,” one breathed, clutching my hand like I was gold.

“You’re literally unreal,” another—whose name I don’t even know—said, wide-eyed with envy. “Nigel is insane if he doesn’t want you. He’s missing out. You’re a goddess.”

Compliments rolled off me. I enjoyed the praise and worship—I lived for it. Smirking, I raised my champagne. “Nigel’s just playing hard to get. That’s all it ever is. He can’t stay away from me. He always comes back.”

“Of course he would. There’s nobody more perfect for him than you,” one of the girls—Annie, I think—said.

They clapped and giggled, filling the air with the sound of my importance. Perfect. Just as it should be. Me, the center of attention. I ruled here.

“Sel… um, I heard some rumors about the prince—Nigel,” one of them said, fidgeting nervously.

I lowered my glass. “Spit it out, Sofia. What rumors?”

“Um… my name is not Sofia, it’s Antonia, and—”

“I don’t give a damn what your name is. Tell me what you heard,” I snapped.

Her eyes darted to the others, then back to me. “They’re saying… Nigel’s been interested in a new girl lately.”

The word hit harder than I expected. Nigel… interested in someone else?

“People have been seeing him a lot at Angels recently,” she continued. “Which is strange, because the only club he frequents is Devil’s Weep. He doesn’t care about the other bars downtown.”

“So people think he has a f**k toy at Angels? That’s why he’s going there?”

“Well…” She hesitated, glancing at the others.

I slammed my glass on the table, shattering it. The girls and attendants flinched.

“Speak before I use the next glass on your head,” I hissed.

“There’s a girl who always goes to his VIP lounge whenever he’s at Angels. Some say she’s the only one he allows to serve him. That she’s his new playmate.” Antonia’s voice was close to breaking.

My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it. But I forced a brittle laugh. “Ridiculous. Nigel doesn’t look at anyone. Not unless I want him to.”

“Who’s the b***h trying to cross me? Tell me who the f**k she is!” I screamed.

“We don’t know. She’s not someone in our circle,” Annie said quickly.

In frustration, I yanked the curlers from my hair and threw them to the floor. This couldn’t be happening. Nigel couldn’t actually have someone new.

“Miss Selena… please calm down, here, have some punch,” one of the attendants stammered.

I took the glass—and poured the drink on her face. “Don’t f*****g tell me to calm down.” Grabbing my bag, I turned to my girls. “Let’s go. My mood is ruined by the awful service here.”

On the drive back, I made a call. “Dig into a girl for me. Money is no object. I need answers.”

A week later, an envelope slid across my bed, dropped off by the investigator I’d hired. I sat cross-legged on my velvet sheets, nails drumming against glossy photos.

And then I saw her.

The waitress who’d dared humiliate me at the gala.

Gabriella Rossi.

My breath stuttered, then hissed out. “That bitch.”

Her life was pathetic. A father drowning in debt and life support, odd jobs just to scrape by. Dirt poor. Obviously, she was only with Nigel for his money.

…

That’s how I found myself standing outside a dingy café, arms folded, big black glasses covering my eyes. People stared, of course they did. I radiated wealth. My Birkin bag alone could feed their families through winter.

The café smelled of burnt espresso and cheap pastries. My lip curled. She really worked here? The girl who’d somehow stolen Nigel Caruso’s attention? This was it? How pitiful.

I spotted her behind the counter, hair tied back carelessly, hands moving fast as she served some tired-looking man in a suit. I almost laughed. This was the girl I’d been losing sleep over? This was who people whispered about?

Nigel interested in her? Please. She’d bewitched him, stolen his attention from me.

But I wasn’t here to spiral. I was here for her. To face her. To show her who the real queen was.

When her shift ended, she slipped out the front door, jacket tied around her waist. Perfect.

“Hey,” I called.

She turned, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

The question cut deeper than I expected. I had imagined recognition, a flinch, embarrassment. But she looked at me like I was no one.

A bitter laugh curled in my throat. “Of course you don’t,” I snapped. “You wouldn’t know class if it spat in your face.”

She blinked, then tilted her head. Slowly, too slowly, her expression shifted. Her lips parted into a smile.

“Ohhh,” she said, dragging it out. “I remember you.”

My chest tightened.

“You’re that spoiled little rich brat I slapped at the gala. The one who threw her drink on me and then cried about it.” She laughed. “Wow. Guess I left quite the impression. Are you here to demand I pay for your dress or something?”

The alley felt smaller, hotter. That slap had haunted me. The sting, the whispers, Nigel’s eyes on me. And now she smiled about it.

“That slap,” I spat, stepping closer, “was the biggest mistake of your life.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with infuriating ease. “Yeah? Funny thing about mistakes—I don’t really lose sleep over them. Guess that makes us different.”

My teeth ground together. Different? She thought she was better than me? Because Nigel looked at her?

“You think you’re safe because he looks your way,” I said, voice trembling. “But girls like you don’t last. You’re nothing but a cheapskate. He’ll get tired of you soon enough.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she blinked. “Who’s he?”

I yanked an envelope from my bag and threw it at her chest. “Money. More than you’ll ever see in your pathetic life. Take it and vanish. Nigel isn’t yours. He never will be.”

She opened it. Counted it. Tucked it away. My smirk widened—she knew her place. But then her eyes cut into mine.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not scared of you. I don’t give a damn about you.” She stepped closer, voice like glass. “But let’s get one thing clear—you don’t own me. You can shove your little threats up your ass. No rich b***h intimidates me. Those bills won’t pay themselves, so thanks for the cash.”

My smirk died.

She leaned in, mocking. “And Nigel? Keep chasing, sweetheart. From here, all I see is desperation. You can f*****g have him. And tell him to stay the f**k away from me—I don’t want drama.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder, brushed past me, and walked away. With my money.

I stood rooted in the alley, chest heaving, humiliation burning like acid, fists trembling.

“This isn’t over. Not even close! You hear me?” I screamed at her retreating back.

Later that night, I shredded her photo into tiny pieces, scattering them across the floor.

“She thinks she can humiliate me again. She thinks she can take Nigel? Over my dead body. Over hers.”

My phone buzzed on the dresser. Unknown number. I ignored it.

It buzzed again. Persistent.

I snatched it up. “Who the f**k is this?”

A voice purred back—low, dark, impossible to place.

My rage stilled. A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.

“Well,” I whispered. “Isn’t this… interesting?”