Chapter 2
1023 Words
Chapter 2
Viola couldn’t stop thinking about the man from last night.
That smug confidence. That infuriating grin. The audacity to pay her bill without even knowing her name.
She stirred her coffee aggressively, watching the froth swirl like a storm.
You don’t know me. And you won’t, she told herself for the fifth time that morning.
She’d seen men like him before. Rich. Arrogant. Powerful. They always wanted control.
Viola had spent twenty years under a man’s thumb, smiling politely while being emotionally starved. Never again.
She typed with a fury that made her laptop quake beneath her fingertips, her romance manuscript growing darker with every paragraph. Her heroine didn’t fall for the rich stranger.
She stabbed him with a hairpin and stole his wallet.
Now that’s a plot twist.
Mack was already awake before the sun had a chance to yawn.
Shirtless in his high-rise penthouse, he stared out the glass wall at the city below, phone in one hand, strong espresso in the other. Her contact details sat on his screen like a locked door daring him to pick the lock.
“Viola,” he muttered as the name weighed on his tongue. “You think you scare me?”
No woman had ever turned her back on him like that. No one dared.
And that made her dangerous.
He liked danger.
Hyde stepped into the room, fresh from the gym. “So? You calling her?”
Mack didn’t answer. Instead, he slid the phone into his pocket and pulled a shirt over his muscular frame.
“She’s not the kind of woman you call,” he said flatly. “She’s the kind you find.”
Viola left the restaurant early that night. Sam teased her about her “mood,” but Viola brushed it off with a sarcastic smile and a middle finger.
She needed air.
The streets were cooler than usual, a slight breeze teasing the curls she tried to tame into submission. A part of her regretted not bringing a jacket. The other part enjoyed the cold.
She passed the flower vendor on 3rd Street, ignoring the roses.
The romance was a lie wrapped in petals and perfume.
Until she saw him.
Standing across the road.
Leaning against a black car like it belonged to a Bond villain.
Eyes on her. No hesitation. No shame.
Her pulse kicked up. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
He crossed the street slowly, one confident step at a time like he had all the time in the world and knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
When he was close enough to smell—clean soap, leather, a hint of danger—he finally spoke.
“You stormed out last night before I could thank you for your... donation,” Mack said with a slight smirk.
Viola raised a brow. “And you came all the way here to return twenty bucks?”
“No,” he said, his voice low. “I came because you didn’t say thank you.”
She laughed once, short and sharp. “Let me guess—you’re not used to rejection.”
“I’m not used to women walking away.”
“I’m not like your women.”
“I know.”
There it was again—that electricity that vibrated in the silence between them.
He looked at her like he could already see what she wore under her clothes. Not with lust, but with possession.
Like he was already planning the next move on the board.
“You’re bold,” she said, folding her arms. “That’s dangerous in this city.”
“So am I.”
She stepped in, close enough for her scent—lavender and something wild—to wrap around him.
“You should walk away, Mack.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need saving. I don’t need romance. I don’t need... you.”
“But what if I need you?”
That stunned her. Just long enough for him to tuck a card into her palm, his fingers brushing hers—a spark that hit nerve endings and ran straight down her spine.
“Dinner. Tomorrow. If you’re brave enough,” he said, then turned and walked away without waiting for her answer.
Viola stared after him.
Breathless. Angry.
And worst of all, curious.
Viola walked faster than she needed to. Her boots struck the pavement in clipped, purposeful taps. The cool air outside didn’t help—her skin still buzzed from how close he had stood behind her.
The nerve of him. The gall.
The way her stomach had flipped like a schoolgirl’s.
No. Not happening.
She forced herself to think of her manuscript, of deadlines, of how she had promised herself never to fall for charm wrapped in arrogance again.
She was done with dangerous men. Done with swagger.
Done with... dark eyes and Glocks and smirks that made her want to scream and moan at the same time.
Still, her fingers curled around the card again in her pocket.
She stopped mid-step. No.
She pulled the card out and held it between two fingers, staring at the number. It might burn.
Then, with the resolve of a woman who knew better, she walked to the nearest trash can and dropped it in.
And kept walking.
Mack watched her through the café window.
He saw the hesitation.
He saw the way she clutched the card like it meant something—because it did.
Then she dropped it in the trash.
He didn’t smile.
He liked a challenge, sure.
But Viola wasn’t just a game to him.
She was a storm.
And storms weren’t tamed.
They were chased.
He stood there for a second longer, then pulled out his phone and sent a message to someone in his contacts list:
Hyde
She threw it out. Get her a new one. Same number. Different design. Put it in her mailbox by tonight.
A minute later, he got a thumbs-up emoji and a pin-drop confirmation.
Mack tucked his phone away, straightened his jacket, and left the café with quiet confidence.
She might fight him.
But she’d never forget him.
- Writer
