I THOUGHT I LOVED HIM, UNTIL I FELL FOR MY BESTFRIEND'S BOYFRIEND.

CHAPTER THREE

MARCUS



I watched her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her like air from a punctured tire. She dropped her forehead onto her folded arms on the bar, brown waves spilling over her hands.

“Please, Marcus…” Her voice cracked, small and raw. “I really need to go. If I don’t, Damian will think I’m just… a fat loser.”

The word hit me like a slap. She said it so quietly, like it was already carved into her bones.

I bowed my head, hiding the laugh that wanted to escape—not at her, never at her—but at how blind the world was. She had no idea how she looked right now: cheeks flushed, lips trembling, eyes glassy with unshed tears. Innocent. Devastating.

Something sharp twisted in my chest. I wanted to hunt down every person who’d ever made her believe that lie. Starting with the asshole whose name I couldn’t even bother remembering right.

“Your ex?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She nodded against her arms, not looking up.

I leaned closer, elbows on the cool marble counter. My gaze slid over her without permission—thick thighs pressed together on the stool, the soft curve of her waist, the way her breasts rose and fell with each shaky breath. My blood heated. My jaw tightened.

She was destroying my control without even trying.

“Marcus, are you listening?”

I blinked, dragged my eyes back to her face. “What were you saying?”

She lifted her head just enough to peek at me, arms still crossed protectively over her chest like she could hide the body I couldn’t stop staring at. “Damian thinks no guy would ever want to be seen with me. Because… I’m fat.”

Her fingers tightened around her upper arms, nails digging in slightly. Shame radiated off her in waves.

I almost laughed again, this time in pure disbelief. That prick had convinced this woman, this woman, that her body was something to apologize for?

I straightened, wiping down a glass I’d already cleaned twice. “And you want to go to his party… to prove him wrong?”

She didn’t answer with words. Just a soft, broken sound that turned into a sob she tried to swallow.

My chest caved.

She cried quietly, shoulders shaking, trying so hard not to fall apart in front of me.

Something snapped inside me, quiet, but final.

I couldn’t let her keep bleeding like this.

“Okay, Poppy.” I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “Stop crying. I’ll go with you.”

Her head snapped up. Tears clung to her lashes, but her whole face lit up, eyes wide, lips parted, hope flooding in so fast it nearly knocked me over.

God, that smile. I felt it in my gut. In my blood.

“But,” I added, leaning in until she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze, “one condition.”

She bounced slightly in her seat, eager. “Anything.”

“You wear what I choose.”

I handed her the dress later that night, deep red, backless, hem high enough to show every inch of those thighs I couldn’t stop thinking about.

She stared at it as it might bite her. “Marcus… It’s too short. Too much.”

“We made a deal, pretty.” I folded my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You wear it, or I don’t go.”

She sighed, heavy, defeated, and disappeared into the dressing room.

Minutes later, she stepped out.

I forgot how to breathe.

The fabric clung to her like it was painted on, dipping low between her breasts, skimming her waist, stopping just beneath the curve of her ass. Her back, smooth, bare, soft, begged for my hands. My mouth.

She tugged at the hem, shifting her weight, arms crossing over her stomach again. “I feel ridiculous.”

I stepped closer, slowly. “You look like sin, Poppy. Trust me.”

Her cheeks burned. She bit her lip, eyes dropping to the floor.

I wanted to kiss that doubt right off her mouth.

At the party, heads turned the second we walked in.

She stayed close to my side, fingers nervously pulling at the dress every few steps. Her hair was swept up in a messy bun, exposing the delicate line of her neck. The red against her skin made her glow.

“You look amazing,” I murmured, brushing my knuckles against her lower back, bare, warm. She shivered under the touch.

Sharon arrived, eyes lighting up as she took in the dress, spinning Poppy with a delighted squeal. Poppy laughed, soft, surprised, like she hadn’t expected to feel beautiful tonight.

I checked my phone, giving them space, when a shadow fell over me.

Lucas.

He didn’t speak, just stared, jaw tight, eyes dark.

“A minute?” he said finally, voice clipped.

I followed him to the lobby.

The second we were alone, he grabbed my shirt, fist twisting the fabric hard.

“Why the hell would you let her wear that?” he hissed, face inches from mine. “She’s sensitive about her body, you asshole.”

I went still. Then slowly peeled his fingers off my shirt, smoothing the wrinkles with deliberate calm.

I smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Funny. You seem really concerned for a guy who’s here with someone else.”

His eyes flickered. Guilt. Anger. Want.

“Do you like her?” I asked quietly.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

That was enough.

I stepped closer, voice low and dangerous. “Then stay in your lane, Lucas. She’s with me tonight.”

I walked away before he could respond, blood simmering.

Back in the hall, my gaze landed on him, Damian, arm around a sharp-featured blonde I recognized too well.

Margaret. My ex.

I laughed under my breath, bitter and cold.

Had he traded Poppy for her?

I glanced at the woman beside me, soft, radiant, pulling nervously at red silk that hugged every curve he’d convinced her to hate.

My hand settled possessively at the small of her back.

Tonight, he was going to watch what he threw away.

And regret every second of it.

Margaret’s face drained of color the moment she saw me. Her manicured fingers slipped from Damian’s arm like she’d touched something hot. Good. She should feel sick.

I met her eyes with cold disgust, letting it linger long enough for her to squirm.

“Hi… Marcus… long time,” she stammered, voice thin.

Heads turned. Whispers rippled. Of course, they recognized me. Of course, they remembered the scandal.

“Margaret,” I said, tasting the name like poison. “So you’re the one he’s marrying. How perfectly ironic.”

I slid my arm around Poppy’s waist and pulled her flush against my side. Her body went rigid, shoulders tight, breath catching. Damian’s effect on her was instant, like a reflex she couldn’t control.

Margaret’s mouth opened. “She’s your—”

“My girlfriend,” I cut in, loud enough for the circle around us to hear. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Poppy’s head snapped up, eyes wide and confused. I smiled down at her, soft, reassuring, and brushed my lips against her forehead. A real kiss. Warm. Claiming.

Damian’s jaw locked. His eyes darkened, flicking between us. Jealousy looked ugly on him.

Perfect.

He cleared his throat. “Can I have a minute with Poppy?”

My grip tightened on her hip. She shifted, already starting to pull away, old habits, old wounds making her pliant.

No. Not tonight.

“Why?” I asked, voice flat and hard. My free hand slid into my pocket, casual, but every muscle in my body coiled.

Poppy glanced up at me, brows drawn together. She didn’t understand yet.

Damian backed down, arm curling around Margaret again. They retreated, her still staring at me like a ghost had walked in.

I loosened my hold only when they were gone. My thumb stroked Poppy’s cheek, gentle now.

“You don’t have to listen to a word he says, pretty,” I murmured. “You’re mine tonight.”

Across the room, Lucas glared like he wanted to put his fist through my face. Sharon just looked relieved.

The party dragged on. Sharon and Lucas disappeared. Poppy and I ended up at a quiet table, the air between us thick with unspoken things. She kept tugging the hem of her dress down, crossing and uncrossing her arms over her chest.

“Why were you so protective back there?” she finally asked, voice small.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because he’s the one who made you believe you’re not good enough. That you’re… fat.”

She flinched, arms tightening around herself again. “He’s not wrong.”

The words hit me like a punch.

I stood so fast that the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “What the hell, Poppy?”

I couldn’t stay sitting. Couldn’t watch her shrink into herself.

“You are f*****g beautiful,” I said, voice rough. “I’d kill to have you. Stop repeating that bastard’s lies.”

Then I walked out, fast, before I said something worse. The cool night air in the garage helped, barely. My phone buzzed. Williams, drunk and loud as expected.

“Not now,” I muttered, hanging up.

I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaled hard. I snapped at her. She didn’t deserve that.

I went back inside to apologize.

She wasn’t at the table.

A fresh glass of wine sat untouched where she’d been. I scanned the crowd, nothing. My stomach tightened.

Ten minutes. Twenty. Still nothing.

I found a woman leaving the restroom. “Looking for a woman in a red dress, curvy, brown hair?”

She blushed. “Saw someone like that. Talking to the groom. They went toward the guest rooms.”

Blood roared in my ears.

I moved fast, shoving doors open, slamming them shut, until I found them.

Damian is on top of her. Dress ripped. Her skin was exposed. Her eyes were glassy, her body arching into his touch like she wanted it.

But she didn’t. I knew the second I saw her face, unfocused, desperate, wrong.

Drugged.

Rage exploded through me, white-hot.

I crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Damian by the back of his neck, and threw him off her. He hit the floor hard.

“What the—” he started.

I didn’t listen. I was already at Poppy’s side, pulling the blanket over her trembling body. She clung to me instantly, fingers twisting in my shirt, pulling me down, lips searching for mine, hot and frantic.

He hadn’t just drugged her. He’d given her something vicious. Something that turned her body against her mind.

Damian scrambled for his clothes and ran.

Coward.

Poppy whimpered, legs falling open, hands guiding mine lower. “Touch me… please…”

I fought her grip, gently, firmly, covering her again and again. But she was burning up, restless, tears of frustration in her eyes.

I knew how this worked. Owned clubs long enough to see it too many times. The only way to bring her down safely was to let her body finish what the drug started.

I hated every second of it.

But I hated him more.

“I’m sorry, pretty,” I whispered in her ear.

I pinned her wrists gently above her head with one hand. Kissed her deep and slow. Let my fingers slide between her thighs, wet, trembling, aching.

She moaned into my mouth as I circled her c**t, slow at first, then faster when her hips chased my hand.

“Please… let me c*m, Marcus,” she gasped, voice breaking.

Those words nearly undid me.

“c*m for me, baby.”

She shattered, back arching, a broken cry tearing from her throat, body shaking through wave after wave until she went limp, breathless, finally still.

I tasted her on my fingers, sweet, intoxicating, and watched her drift into heavy, exhausted sleep.

Worst mistake of my life. And the only thing I could have done.

I sat on the couch across from the bed, head in my hands, staring at her peaceful face.

The door burst open. Sharon rushed in, handing over her mouth. Lucas, behind her, face thunderous.

“I can’t believe that bastard,” Sharon whispered, brushing hair from Poppy’s face.

Lucas jerked his head, come outside.

I followed, closing the door softly.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Why is she half-naked?”

I folded my arms. “Why do you care so much, Lucas?”

He stepped closer, fists clenched. “She’s my friend too.”

“Funny. You act like a hell of a lot more than a friend.”

His jaw worked. Eyes flashed.

I leaned in. “I’m taking her on a real date when this is over. We’ll do this right. So back off. Focus on your girlfriend.”

I walked away before he could answer.

He was the last thing on my mind.

Poppy was the only thing that mattered now.

And I wasn’t letting anyone hurt her again.