Engaged to My Sister. Obsessed With Me.

Chapter 2- RHEA'S POV

12 HOURS AGO pt2...

“Can you f*****g relax? She’s in the bathroom. You’re being paranoid.”

My head snapped back, anger flooding my chest. “I should relax? She almost died because of you!”

Mike sighed, setting down what looked like his fifth glass before turning to face me. “I’m not going to lie—I don’t like you. You’re Lana’s friend, so I have to tolerate you. So please, leave me the f**k alone.”

I was about to fire back when Lana returned—and immediately kissed him like she’d been starving for it. I wasn’t great at hiding my facial expressions.

She giggled, standing on her toes as he whispered something in her ear, his hand gripping her ass. I just stood there, watching—not jealousy, just irritation.

They finally pulled apart.

Thank God.

Lana looked at me like she already knew I wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “We’re going to a hotel.”

I shook my head in disapproval. “No. We came here together, we’re going home together,” I emphasized.

“She doesn’t need your approval,” Mike cut in, and I shot him a sharp side-eye.

“I’ll be fine,” Lana said, swaying slightly. “It’s my birthday. What’s the worst that can happen?”

She was drunk. Completely drunk.

Before I could argue, Mike grabbed her hand and led her out. She turned back just long enough to blow me a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

I placed one hand on my waist and rubbed my temple with the other, trying to keep myself from losing it.

After a moment, I forced myself to calm down.

Then I headed to my car—following them.

The things we did for friendship.

The ride was about fifteen minutes. I reached two minutes after them, just in time to watch them step into the elevator.

Corny-ass Mike.

I felt a bit relieved that she was safe at least. It was past midnight, and the hotel was quiet.

My eyes drifted to the bar around the corner.

I could really use a drink.

I booked a room quickly and sat by the counter. “Coke, please,” I ordered, and the bartender poured it.

An exhausted yawn escaped me, and I noticed the man sipping his drink beside me.

Every detail was impossible to ignore—white button-down shirt, black trousers, sharp jawline, jet-black hair swept to one side.

“Your drink.” The bartender slid it to me, and my eyes finally drifted away from him.

"That’s not a good option.” A deep, calm, enticing voice said beside me, and I immediately turned to him.

The sexy looking man beside me.

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” I snapped, trying to sound confident, even though his voice did something to me.

He finally looked at me, and my throat tightened. Brown eyes, Cupid’s bow lips, stubble brushing his jaw—I felt my cheeks heat, but I couldn’t look away.

His gaze lingered on the slit in my dress, on my cleavage, before snapping back to my eyes.

Fuck. I was going to pee on myself.

He didn’t say a word, just faced forward again. I gulped down the rest of my drink, my heart racing. Whiskey. I needed whiskey.

I called for it, twirling the glass in my hands, and noticed him fiddling with something.

An AirPod.

Meaning... He wasn’t talking to me....

Fuck!

I had just made a fool out of myself.

I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my nerves, when I heard that voice again.

“Is it a habit of yours—speaking to strangers with such a tone?”

He heard me????

My lips parted. “I thought… you were…” My voice faltered. He didn’t react, only scrutinized me. “You look familiar,” he added.

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t seen him before, and yet, there was something unforgettable about him.

Before I could respond, he picked up his phone. That was the end of our conversation. I stared after him, annoyed and captivated at once. f**k, he was handsome. Weird—but handsome.

He stood, walked toward the elevator, talking into the phone, and I slumped back against the counter.

I was exhausted.

I finished my drink, dropped a hundred-dollar bill, and headed for the elevator. The doors opened, and he was inside. I stepped in beside him, pressing the fourth floor. Standing this close, I realized I wasn’t as tall as I thought—I was about five-seven, and he was at least nine inches taller.

“We're forming an alliance, and I’ll take the risk,” he said to the person over the phone, and I had no idea what he was talking about.

Not that it was any of my business.

I tapped my foot impatiently waiting for the lift to reach my floor.

“Stop,” he muttered, clearly talking to me.

How rude.

I rolled my eyes.

I stepped out at my floor—199—and heard his footsteps. Same floor. Coincidence.

I swiped my key card. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. Stress crept in as he took another step behind me.

Finally, the door opened—but not because of my card. A woman in a white robe stood there.

“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, confused.

“Darling, this isn’t your room,” she said, halfway closing the door.

“This is my room. I have the key.” I held it up, but she snatched it, flipped it over. “It says 661, not 199.”

She slammed the door. Damn.

Two more floors.

I turned—and there he was, opening his room opposite hers. Our eyes locked, and I felt something heat through me.

“Do you want to come inside?”