Chapter 2
1276 Words
Leona stepped into the elevator, still trying to process the last five minutes of her life.
Ian. Rachel. The hotel room.
Her fingers curled so tightly into her palms she could feel the bite of her own nails. The doors slid shut with a soft chime, enclosing her in silence—except it wasn’t silent.
The sound of her own heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She could still hear Ian’s voice, muffled and distant in the back of her mind. Leona, this isn’t what it looks like.
Bullshit.
She had just watched her boyfriend—her supposed future—stand half-naked in a hotel room, his lips still stained with the kiss of another woman. Not just any woman. Rachel.
Leona had spent years building the perfect image of them. Ian and Leona, the golden couple. They were supposed to be successful, in love, unstoppable. But now, with a single act of betrayal, it all unraveled like a cheap threadbare sweater.
She clenched her fists, her knuckles still stinging from the impact of punching him in his lying, cheating face.
She exhaled sharply. Not now. Not here.
Not when she was standing next to him.
Rhyder Vale.
The man who practically owned half of New York. The one she had spent weeks organizing this gala for. The one she was supposed to impress—not stand beside with her makeup smudged and her hand bleeding from a poorly executed right hook.
And yet, here they were.
She forced herself to exhale, lifting her chin slightly. Get it together.
“You’re bleeding,” Rhyder remarked casually, taking a sip of his whiskey as if they were discussing the weather.
Leona blinked. “What?”
His dark eyes flickered down to her hand. She followed his gaze, realizing that when she’d punched Ian, she must have grazed her knuckle against his stupid, cheating jaw. A thin line of blood had surfaced along her skin, stark against her pale complexion.
Great. Just great.
Rhyder reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief. Without asking, he took her wrist and gently dabbed at the cut.
Leona jerked slightly, startled by the unexpected softness in his touch.
“I can do it myself,” she muttered, but didn’t pull away.
“I’m sure you can,” Rhyder mused, his fingers brushing against her skin. “But you looked like you were about to start a second fight with the elevator buttons, so I figured I’d intervene.”
Despite herself, her lips twitched.
She glanced up at him, really looking at him. She’d seen his face a hundred times in magazines—New York’s most elusive billionaire, the man who avoided the press like the plague, a ruthless businessman with a reputation for shutting down deals before breakfast.
Up close, he was even more infuriatingly attractive. Sharp jawline, dark tousled hair, and those damn eyes—deep, unreadable, with a hint of something wicked lurking beneath the surface.
“How very noble of you,” she said dryly.
He smirked. “I have my moments.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.
Then he spoke again.
“I have to say, Ms. Everhart… your event is impressive.”
Leona blinked, caught off guard by the compliment.
“Oh,” she said, straightening. “Well. Thank you.”
“I expected the usual corporate disaster—oversized ice sculptures, tacky Christmas themes, mediocre champagne.” His lips curved slightly. “Instead, you’ve managed to create something… elegant.”
Leona tilted her head. “Is that your way of saying you were expecting to be bored out of your mind tonight?”
Rhyder chuckled. “Let’s just say… I don’t usually enjoy these things.”
“Then why come?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Obligations.”
“Ah,” Leona mused. “So the great Rhyder Vale doesn’t actually enjoy the luxury events he sponsors.”
Rhyder’s gaze flickered with amusement. “I enjoy luxury. I just don’t enjoy forced conversations with people who want something from me.”
Leona smirked. “I see. And what category do I fall into?”
His eyes darkened slightly. “You? You’re interesting.”
She arched a brow. “Is that billionaire code for potential business asset?”
He stepped just a fraction closer, his voice dipping lower. “No. It’s code for I don’t quite have you figured out yet.”
The air between them shifted.
For a moment, Leona forgot about Ian, about Rachel, about the sinking feeling in her chest.
For a moment, it was just her and Rhyder Vale, standing in the hush of the elevator, the weight of his gaze pressing against her like an unspoken dare.
Then the elevator dinged.
And reality came crashing back.
She had an entire gala waiting for her. A gala she was supposed to be running. A gala that, at this moment, felt like the last place she wanted to be.
The doors slid open, revealing the grand ballroom, the golden glow of chandeliers spilling into the space.
The music, the chatter, the gala—the world she was supposed to be managing.
Leona straightened, smoothing her gown. “Well, Mr. Vale. I hope you do enjoy yourself tonight.”
Rhyder smirked, stepping aside to let her pass.
“I think I already am.”
Then—
“You might want to check above your head.”
Leona frowned. “What?”
He nodded toward the ceiling.
She followed his gaze—and felt her stomach drop.
Mistletoe.
Right above them.
And of course, because the universe clearly hated her, several nearby guests had noticed.
A murmur spread through the crowd, and then—
“Oh, they have to kiss,” someone gasped.
Leona groaned under her breath. You’ve got to be kidding me.
Rhyder, on the other hand, looked positively entertained.
“Well,” he drawled, “I’m a man of tradition.”
Leona turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
He smirked. “Scared?”
“I just caught my boyfriend cheating on me.”
“All the more reason,” he said smoothly, “to upgrade.”
The crowd was watching now, anticipation crackling in the air. People lived for this kind of moment—scandal, romance, a stolen kiss under the mistletoe.
Leona exhaled sharply. She could walk away. She could ignore the ridiculous tradition and pretend this never happened.
Or…
She could let go.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to forget Ian. To forget Rachel. To forget everything.
Leona lifted her chin. “Fine.”
Rhyder’s eyes darkened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected her to call his bluff.
And then she kissed him.
It was meant to be brief. A simple brush of lips, enough to satisfy the crowd and move on.
But the moment their mouths met, the world tilted.
Rhyder was warm, solid, dangerous. His hand found her waist, fingers pressing just enough to send a spark racing up her spine. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting her, memorizing her.
Leona felt herself leaning in—just slightly, just enough to lose herself in the moment—before reality came crashing back.
She pulled away abruptly.
The room erupted into applause.
Leona’s heart pounded against her ribs, her lips still tingling.
Rhyder’s gaze was steady, unreadable. And then, with infuriating ease, he said—
“Merry Christmas, Ms. Everhart.”
Leona’s breath caught in her throat.
Because just like that, with a single kiss…
She knew she was in trouble.
- Writer
