Chapter Eleven -- Requesting Vengeance
1150 Words
The air outside the bar carried that morning-after sting — thick, sharp, and shameful.
I stopped in front of my car and my stomach twisted.
Crude red scrawls ran across the silver paint like someone had carved anger into metal.
SLUT.
STAY AWAY.
DIRTY GOLD DIGGER.
The words bled down my doors, the letters crooked but deliberate.
For a moment, I just stared. My reflection trembled through the streaks of insult and sunlight. Then I let out a sharp breath and looked around. The parking lot was quiet, just a few early workers and the valet boys pretending not to see.
I marched toward the entrance. The manager — a short man with perfect hair and a polished smile — looked up the second I stepped in.
“Who did this?” My voice was low, but it carried heat. I shoved my phone under his nose, the picture of my car glaring back at us. “Someone destroyed my property right in your parking lot.”
His expression flickered before settling into a mask of mild confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Shane. Perhaps it happened elsewhere?”
“You think I’m stupid?” I snapped. “The car hasn’t moved since last night. This—” I jabbed at the photo. “—is your responsibility. You have cameras here. Pull the footage.”
He hesitated, eyes darting to the corners of the lobby like someone might be watching him. Then his smile returned, thinner now. “Unfortunately, the cameras facing that area have been under maintenance for the past week.”
Of course. My stomach sank.
Beth.
This had her fingerprints all over it — the sudden hush, the convenient failure of security, the way his pupils shrank when I said footage. She’d reached him before I did. Probably reached all of them.
“Right,” I muttered, stepping back. “Maintenance. How convenient.”
The manager gave a rehearsed shrug. “I do apologize, Miss Shane. Perhaps you can file a police report.”
I laughed once, bitter and hollow. “You mean a report that will mysteriously go missing halfway through processing? Save it.”
His lips parted as if to reply, but I turned and walked out before he could. The sunlight hit me hard, slicing through the ache behind my eyes. I didn’t bother looking at the car again — the words would still be there, waiting to brand me each time I glanced at them.
I drove off anyway. Windows down, wind slicing through my hair. I didn’t even know where I was going — just away. Away from the bar, from the whispers, from the fact that I was broke and hated and utterly alone.
After half an hour of wandering, I pulled over near an abandoned gas station. My hands trembled when I dialled Alda’s number.
She picked up on the second ring, her voice rough and kind all at once. “Naya?”
“Alda.” I exhaled. “Tell me you sold something. Please.”
A pause. Then, “Yes, my dear. Two of your old designer bags — the black Prada and the lilac Chanel. The buyer sent the money already. I’ve transferred it to you.”
Relief washed through me so fast it made me dizzy. “Thank God.”
“I’ll keep selling little by little,” Alda continued softly. “But maybe… maybe you should think of a safer plan. This isn’t sustainable.”
“I know.” My throat tightened. “But it’s all I have for now.”
“I worry for you, Miss Naya. You were raised for comfort, not survival. Don’t let their cruelty make you desperate.”
“Desperate?” I laughed quietly, though it sounded more like a sob. “I passed desperate three nights ago, Alda.”
There was silence on the other end. I pictured her — the woman who’d practically raised me — sitting in her tiny flat, wringing her hands, praying for me like I was still her little girl.
“I’ll be fine,” I whispered. “Thank you for everything.”
After the call ended, I stared at the road ahead — an endless ribbon of heat and dust.
Fine. If the world was going to strip me of everything, I’d strip it back too.
By the time I reached the Hadez hotel again, my head was pounding. The same building that had witnessed my humiliation last night stood there, tall and cruelly elegant. I parked behind the side entrance, where the cameras rarely worked, and walked in through a maintenance stairwell.
My heart thudded as I reached the floor where Kai had left me. I didn’t expect the door to open. I just… hoped. Maybe fate had one ounce of mercy left.
The handle turned easily.
Inside, the air was cool, faintly smelling of his cologne — something dark, expensive, predatory. The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight spilling in thin golden blades.
I stepped in quietly, scanning the room. My plan was simple: grab a quick shower and change into something cleaner before figuring out my next move. But then I froze.
He was there.
Kai Hadez.
Sitting in the armchair near the window, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, half-burned. The smoke curled like a ghost between us. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, his eyes sharp and unreadable when they lifted to meet mine.
“Well,” he murmured, voice low and cutting. “If it isn’t the morning after.”
I swallowed. “Mr. Hadez. I— I didn’t know you’d be here.”
His mouth tilted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Really? You broke into a private suite hoping I’d be gone? That’s brave.”
“I wasn’t—” I stopped myself, lowering my gaze. “I wasn’t breaking in. I… left something behind.”
“Your dignity?” he said flatly.
The words hit harder than I expected. I straightened, forcing calm. “I came to apologise. For last night.”
“Oh?” He leaned back, cigarette dangling from his lips. “You mean for threatening me in my own suite, after I showed you mercy ?”
I winced. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“No,” he said. “You weren’t. But it was entertaining.”
“Please,” I said softly. “Don’t mock me. You have every reason to despise me, but I didn’t come here to fight. I did all that because I need your help.” I said honestly.
He exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “My help,” he repeated, as though tasting the absurdity. “Really?”
“Yes.” I met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “You’re the only person with enough power to help me out and take vengeance for me.
- Writer
