Raphael instinctively reached for her hand, trying to pry it away. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
“Raphael… pull over,” Colette gasped, covering her mouth. “I drank earlier, and with you speeding, I feel like throwing up.”
Sighing, Raphael finally pulled over. The road was deserted, quiet beneath the dim glow of streetlights.
But the moment the car stopped, Colette did not step out. Instead, she climbed onto Raphael’s lap.
“Colette, what the hell are you doing?” he growled, his hands gripping the wheel.
She smirked, leaning in. “What do you think I’m doing?” Her voice dripped with provocation.
She had felt the way his body reacted, and knew he would not be able to resist much longer. A slow grind of her hips was all it took for him to stiffen beneath her.
“Stop…” Raphael’s protest was silenced by Colette’s kiss, deep and deliberate. Before he could regain control, she guided his hand to her chest, pressing against him.
Breaking the kiss, she whispered against his ear, “Raphael, I want you. Just for tonight. And I promise—after this, I’ll tell our parents to cancel our engagement.”
Then, with a teasing bite to his ear, she left a faint hickey on his neck.
Raphael exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. The promise she dangled before him, the way she fit against him—it was all too much.
Smirking, he met her gaze. “You better keep your promise, Colette.”
And just like that, the night spiraled into an unstoppable, heated frenzy inside the car.
As I stepped onto the balcony, I found myself cornered instead.
A familiar group of men strutted in, their tailored suits and smug grins radiating entitlement.
Raphael’s so-called friends—men who once laughed as they dissected my most intimate moments with him like it was some late-night gossip.
“Well, well, look who decided to sulk in the shadows,” one of them sneered, his voice dripping with amusement.
“Heartbroken already, Nadine?” another chimed in, swirling his glass of whiskey as if he were making a toast to my misery.
“Did you really think spending a night with Raphael would change anything?” a third one chuckled. “Sweetheart, you’re in London. Colette’s the queen, and you’re just… the entertainment.”
Laughter rippled through them, their words sharp as knives, each one slicing deeper.