Killian sat in his usual spot at the back corner of the classroom, his pen tapping against the desk.
The teacher's voice droned on about some literature stuff but he wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the seat beside his.
It was empty.
Scarlett's seat.
Ding ding.
For the third time in ten minutes, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe. A single message sat unanswered on the screen.
Jarvis: Are we still doing this or what?
Killian's fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a moment, he typed back:
Killian: She's not here.
The reply came almost instantly.
Jarvis: What do you mean she's not there?
Killian clenched his jaw, sliding the phone into his pocket without replying. He didn't have the energy to explain.
Scarlett's absence was throwing everything off, and it was pissing him off more than he cared to admit.
The plan had been perfect. Jarvis was already in position ready to take the shot. It just remained for him to lure Scarlett out.
Unfortunately...there was no Scarlett.
He exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking back to the empty seat.
"Staring at that chair won't make her appear, you know."
His head snapped up.
Aria stood in front of him, her hands on her hips and a smirk playing on her lips.
"Not in the mood, Aria," he muttered, looking away.
"Oh, come on," she teased, sliding into the seat next to him. Her blonde hair shimmered under the lights as she leaned closer. "What's got you so sour today? Don't tell me you're upset because your little girlfriend didn't show up."
"She's not my girlfriend," he immediately shot back, his tone sharper than intended.
She raised an eyebrow. "Touchy, aren't we? So, if she's not your girlfriend, why are you acting like someone stole your favorite toy?"
He didn't respond, his fingers tightening around the pen.
Aria leaned back, crossing her arms. "You're so obvious, you know that? Everyone can see how much she gets under your skin."
"Aria," Killian said slowly. "Walk away."
"Fine," she gave a dramatic sigh, standing and smoothing her skirt. "You can meet me in the locker room if you want to have some...fun. Brooding doesn't suit you."
As she walked away, her laughter trailed behind her.
Killian clenched his jaw, his thoughts spiraling.
Where the hell was Scarlett?
He replayed the last two days in his mind, searching for clues. She'd been fine, annoying, smug, and infuriating as ever. But now, she was gone, just when he was finally ready.
Did she somehow find out about his plan or what?
The bell suddenly rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. Students began filing out of the classroom, their chatter filling the air.
He sighed heavily, standing from his seat and slinging his bag over his shoulder.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he made his way out of the classroom, weaving through the noisy students in the hallway.
When he pulled it out, the screen flashed with a new message.
Troy: Boss, we've got a problem. Mrs. Fontaine's throwing a tantrum again. Says the shipment's late and she's threatening to pull out of the deal.
Killian's grip on the phone tightened.
Mrs. Fontaine.
Just hearing her name gave him a headache.
Mrs. Fontaine was an older client, a wealthy woman with connections in all the wrong places. She was powerful, ruthless, and most annoyingly used to getting her way. If something as small as a delay happened, she raised hell, knowing her influence gave her leverage.
Killian tapped out a reply, his frustration simmering.
Killian: Where is she now?
Troy: At the Indigo Lounge.
He stopped in the middle of the hallway, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself.
The Indigo Lounge was a bar notorious for its atmosphere, a playground for powerful women who wanted to flaunt their wealth and control. It wasn't just a bar; it was a den for deals and overpriced cocktails, where pretty boys were hired to cater to the whims of these women.
His thumb hovered over the phone screen before typing again.
Killian: I'm on my way.
---
The Indigo Lounge sat tucked away on a shadowy street, its neon sign glowing faintly against the darkened cityscape. The entrance was discreet, the kind of place only those in the know could find.
Killian parked his bike at the curb and stepped out.
Yeah, he had managed to repair the bike.
As he approached the door, two bouncers gave him a brief nod and stepped aside.
Inside, the air was thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of sex.
It was filled with low moans and giggles echoing from various corners of the dimly lit room.
Women lounged across the velvet couches, draped over half-dressed young men who were either pouring drinks, massaging shoulders, or...
His jaw tightened.
...doing far more intimate things.
In one booth, a woman, likely in her forties, tugged on the tie of a shirtless man kneeling in front of her, her laughter cutting through the jazz music playing. On another couch, a woman with a gold cigarette holder leaned back, her eyes half-closed as a man trailed kisses along her neck.
Killian moved past them with a neutral expression, though the scene made his stomach churn.
Yes, the Lounge was infamous for catering to wealthy women, but it seemed tonight especially business was booming.
His gaze flickered around the room until he spotted Mrs. Fontaine, in the far corner of the bar, sipping amber liquid from a crystal glass.
She looked as( regal ) as ever, her silver hair perfectly styled and her crimson dress hugging her figure. Her gaze was sharp, scanning the room like a lioness.
"Ah, Killian," she purred as he approached, setting her glass down. "Finally. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
He slid into the seat across from her, his face blank. "Mrs. Fontaine. I hear there's an issue."
She tilted her head, a smile spreading across her lips. "Oh, I wouldn't call it an issue. Just…a misunderstanding." Her fingers played with the rim of her glass, her nails painted a deep shade of red that matched her dress.
"The shipment's delayed," Killian said, his tone almost robotic. "You'll have it by the end of the week."
"Hmm." She leaned back, crossing her legs. "And if I don't? Should I assume your little operation is falling apart?"
"No."
"Good. Because I'd hate to think you were losing control." Her eyes flicked over him, her smile turning sly. "Though…there might be a way for you to make it up to me."
He raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. "And what would that be?"
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Spend the night with me."
Killian froze, his stomach twisting.
She smiled at his reaction, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Oh, don't look so shocked, darling. It's a simple offer. You keep me…entertained, and I forget about the shipment."
"Mrs. Fontaine..."
"You're young, handsome, and clearly know how to handle yourself," she interrupted smoothly. "It's a win-win, don't you think?"
He felt like barfing.
What do you mean win-win? With that face of yours that looks like it was hit by a horse, I'll say it's a gigantic loss.
Clenching his fists under the table, his expression darkened. "I'm not..."
The sound of a heavy thud suddenly interrupted him.
His head snapped toward the entrance, where the two bouncers who had been standing guard now lay crumpled on the ground.
The air in the room immediately shifted as a figure stepped inside.
Scarlett.
She was a vision of calm chaos, still dressed in her signature black suit. In her right hand, was her whip, the spiked leather coiled loosely around her wrist.
Killian's breath hitched, his mind racing.
What the hell is she doing here?
Scarlett's dark eyes swept the room, taking in the startled stares and frozen figures. With a wicked grin, she raised the whip, the spikes gleaming under the dim light.
"Everyone," she called out, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade, "faces up and butts out!"