Hazel subtly gestured for Fiona to step forward. Fiona's heart slammed violently against her ribs not because of the transfer, not from the career upheaval, but because of him
The man she had once cornered herself into bargaining with.
The man she had told shamelessly, desperately that she would offer her own body as part of their deal.
And now he stood there, infuriatingly composed, unbearably close with another woman.
The audacity of it burned.
Fiona rose slowly, forcing herself calm. "Yes Hazel."
Manson's eyes locked onto hers, piercing, assessing, and almost predatory.
"Hi," Fiona said, her voice reluctant, tight with unease.
Meanwhile, the model hadn't taken her eyes off him, not even the flustered staff rushing around could distract her. She immediately closed the distance, burying both hands possessively on Manson's left arm, clinging to him as if marking her territory.
"Hi, I'm Karen," she purred, her smile sharp, predatory, and unapologetically confident.
Fiona's chest tightened. Every nerve in her body screamed, every memory of the past threatening to ignite. This was going to be a long, dangerous afternoon.
Fiona felt it, the sharp, humiliating twist in her chest as Karen clung to him like a decorative accessory. Her fingers curled slowly at her side, nails biting into her palm as she forced her face into stillness. 'Breathe. Don't react. Don't give them the satisfaction.'
Manson noticed. Of course he did. His gaze lingered on Fiona a second too long, dark and unreadable, as if something about her presence had disrupted the carefully controlled rhythm of his day. The faintest crease formed between his brows confusion, recognition, or annoyance, she couldn't tell.
"Hazel," he said coolly, breaking the silence, though his eyes never fully left Fiona. "You didn't mention we'd have company."
Indeed, Hazel had been expected to wait for Manson there, unaccompanied, her solitude deliberate, her presence arranged with quiet precision.
Hazel smiled, sweet and entirely too knowing. "Oh? I thought you'd enjoy the surprise."
Karen tightened her grip on his arm, her smile sharpening as she glanced at Fiona, measuring her in a single dismissive sweep. "Is she a friend?" she asked lightly, though the challenge beneath her tone was unmistakable.
Fiona lifted her chin, irritation flaring hot and bright. Friend? No. Stranger? Not quite. A mistake? A complication?
In that fleeting moment, Manson's lips curved subtly, restrained into something that was not quite a smile and far more dangerous than one.
"Not exactly," he said.
The words were quiet, but they struck.
"Ma'am, which of the designers do you prefer?" the staff asked, her voice smooth and deferential, cutting through the sudden tension.
Karen didn't even turn away from Manson. "Oh, I'll take that one, that one and that one as well," she replied, her tone light, almost careless, as though the boutique and everyone in it existed merely as background. She stayed close, close enough that their sleeves brushed, close enough to make it obvious she had no intention of leaving his side.
Then Manson spoke again.
"Why don't you both choose whatever you like?" His voice was calm, indifferent. "I'll cover the bill."
For a second, the air froze.
Before Fiona could process the weight of his words, Manson had already turned away. He didn't glance back. He didn't hesitate. His hand settled at Karen's waist, guiding her forward with an ease that felt intimate, practiced cruelly.
"WOW!" Hazel screamed, the spell shattering. "I'm picking the most expensive designers in this place!"
Laughing wildly, Hazel dragged Fiona toward the shelves, already piling luxurious fabrics into her arms. Dresses, coats, labels that cost more than most people's dreams Hazel grabbed them all.
But Fiona couldn't see any of it. Her body moved, but her eyes stayed locked on Manson.
Across the boutique, beneath the warm glow of crystal lights, Manson stood with Karen as though the rest of the world had been erased. He leaned slightly toward her, his expression soft, unguarded. He raised his hand, pointing at a dress on the display, speaking in a low tone meant only for her.
He was attentive.
He was gentle.
He was devastatingly present.
And he didn't look at Fiona.
Not once.
It wasn't the intimacy that broke her, it was the cold, ruthless indifference. The way he moved, breathed, lived in that moment, as if her very existence had become invisible, as if It was their first meeting.
Fiona felt it then the slow, clawing ache tearing through her chest, a pain far crueler than any human cruelty. No. This wasn't human. This was a monster, a beast far worse than Alexander himself.
"This is going to look perfect on you, babe," Manson murmured, his fingers tightening slightly around Karen's waist, drawing her closer.
Karen's lips curved into a playful smile. "Then maybe I should go put it on and show you." She glanced at the staff, signaling them.
Before she could even think to pull away, Manson's hand snapped shut around her wrist, wrenching her back against him. His lips claimed her neck, unyielding and searing, the kiss lingering as if he meant to brand her with it. One hand cradled the nape of her neck, anchoring her there, while the other slid possessively over her curves, gripping her ass with unmistakable intent.
"Mmph…" Karen's soft moan escaped between the kiss, a shiver running down her spine.
Manson finally pulled back, his breath warm against her skin. "Alright, baby you can go now," he whispered, though his gaze lingered, heavy with desire.
Karen slipped into the changing room, leaving Manson to sink into the chair with casual ease, phone in hand, utterly unbothered. Every inch of his calm, detached composure was like a spark against Fiona's fraying nerves.
She had seen it all the kiss, the touch, the way he lingered over her and it burned her from the inside out. Irritation carved deep lines into her expression, a storm barely contained behind her eyes.
"Fiona, check out this dress! It's so hot!" Hazel's voice rang out, brimming with excitement, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. Her grin was innocent, but to Fiona, it was another reminder that the world moved on while her own heart throbbed with fury and something far more dangerous.
A few moments later, Karen emerged from the changing room, the dress hugging her curves in all the right places. She twirled slightly, letting the dress catch the light, her eyes sparkling with playful pride.
Manson's gaze immediately found her, sharp and appraising. A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. "Damn, that looks perfect on you," he said, his voice low, almost rumbling, each word heavy with possession. He leaned back in the chair, eyes lingering, his hand idly brushing over the armrest, but his attention locked entirely on her.
Karen's chest swelled with pride, the thrill of his gaze sending a subtle shiver down her spine. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice teasing but laced with anticipation.
"Think?" Manson echoed, standing to close the space between them. His fingers grazed the small of her back as he whispered, "I know it looks perfect because you're perfect in it."
Fiona, standing a few steps away, felt heat rise in her cheeks not just from the sight, but from the way every word, every touch, seemed to etch Manson even deeper into Karen's world. Her fists clenched at her sides, but she couldn't tear her eyes away, trapped between anger, jealousy, and a grudging fascination she hated to admit.
Karen laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Well, if you like it that much, maybe I should wear it all the time."
Manson's smirk deepened, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, you'll wear it and I'll make sure I see every moment." His tone was possessive, intimate, leaving no doubt who held the attention in that room.
Fiona's hand shot up to her cheek, cupping it as if to steady herself. What the hell am I thinking? Her mind screamed in protest. 'How dare I imagine his touch?'
"Hey, girl! Aren't you picking anything?" Hazel's voice cut through her storm of thoughts, bright and teasing, completely oblivious to the chaos roiling inside her.
Fiona forced a smile, sweet and light, though every inch of her body was on fire. "No, I don't want anything for now," she murmured, the words tasting like lies even as they left her lips.
Hazel leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, don't tell me it's because of that bitch," she said with a laugh. "You don't have to worry about her. She's just to warm Manson's bed, nothing more. Bet she won't even last a week before he discards her. Don't waste a single thought on her, Fiona."
Fiona's chest tightened, a storm of icy rage and reluctant relief warring beneath her ribs. Hazel's words were supposed to soothe, but all they did was fan the flames. The image of Manson's Futile conduct seared into her mind, now sharper, more infuriating than ever. She ground her teeth, fury coiling like ice through her veins.