Collision of Lies

"No." Sloane stared at the man holding her flush against his chest. The sting of the slap still hung heavy in the air, leaving her bewildered by his bizarre reaction.

*Just one slap?* she thought frantically to herself, her heart pounding against her ribs. *How could that possibly make me feel any better?*

Instead of erupting into the tyrannical rage she had braced for, Dorian merely lifted her stinging palm to his lips. He pressed a kiss into the center of it with a terrifyingly gentle reverence. The gesture was meant to soothe, yet it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

"Did that sting? Let me ice it for you when we get home. I will explain everything then. There is no need to get worked up over someone who doesn't matter."

Sloane dropped her gaze. A flicker of sorrow crossed her eyes as she processed his words. *This is that age-old tactic. Unless you catch them in the act, they will never admit they are wrong.*

"Someone who doesn't matter? Are you referring to Ms. Mercer?" Sloane tilted her head, locking her eyes onto Lila.

The younger woman stood a few feet away. Her flushed face drained of all color, leaving her looking like a pale, rigid mannequin. The defiance she had strutted into the shop with had vanished into thin air.

"Yes." Dorian delivered the brutal, offhand remark without a hint of waver.

Lila blanched. She looked like she might collapse under the weight of his dismissal.

Sloane wrenched herself from his grip and headed straight for the boutique exit. She made a beeline for her own vehicle in the parking lot, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere.

Dorian matched her stride. He grabbed her hand, pulling her close with ironclad force. "Ride with me. I will drive you home."

She tried to twist free. His hold was unrelenting. Maintaining his iron grip on the situation, Dorian forcefully steered a rigid Sloane away from her car and straight toward his luxury sedan.

He popped the passenger door open. Resting conspicuously on the sleek gray-and-black leather seat was a delicate, pink hair clip.

Sloane stopped dead in her tracks.

Dorian reached in and picked it up like a piece of stray lint. He betrayed no panic.

"Might want to give it a once-over. If I stumble on some underwear in there, I will need therapy for my eyes." Sloane scoffed with pure disdain.

The accusation shattered Dorian's manufactured calm. He erupted instantly, masterfully pivoting the argument to gaslight her.

"Sloane, why does your mind always dive straight into the dirt? I love you, but I won't put up with this," he snapped. His voice dripped with aggression. "What happened today is an isolated incident, and it needs to stay that way. Hayes Group is right on the verge of breaking through to the next level. I cannot dodge having female colleagues or partners in the mix. You embarrassed Lila today, and I am overlooking it because she is just an entry-level girl. But your impulsive, paranoid jealousy over a mere employee could jeopardize our corporate future. If you pull this crap on some influential woman you suspect down the line, you will destabilize the company morale. How is Hayes Group supposed to keep growing with you acting like this?"

Sloane held his stare. Her bright eyes iced over. She saw right through his pathetic, textbook manipulation. His passionate argument about jeopardizing the corporate future was a masterclass in deflection. He was using their shared business goals as a shield for his own infidelity.

She refused to engage in a screaming match. She turned on her heel, slid back into her own car, and wordlessly drove off.

Dorian stood in the parking lot, his scowl fierce. He did not bother chasing after her. Jerking his car door open, he caught sight of Lila hovering near the boutique entrance. He ushered the trembling girl into his passenger seat.

Distracted by the intense emotional whiplash of the encounter, Sloane felt her focus slip. The city streets blurred. She spaced out for a fraction of a second at a busy intersection. The screech of tires was followed by a harsh jolt. She pitched forward against her seatbelt. She had rear-ended a sleek, black luxury car. The dented back bumper sat just above a license plate boasting a string of eights.

The blame fell on her shoulders. She would have to pay up for letting her mind wander.

Sloane swung her door open and stepped out into the crisp air. She approached the other vehicle to apologize for the damage.

The driver climbed out of the front seat, gave her a quick visual assessment, and stayed silent. Instead of addressing her, he respectfully swung open the rear passenger door.

Out stepped a tall, striking figure. The man wore a meticulous, tailored suit, buttoned flawlessly to the top. His chiseled features were set in an air of unapproachable indifference.

The moment Sloane laid eyes on him, a jolt shot through her system. Her mind flashed back to a past she had long buried. *I know this guy; he is Vaugh...*

Before the realization could fully form, Vaughn Kingsley strode away. He remained aloof, ignoring her presence as though she were invisible. He lounged against the roadside barrier, his left hand pressing a phone to his ear. A light breeze ruffled his tousled hair, revealing his broad forehead.

"Miss, contact me once your car is fixed. I will set up a time for you to handle the compensation." The stoic driver handed her a crisp business card.

Sloane snuck a glance toward the roadside. Vaughn was deep into his business call, his brows pulling into a subtle frown. He did not spare her a single glance. He idly poked at a bird resting on the metal railing.

Ten minutes later, a sleek van rolled up to the curb. He climbed in without a hitch, leaving his driver behind to wrap up the insurance details.

Sloane avoided looking at the departing van, a strange, misplaced guilt settling in her chest.

By the time the paperwork concluded, the sky had bruised into a dark purple. Sloane returned to her empty home late that evening. Her phone screen lit up over and over. She ignored the barrage of incoming texts from Dorian, tossed the device onto the nightstand, and sank into a deep, exhausted sleep.

The following day, she moved with surgical efficiency. She booted up a real estate app and arranged house viewings with local agents. While waiting for their replies, she began ruthlessly purging the villa. She grabbed a stack of heavy-duty garbage bags and marched through the rooms.

She tossed out the cheap, tacky college trinkets Dorian had given her during their early, impoverished years. The faded plush toys, the tarnished necklaces, the framed photos from their university days—all of it went into the trash. The plastic bags crinkled loudly as she shoved the items down. Things she had once cherished now looked worthless. She erased his sentimental footprint from her life, tying the black plastic bags into tight knots.

Three days of radio silence passed.

On the afternoon of the third day, Sloane stood in the expansive garden, tending to a row of newly bloomed roses. The afternoon sun beat down on her shoulders.

Without warning, Dorian ambushed her. He crept up from behind, wrapping his arms affectionately and tightly around her waist. He locked her in a suffocating embrace.

"Babe, did you miss me?"

A sickening, sweet whiff of women's perfume hit her nose. The floral scent clung heavily to the fabric of his dress shirt. It was distinctly not her own.

Sloane coldly rebuffed his physical touch, wrenching her shoulders forward. "With a lovely sidepiece keeping you company, why would you need me pining away? You would probably rather I forget you exist so I do not interrupt your cozy rendezvous."

He clamped down tighter, pinning her arms against her sides. His firm chest radiated heat through his shirt as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"You are the only one I love. Cut it out, okay?" he murmured deeply. He tried to placate her with the same smooth, practiced lies that had built their empire.

Sloane struggled to break free from his iron grip. She twisted her waist, thrusting her hand backward. Her fingers brushed against a thorny rose bush. A sharp pain pierced her skin as a thick thorn dug deep into her index finger.

She gasped, dropping the garden shears. A bead of crimson blood welled up instantly, staining her skin.

Dorian noticed the sudden flinch. He loosened his hold just enough to lift her hand. His striking brows creased in a display of pseudo-romantic devotion. He leaned in, parting his lips to suck the blood from her oozing fingertip.

The moment his warm breath grazed her skin, a wave of visceral revulsion washed over her entire body.

*How could he spend three days fooling around with Lila and then come back here, acting all lovey-dovey like it is nothing? The thought of those exact same lips passionately kissing Lila for the past three days is disgusting. Utterly disgusting!*

Driven by pure, sharp reflex born of sheer physical repulsion, Sloane lashed out. She swung her free hand and slapped him hard across his handsome face for the second time. The smack rang out across the quiet garden, leaving her palm buzzing with a hot numbness.

Dorian did not move a single muscle in response. He did not yell. He just stood there. The sudden silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. He stared her down with a stony, impenetrable expression. An indescribable chill radiated from his dark eyes, freezing the blood in her veins.