31 The battle between two men

Gemma's POV.

"So..." I hesitate, my voice trembling, "Mr. Elias, did you come to... talk to me because you know your son and I broke up?"

Honestly, I'd rather replace the word "talk" with "revenge."

Maybe it's the pressures of modern society, but it seems like both rich and poor people alike have psychological issues these days.

If I were rich and my son dated an ordinary girl, I'd also worry she was after our family's money.

But if the ordinary girl dumped my son, that won't be okay either. Most people assume it should be the ordinary girl who gets dumped.

Maybe that's what Mr. CEO thinks too, which is why he's come all the way to the New York branch to teach me a lesson.

"Miss Gemma, do you really think I'm that petty?" The CEO replies with a smile.

"Do you want the truth?" I ask hesitantly.

The next moment, the door behind me opens.

"Dad, can you stop teasing her?" Luke's voice interrupts us. "Alright, you can go now."

"Hm?" The CEO clearly disagrees, "I just got to New York, and you haven't even taken me out for lunch yet..."

"You're not leaving, are you? Fine, I'll call Mom right now."

Apparently, the CEO is quite afraid of his wife. The moment Luke pulls out his phone, he quickly gives in—"Alright, alright, I'll go."

But before he leaves, he looks me over from head to toe, then kindly pats me on the shoulder. "Gemma, please allow me to call you by your first name."

"Of course," I respond, surprised by his warm demeanor.

What he says next is all praise, "You're smart and interesting, I like you very much."

The CEO's smile grows even brighter. "It's a shame my son isn't a good person. See? He won't even take his dad out for lunch. Your decision to break up was absolutely right."

With one hand on the door and the other on the CEO's back, Luke unceremoniously pushes him out through the crack.

I stare at them in shock, and it's only after Luke closes the door that I remember my somewhat precarious situation.

I was about to stand when Luke pulls out the chair next to me and sits down. "I just want to have a quick talk."

"Is the CEO really your dad?" I ask.

"Yes," Luke nods.

"But you have different last names," I point out.

"My mom runs the family, so I took her last name," Luke explains.

The door opens again from outside, and the CEO's face peeks through the crack. He smiles and clarifies, "Gemma, just to correct something—over the past thirty years, everything's been minor, so I let his mother handle things."

Luke walks over and locks the door after shutting it.

"You're really his son?" I still can't believe it.

They don't look alike at all.

"I take after my mom," Luke answers.

I nod. "Well, I'm going to work now, boss."

I revert to calling him "boss."

"Wait." Before I can stand, he places his hand on the armrest, trapping me in his embrace.

"Gemma, you never really liked Jacob," he says, gazing into my eyes.

I look away. "Boss, it's work hours."

Luke speaks softly, "Gemma, I just don't want you to repeat my mistakes."

"I've always regretted not thinking through why we started dating, hiding things from you, and letting our relationship develop that way," Luke says earnestly. "And because of that, I lost you."

He pauses, then adds, "The same goes for you and Jacob. You don't want to lose him as a friend."

"I'm not a child, I don't need you telling me what to do," I snap, unable to bear it anymore. I turn the chair, ready to get up and go to work.

But Luke spins the chair back, and I'm once again caught in his arms.

He leans down, meeting my eyes on the same level, our breaths nearly mingling.

"Gemma, trust me. When someone you care about gets hurt because of you, it really breaks you."

He pauses again and continues, "The pain keeps you awake every night, torturing you every minute, every second—and you know, no matter what you do, that person will never forgive you."

"This has nothing to do with you," I say, trying to free myself from his grasp. "Move aside."

I try to get up, but Luke doesn't let me.

Instead, he leans even closer, his breath gently stirring the strands of hair near my ear.

"Gemma, explain things to Jacob, please." His voice is low, magnetic, and seductive, making me inexplicably think of a siren's song.

As he speaks, his lips move closer, and his tie sways lightly in the air.

"Boss," I say softly, just as he's about to kiss me.

"Hmm?"

"My phone is still recording. If you come any closer, I won't hesitate to use this as evidence of sexual harassment in court."

With that, I push him away, stand up, flip my hair, and walk out of the office, leaving Luke behind.

Does he really think I'm still the same Gemma Dawson, easily swayed by his pretty face? If so, he's way too naive.

When I finish work, Jacob shows up at the dealership entrance.

I stop in my tracks. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob opens the car door for me. "Did my mom give you a hard time today?"

"Nothing major, it's already taken care of."

"But you have to at least give me a chance to apologize, right?"

People are coming and going here. Some colleagues come out, greeting me. I smile briefly and quickly get into the passenger seat.

The car weaves through the streets and stops in front of a bar.

The neon sign at the entrance flashes in colorful lights against the night sky. I get out of the car and follow Jacob inside. The place is packed with young people unwinding after work. Besides drinks and snacks at the bar, there are dartboards and pool tables.

Amid the noise, Jacob leans close to my ear and asks, "What would you like?"

"Aperitivo."

While Jacob, being the gentleman, goes to the bar to get the drinks, I sit on a couch in the corner, watching the guys on th dance floor.

And then, like a ghost, Luke appears again. He sits next to me. "Good evening."

I turn my head and move toward the armrest of the couch. "Are you stalking me?"

"It's after work hours now. At most, this is a coincidence."

My anger bubbles up like a shaken soda bottle, ready to explode. When did this man become so irrational?

But I don't want to argue. After shooting him a cold glance, I get up and walk outside.

One of my regular customers, who had bought two cars from me, happens to be having a birthday today, so I step outside to give her a call and keep in touch.

After hanging up, I return to the bar, only to see that the dance floor has cleared out significantly. Now, most of the crowd is gathered around one of the pool tables.

I walk over and see two tall, striking men at the center of the crowd.

"What's going on?" I ask a girl standing nearby.

She responds excitedly, "Two hot guys are having a showdown!"

Realizing her voice was a bit too loud, she covers her mouth and gestures toward the pool table, whispering, "Watch the game."

But her eyes are glued to the two men.

I know both of them—one is Jacob, the other is Luke. While I was outside on the phone, they somehow crossed paths in the bar.

Suddenly, I feel a headache coming on.

Luke breaks first. He bends over, grips the cue tightly, and focuses intently on the cue ball. The sharp sound of the cue hitting the ball echoes, and the white ball rushes toward the neatly arranged cluster, scattering them. Two colored balls roll toward different pockets.

The crowd lets out a small gasp of admiration.

I have to admit, Luke looks pretty good playing pool. He's wearing a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, and when he bends over, you can just make out the outline of his toned chest.

Now it's Jacob's turn.

He spots me in the crowd, smiles, and whistles at me before circling halfway around the table to find the best angle for his shot. Jacob's play style mirrors his personality—impulsive, impatient, but full of power. He pulls the cue back, then thrusts it forward quickly. Amazingly, the target ball far from the cue ball sinks into the pocket.

Jacob straightens up, still smiling at me.

But Luke has a few more years on Jacob, a bit more cunning. With his next shot, he gently taps the cue ball, positioning it right behind another ball, leaving Jacob no choice but to try a trick shot. This is where Jacob starts to struggle.

After a few more rounds, Jacob frowns and places his cue on the table. "I lost."

Luke, with one hand on his hip and the other holding the cue, comments, "Sometimes brute force isn't enough—you need technique."

As Luke says this, his eyes subtly glance in my direction through the crowd.

His hands, long and graceful, glow warmly under the lights, and I suddenly remember how, earlier today in the office, he used those same hands to gently hold his coffee cup.

So, was he really talking about pool, or was he trying to prove that not all men over 25 have declining performance in bed?

I don't get it.