Chapter 2: A Game of Wits

The sunlight pierced through the sleek blinds of Rafael's glass-walled office, each ray an unwelcome stab to his throbbing temples. He leaned back in his leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing the headache to subside. A glass of water and a bottle of aspirin sat untouched on his desk, mocking his resolve.

"Never again," Rafael muttered for the hundredth time, his voice hoarse. He wasn't sure if he was referring to last night's endless stream of wine or the parade of bad decisions that always followed.

Every time he tasted wine, the same thing happened. He lost control. Swore off drinking. Then, a week later, forgot his promises and repeated the cycle. It was the same with women—an endless carousel of glamorous faces and dazzling smiles. Rafael had vowed more than once to limit himself to no more than three women at a time, but restraint was a luxury he rarely afforded himself.

How could he? His world was a kaleidoscope of temptation. As the CEO of Velvet Vogue, the most coveted fashion magazine in the United States, Rafael was surrounded by breathtaking models and celebrities every day. Saying no to temptation wasn't just difficult—it was an act of rebellion against his very existence.

His parents, ever the traditionalists, had grown increasingly alarmed by their son's rakish behavior. Therapy, they suggested. Perhaps even rehab. "We're worried you might be... pervert addicted," his mother Mrs. Sonia Montgomery had said, her voice tinged with both concern and mortification.

Rafael had laughed so hard he'd nearly spilled his bourbon. "Pervert addicted? Seriously, Mom? It's called being a healthy, red-blooded man."

And why shouldn't he enjoy life? He wasn't married, wasn't tied down by anyone. His philosophy was simple: date widely, but be honest. He told every woman upfront that their "relationship" would be nothing more than a friendship with—well—benefits. No expectations, no strings attached. To him, it was a trial-by-error system of compatibility. How else would he know if someone was truly right for him?

"Exploration," Rafael had once told a nosy gossip columnist, his grin unapologetic. "It's like a science experiment. Both parties should leave satisfied."

And they always did. Rafael took immense pride in his ability to please. So much so that the tabloids had nicknamed him "The Heartbreaker," crowning him Cassanova of the Year in a widely read gossip column.

But even the king of indulgence had limits. Today, he couldn't focus. His thoughts were murky, his stomach a roiling sea of regret. Rafael reached for the aspirin at last, washing down two tablets with a sip of water. He swung his chair around toward the panoramic window behind him, hoping the view of the city might clear his head.

Instead, his gaze fell on the square below, where a crowd had gathered for a press event. A cluster of models posed for TV reporters and photographers; their bodies angled with practiced precision.

His eyes skimmed over the group before zeroing in on a single figure.

That dress. That unmistakable shade of red.

Rafael sat up straighter, his headache momentarily forgotten. He squinted, the memory of last night flooding back in fragments. The cake. The laughter. The woman who had brushed him off with a scathing glare and the kind of elegance that only made her more intriguing.

Arabella Blake.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Vivian had said something about her at the club, hadn't she? Rafael racked his brain, but the details were blurry. No matter. He didn't need Vivian's commentary to know that Arabella was trouble. The kind of trouble he couldn't resist.

Rafael leaned back in his chair, a spark of mischief lighting up his otherwise tired features. His assistant knocked lightly at the door, but he waved them off, his mind elsewhere.

Arabella Blake, the spoiled heiress with a smirk as sharp as her stilettos. "Let the games begin," Rafael murmured to himself, his grin widening.

***

"Arabella! Girl! Smile!" Levi's voice rang out above the buzz of the crowded lobby. He struck a pose, mimicking one of Arabella's signature sultry looks with exaggerated flair. His antics earned a few smirks from passersby, but also some eye-rolls from those less amused by his flamboyant performance.

Levi wasn't one to let criticism slide. He turned to the offending onlookers, placing a hand on his hip and stomping his foot like a petulant child. "What? Never seen a beautiful creature like me before? Shoo!" he shouted, shooing them away with a dismissive flick of his manicured hand.

Arabella barely noticed, her attention stolen by the cameras and reporters clustered around her. Today's event was a model search for a new luxury skincare product, and she was the undisputed star of the show. Invitations had been sent to every top model in the country, but it was Arabella the reporters followed, their lenses capturing her every move. The flashes created an almost celestial glow around her, but the effect only seemed to magnify the jealousy simmering among the other models.

The other women muttered to each other, their words tinged with envy and disdain. Arabella, however, was immune to their barbs. She simply tossed her golden hair over her shoulder, her perfect smile unwavering as she basked in the attention.

Soon, the models were ushered inside for their auditions. Each woman would perform her own version of a skincare commercial, showcasing their ability to embody the product's luxurious allure. A panel of judges sat poised to score them, their evaluations determining who would earn the coveted role.

Meanwhile, in the building's lobby, Rafael descended the grand staircase, his sharp gaze scanning the room. He hadn't come for the audition or the models—it was her he was looking for.

And then he saw her.

Arabella sat in the last row, her posture relaxed but regal. Beside her was the animated Levi, chattering away as he gestured dramatically with his hands. Rafael's lips curved into a knowing smile. She was even more stunning in daylight, her beauty not just a result of makeup and camera angles, but an innate confidence that seemed to radiate from within.

Ignoring the curious glances from others, Rafael strode toward her. As he drew closer, her perfume—a blend of jasmine and something sweet, like vanilla—caught him off guard. It was intoxicating.

He took the empty seat beside her without asking, his movements deliberate and confident. Her head turned slowly toward him, and their eyes met for the first time in the clear light of day.

Recognition dawned instantly in her expression, her lips parting in surprise before curling into a scowl. "You!" she hissed, her voice low but venomous. "What are you doing here? Go away!"

Rafael leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed by her tone. "Baby," he said, his deep voice dripping with mock affection, "I just want to be friends."

"Don't call me 'baby.' You're not my father," she snapped, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"Alright, alright," Rafael said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let's start over, shall we?"

"Sorry, I don't talk to strangers."

Rafael smirked. "Then let's fix that. Today's as good a day as any to start our friendship."

Before Arabella could retort, Levi interjected, blinking at Rafael with wide, flirtatious eyes. "Oh my God! You're that sexy guy from the club!" His voice was tinged with awe as he leaned forward, studying Rafael as if he were a rare gem.

The statement made Rafael cringe inwardly. Levi's overt admiration was disarming, but he forced a polite smile.

"Levi!" Arabella snapped, her voice laced with warning. "Don't talk to him."

"But, Arabella—" Levi began, his tone pleading.

"Arabella," Rafael interrupted smoothly, his voice lingering over her name as if savoring it. "What a beautiful name."

Arabella's eyes narrowed suspiciously, her irritation palpable. "What do you want?"

"Just one question," Rafael said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Then I'll leave." Arabella crossed her arms. "Fine. What's the question?"

His grin turned devilish, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Is heaven missing an angel?"

For a moment, silence hung in the air, heavy with disbelief. Then Arabella's palm connected with his cheek in a resounding slap that echoed across the lobby.

Levi gasped dramatically, covering his mouth with his hands, while the other models turned to stare.

Rafael rubbed his jaw, his grin only widening despite the sting. "Feisty," he muttered, his tone both admiring and amused.

Arabella rose from her seat, her gaze steady and unyielding. "If you're done with your games, you can leave. And stay out of my way."

For the first time in his life, Rafael found himself staring at the sting of a slap across his cheek, and to his shock, he didn't feel humiliated. Instead, there was a strange, almost electric thrill that coursed through his body. He could feel the heat radiating from where her hand had struck him, and for the first time in years, he didn't feel in control. His neck cracked to the left, then to the right, a subtle defiance as his eyes locked with hers—fiery, defiant, and oddly compelling.

The room around them quieted, the other models exchanging furtive glances and murmuring to one another, their disapproving stares quickly darting away as they refocused on the competition. Levi, covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes wide as if a tornado had just passed through them. His gaze flicked nervously around the room, as if to check if anyone else had witnessed this odd, intimate moment of chaos.

Arabella, with a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let the moment linger before leaning in close, her voice low and fierce. "Next time, watch your mouth," she whispered, the fire in her tone unmistakable. She tipped her chin upward in defiance, a queen who knew her power, before turning back toward the stage, her focus shifting effortlessly to the competition.

Rafael couldn't deny the effect she had on him. He was used to women throwing themselves at him, adoring him, wanting him—his charm, his fame, his reputation. But Arabella? She was a challenge. She was different. And that made her all the more intriguing. She wasn't just another conquest for him to add to his growing list. No, she was the puzzle he couldn't solve, the mystery that pulled at him, tempting him with each sharp, defiant word and every smoldering glance. He knew exactly what was happening. She was playing hard to get, and Rafael, of course, always won.

He leaned back in his seat, settling in as the models took their turns performing their commercial versions of the skin product. But none of them held his attention. His gaze was fixed on Arabella as she walked confidently to the front of the room. The applause that followed her entrance was thunderous, but for Rafael, it was as if the rest of the world had disappeared. All he could focus on were the soft, seductive curves of her body, the sway of her hips as she moved with effortless grace. His body was charged with a surge of electricity, his pulse pounding as he took in the sight of her. How could anyone be so captivating? He felt like she was a magnet, irresistibly drawn to her.

He couldn't help but think back to the therapist's words. "Pervert addiction: rule number one—does the need for physical pleasure drive you to act in ways you normally wouldn't?" Rafael scoffed at the thought.

Can't be true, he murmured to himself. No, this wasn't addiction. This was desire, something much more powerful.

Arabella's performance was flawless—she was confident, charismatic, and effortlessly captivating. When she finished, the room erupted in applause once again, but Rafael was too far gone, his mind clouded with thoughts of her. As she returned to her seat, he couldn't resist; he leaned forward, his body instinctively moving toward hers. His arm slid around her shoulders, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her against him. His head dropped lightly to her back, inhaling the scent of her hair— sweet, intoxicating, like fresh strawberries. It was a dangerous mix of sensuality, a smell that seemed to ignite something in him, stirring up desires he had no business indulging.

But Arabella, ever the tempest, didn't let him off so easily. In an instant, she pulled away from him, standing up abruptly, leaving him to stumble forward onto the empty chair she had just vacated. She turned on him, her eyes flashing with fury, and he knew, in that moment, she wasn't one to tolerate any kind of intrusion.

"Hey, mister!" she snapped, her voice rising with authority. "You want me to call security? That's sexual harassment!"

The room turned its attention to them, whispers flying, and for a brief second, Rafael felt the sting of embarrassment. He stood up quickly, his pride wounded but his charm still intact. He straightened his shirt, attempting to regain his composure, and plastered a strained smile on his face as he tried to explain himself. "It's a misunderstanding," he said, voice low but filled with an air of uncertainty. The words felt hollow, even to him.

But Arabella wasn't done. "This man was touching me!" she cried, her voice cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.

The announcer, sensing the rising tension, moved in quickly, his tone diplomatic but urgent. "Mr. Rafael Montgomery, the CEO of Velvet Vogue Magazine, is here as one of the judges..."

Arabella and Levi gripped each other's hands in utter disbelief. No way, they both thought, the realization dawning in a chilling wave. This man—the charming, infuriating, utterly insufferable creature before them—was Rafael Montgomery, the very same CEO of Velvet Vogue they had heard whispered about in countless circles. This pervert? Their minds reeled, unable to comprehend how the charismatic façade they had witnessed could be so easily shattered by the harsh reality of his actions. Arabella's pulse quickened with a mix of indignation and disbelief. Could he really be that arrogant, that brazen? Was this the man who thought he could walk through life without consequences?

Rafael, with his usual self-assured grin, ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, trying to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing slightly as he shot a sidelong glance at Arabella, fully expecting her to crumble in the wake of his revelation. He imagined her rushing to him, her pride swallowed whole by his status as the kingpin of the fashion world. Surely now that she knows who I am, she'll realize how fortunate she is to be in my presence, he thought. She'll come running to me, begging for my attention.

But instead, Arabella's voice cut through the thick, suffocating air like a dagger, her words laced with venom. "Well, your CEO is a pig and a pervert who likes to take advantage of young girls!" she spat, her voice ringing clear and sharp in the stunned silence of the room.

A ripple of laughter cascaded through the audience, the gossip already swirling like wildfire. Some exchanged knowing glances, while others snickered under their breath. Arabella's declaration was a sudden and brutal strike, knocking Rafael back from the high pedestal he had built for himself. His face burned, not from anger, but from the sheer humiliation of it all. The truth was there, raw and unmasked, hanging in the air for everyone to see.

For a moment, Rafael stood frozen, his body rigid with disbelief. The weight of her words crashed down on him, drowning out the laughter that echoed in his ears. Yes, the rumors were true. He had earned a reputation that no amount of money or power could erase. But in that moment, surrounded by a roomful of people—investors, models, industry insiders—he had hoped, at the very least, that Arabella might show some discretion. She could have waited, could have played the game, and then called him out in private.

But no. Arabella had done the one thing he least expected. She had exposed him. To her, he was nothing more than a man desperate for control, too arrogant to see the consequences of his actions.

His gaze followed her as she turned on her heel, her exit as dramatic as it was swift. He watched her storm out of the room, her every movement laced with fury, her back straight, head held high. What the hell was I thinking? he wondered. I underestimated her...again.

But as much as the sting of humiliation burned, there was something else in his chest. A new sensation, something foreign and unsettling. It wasn't the usual thrill of conquest or the self-satisfied smugness of a man used to getting whatever he wanted. It was desire. The kind of desire that sparked not from her submission, but from her defiance. Arabella wasn't just another model to be bent to his will—she was a force. And no matter how hard he tried to shake the thought, a dangerous part of him realized that she intrigued him more than any woman he'd ever met before.