Chapter 1
The exclusive Manhattan club reeked of money—a notorious black hole for the wealthy elite. Outside a private room, Anastasia Kingsley paused, her slender fingers on the doorknob. A familiar voice drifted out:
“Anastasia? Christ, I’m bored to death with that piece of ass,” Jasper Hale drawled, lighting a cigarette. A lazy, arrogant smirk accompanied his exhale.
His buddies erupted in laughter. “Can’t blame you, man—even a perfect rack gets old after enough times,” snickered Mike, one of Jasper’s Wall Street cronies.
“But seriously, Jasper,” Trevor chimed in, swirling his scotch, “you sure about dumping her? Three years is a long time. You practically stalked her to get her.”
“Yeah,” added Derek, already intoxicated, “and Anastasia’s body is incredible—those legs go all the way up to heaven, and that ass would make a priest sin.”
“Why would I keep hitting the same spot?” Jasper scoffed. “I need a girl who knows her place, like Valeria. She’s wet and willing whenever I snap my fingers. Been with her for weeks now. All that drama with Anastasia? Like fucking a beautiful iceberg.” His bloodshot eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
Trevor nearly choked on his drink. “Holy shit, you’re already nailing her stepsister? That’s cold-blooded, even for you!”
“That’s how I roll,” Jasper bragged, adjusting himself crudely. “Valeria’s got that virgin act down pat—gets on her knees like she’s praying and begs for it. One ‘please daddy’ and I’m ready to go all night,” he grinned, making an obscene gesture.
“This is why you’re the king, Hale!” Mike raised his glass. “Teaching us how to use and lose them! They’re all just warm holes when the lights go out anyway.”
“But still, her old man might—” Derek started to caution.
Their vulgar laughter continued. Anastasia remained frozen outside, her knuckles white from gripping the handle. Every word pierced through the door with chilling clarity.
Jasper’s comments sliced through her like shards of glass. She never imagined he would be sleeping with her stepsister. Anastasia drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door.
The rowdy room fell instantly silent. The men exchanged panicked glances, caught in the act. Peter Parker, always the quick thinker, immediately attempted damage control.
“Ana! Hey! Come join us for a drink!”
Anastasia ignored him. She walked straight to Jasper, her gaze cold and level. “We’re done, Jasper. For good this time.”
Before he could respond, she grabbed a glass of Cabernet and threw it in his face, then turned and left.
Jasper, dripping with expensive red wine, his white shirt ruined, called after her furiously, “Anastasia! If you walk out that door tonight, don’t even think about coming back!”
His voice carried the confidence of someone who’d never lost control. Throughout their relationship, he’d held all the cards. He’d openly flirted with actresses, slept with college girls, and even made passes at interns—and Anastasia had always looked the other way. They’d broken up and made up countless times, but she invariably returned.
So, despite his wine-soaked shirt, Jasper remained smugly certain she was bluffing. Anastasia hesitated at the threshold. Jasper’s face relaxed into a familiar, entitled smile.
Then, without looking back, she walked out. Jasper’s face froze in disbelief.
Peter muttered, “I think she’s actually serious this time. Maybe you should go after her.”
Jasper scoffed, reaching for a napkin. “Chase after her? Please. She’ll be blowing up my phone before midnight, begging to talk. Why would I bother?” He spoke of her like a particularly stubborn pet.
His friends exchanged looks but said nothing. History had taught them that after their fights, Anastasia would return within the hour, tears in her eyes. Surely tonight would be no different.