Chapter 3

Vivian's eyes lit up like she’d just seen her savior. She sprinted over, her high heels clicking frantically against the pavement. 

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, clearing a path for him.

A young man swaggered forward, flanked by four hulking bodyguards in black suits. He was decked out in a flashy, custom burgundy suit. 

"Vivian, you're my executive secretary," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he glanced at her. "Have some class. We don't brawl in the streets like commoners."

He then stopped right in front of me, his gaze sweeping over me with sheer condescension. "So, you're Gloria Windsor?"

I gave him a quick once-over. I had to admit, my father's taste in men wasn't entirely terrible. Six-foot-two, sharp features, wearing a bespoke suit that fit him like a glove. He was undeniably handsome. If I had to nitpick a flaw, it was the absolute, freezing contempt in his eyes.

So, this was my so-called "fiancé" whom I had never met—Kyle Hamilton, the heir to the Hamilton Energy Empire.

"Mr. Hamilton. A pleasure," I started, keeping my tone perfectly diplomatic. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gloria, from—"

"Save it." 

Kyle raised a hand, cutting me off with a look of utter boredom. "We're not a match. Take your ass back to wherever you came from."

For a split second, I thought I had misheard him. 

I had just driven fourteen hours straight from D.C. to Dallas to honor this ridiculous arranged marriage my father insisted on. I hadn't even stopped for a single sip of water, and he was dismissing me in ten seconds flat? 

He was playing me for a fool. My patience, usually ironclad from managing federal crises, evaporated instantly.

"You must be the future husband my father picked out for me," I said, my voice dropping a degree. "But dismissing your fiancée before she even finishes a sentence? Not exactly Southern hospitality, is it?"

Kyle's face darkened instantly. "Hospitality?" 

He let out a harsh laugh, pointing a finger at the towering glass skyscraper behind him. 

"Ms. Windsor, take a good look at the Hamilton Energy headquarters behind you. Do you honestly think you're in my league?"

He eyed my unbranded trench coat—which, unbeknownst to him, was extremely exclusive Parisian haute couture—with dripping disgust. 

"I don't know if my old man, Roger, is going senile, trying to force me to marry a cheap, broke country bumpkin who looks like a useless trophy wife."

The moment those words left his mouth, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of gasps and whispers.

"What? That woman is Mr. Hamilton's fiancée? No way!"

"Look at her! Just a gold-digging country bumpkin trying to punch above her weight. She should look in a mirror before trying to marry into billions."

"Kyle is the most eligible bachelor in Dallas! I’d throw myself in front of a bus before I let a nobody like her marry him!" a woman in the crowd shrieked dramatically.

I stood perfectly still, my expression utterly unbothered, finding the whole circus somewhat amusing.

Kyle smirked, clearly enjoying the public humiliation he was subjecting me to. Then, his eyes shifted away from me and landed on the scraped paint of his Lamborghini.

"Now that we've established the engagement is off," Kyle sneered.

I stared back at him. Honestly, I just found it hilarious.

"So, what you're saying is... you want to call off the engagement?" I asked point-blank.

"Call it off? Hah!" 

Kyle acted like I'd just told the joke of the century. He turned to Vivian and his bodyguards, bursting into exaggerated, theatrical laughter.

"Did you guys hear that?! She's asking if I want to call off the engagement!"

"Listen here, you little bitch. The second you hit my car and had the nerve to hang up on me, you lost any chance of ever associating with the Hamilton family for the rest of your pathetic life!"

"You and I? Not gonna happen. Take your ass back to wherever you came from."

Kyle's smile vanished in a flash, replaced by a vicious glare. 

"But before you get the hell back to Washington, we're gonna settle this tab." 

He pointed to the Lamborghini, which only had a small scrape on the paint.

"This car is a global limited edition. A single chip of paint on this baby is worth more than your damn life."

"Vivian asked you for half a million earlier? That's just her being sweet." Kyle sneered, holding up five fingers. "I've changed my mind. I want five million!"

"If you're short even a single cent, I'll have my guys break your legs and throw you into the river in Dallas to feed the fish!"

The moment those words left his mouth, dead silence fell over the crowd. 

Five million dollars! 

For a scraped paint job! 

This was daylight robbery!

Everyone stared at me with pity, looking at me like I was already a dead woman walking.

I looked at the clueless, arrogant bastard standing in front of me, and the smirk on my face only grew wider.

"Five million?" I repeated softly.

"What? Can't cough it up?" Kyle took a cocky step forward. "That's fine, too. Sign this piece of junk car over to me, then get on your knees and lick Vivian's shoes clean. If I'm in a good mood, I might just let you off the hook."

"Good. Very good."

I nodded. The smile vanished from my face in an instant, replaced by absolute, ice-cold fury.

"Mr. Hamilton, let me verify this with you one last time."

"Number one: You are unilaterally calling off the engagement. Correct?"

"Number two: You are demanding five million dollars in compensation, or else you'll take my life. Correct?"

Kyle dug at his ear impatiently. 

"Are you deaf or just braindead? My word is the law! Now pay up!"

"The law?" I let out a cold laugh, my gaze as sharp as a knife. 

"On American soil, no one's word is absolute law. Even the President of the United States wouldn't dare speak to me like that."

My voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable, bone-chilling authority.

Kyle froze for a split second. Then, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the universe, he clutched his stomach and erupted into hysterical laughter.

"The President?! Hahahaha! Are you fucking delusional?!"