YOU BLOODY BASTARD
Alistair
Wednesday, June 8
“You bloody bastard.”
“Come on, Saira. You can do better than that. Not even a hello?” I laughed into my phone.
“How can you do this to me? I swear I’ll find out why you’re doing this.”
“I’m doing this for Damian, love.”
“Love? Don’t you dare use that word, you rotten shit. You never loved me. If you take Damian from me, I’ll give you hell.”
“You’re not the first person to promise me hell. What do you want?”
“I want you to leave me alone. Why did you sic the police on me?”
“Oh, I wonder why,” I drawled. “Maybe because you’re busy screwing the mafia on a mattress stuffed with dirty cash. How’s business these days? Drugs still moving? Girls still unregistered? And those little sex parties—where the rich pay to play and you’re the perfect hostess, serving cocktails and cocaine? Sounds like someone’s been very bad.”
“Guess what, you mongrel?” Saira snapped. “The police showed up at my door this morning. No warrant, no search. Just their endless bullshit questions. I missed a meeting because of it. Does that make you happy?”
“No. First, I want my son safe. You know what I promised after what happened to him at your place. Second, there’s a man—Julian Richland. University professor. You know him.”
“He’s my business.”
“He’s mine now. Touch him, and you’ll deal with me.”
“What do you want, Alistair?”
“Leave Julian alone. And for once in your life, try being a mother.”
“And if I do, will you stop siccing the police on me? A record doesn’t suit me. And I’m not giving up Damian. He’s my son, too. I love him.”
“Then keep your distance from Julian.”
“Why? Do you want him for yourself?” Her laugh cut sharply. “Does he stir your cock? I could set a price. You’d get your taste.”
“Cut it out, Saira.”
“Oh, please. You’ve always had a thing for pretty men. Remember when I caught you and Nick in bed with his whore draped across you both? You were lovers—”
“You had your own affairs, so what difference does it make? Besides, Nick is dead.”
“Yes. A boating accident in Italy. Five years ago. Such a pity.” Her voice dripped with mock grief.
“Your father’s been dead for years. Nick inherited most of his money, and you’re still bitter about the will. Did you really think he’d leave it all to you?” I bit into an apple, slow, savoring it. Nick had style—even in death. Leaving his fortune to the Scott Charity for Kids had been the perfect parting shot. All Saira got was the family company. To her credit, she’d turned it into a gold mine.
“I hate you with every breath,” my ex-wife hissed.
“I’ve heard it before. So let me be clear—stop circling Julian. Or I’ll unleash the dogs and bleed you dry.”
“You cold, heartless bastard—”
“Manners, Saira.” My voice cut clean. “Leave Julian alone, or I will crush you. Do we understand each other?”
Her pause stretched, then: “Fine. Agreed.”
“Good. Now piss off with your empty threats. I’ve got better ways to waste my time.”
Vera
Wednesday, June 15
I scrolled through Alistair’s messages on my cellphone one more time. Most of it was dribble, but the last line cut through.
Vera, talk to me. Let me explain. You need to know the truth.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I hit call.
“Hey, Scotty.”
“Hello.” His voice was ice—flat, stripped of warmth.
I didn’t waste time. “Who is Erin to you?”
“She’s my brother Oliver’s wife.”
“So you got her pregnant behind his back? You make me sick.”
“Vera… Erin and I were in a relationship once. She’s not innocent either.”
“Was she the woman you loved? Do you still love her?”
Silence. Heavy.
“Hello? Scotty?” I paced my room, glancing at the screen like the connection was to blame.
“I’m here.” His voice finally came, low. “We were in love. But that’s the past.”
My stomach twisted. “Were you fucking Erin while you were with me?”
“No. I ended it before you and I met. That’s the truth.”
“Yet I saw you kissing her.”
“It’s not what you—”
“Not what I think? Then tell me what the hell it was. What kind of man are you?”
“I’m sorry. I care for you, Vera. I do.”
I bit down hard, tasting salt. “It’s not enough. I want to trust you—but I can’t.”
“You have to trust me. I told Saira to leave your brother alone, but she’s a snake in the grass. She’ll strike again. You may still need me—more than you know.”
I rolled my eyes, wiping another tear before it fell. “Thanks for helping my brother. But I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”
“Sweetheart, just lis—”
“Stop.” My voice cracked sharply. “Don’t contact me again. Ever.”
“Vera,” Alistair pleaded. “Please. Think about it. Is this really what you want?”
“It’s what I need. I need space from you.”
Silence stretched, cold and suffocating.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice turning to steel. “Consider this a business transaction closed. If space is what you need, I’ll give it to you. Goodbye, Miss Richland.”
“Goodbye, Mister Scott.”
The line went dead. My chest hollowed, an anchor sinking deep. I deleted his number, hands trembling. Sometimes, sorry wasn’t enough. And this was one of those times.
DADDY JIM
Vera
Friday, June 17
There it was. Lester Harbor Daily’s latest post on a social media platform.
Oliver and Erin Scott announce pregnancy news. Lester Harbor’s elite couple is expecting a baby. Read more: www.lhdaily.com/stories/scott-baby-news #scottfamily #babynews #news
I clicked. Of course I did. The article painted Oliver as the glowing father-to-be. Same crooked smile as Alistair, though his hair curled darker. To the world, Oliver and Erin were the golden couple—wealth, success, love.
What a joke. This was textbook Scott strategy: polish the scandal, feed the media a glossy fairytale. I’d studied this crap—I had a business degree in media comms before law school. They weren’t fooling me.
And Alistair? He stayed quiet. Slipped out of the spotlight. Smart move.
As for Erin, I knew why she’d confessed the truth to me. She wanted me out of the way. If I leaked her little secret, I’d be branded the bitter gold digger. History had shown how that played out; every mistress who spoke out got crushed under the weight of disbelief.
So I swallowed it. But one thing burned clear through the smoke. Alistair Scott, Lester Harbor’s golden playboy, had played me.
“Vera, sweetie, are you okay?”
“Huh?” I looked up from my phone screen.
“You seem distant lately,” Sapphire said, standing in the foyer. I invited her for a girls’ night in because we hadn’t seen much of each other after she moved into an apartment across town. She still refused to talk to Julian.
“I’m fine,” I lied, clearing my throat.
“No, you’re not. You’re not telling me the truth.”
“Busted. Guilty as charged.” I sighed. “It’s a long story.”
Sapphire slid into the chair beside me and placed her hand over mine. “Tell me. I’m here.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about Mister Z.”
She tucked a loose strand behind my ear, her blue eyes narrowing with that no-nonsense stare. “Stop it. Whoever this Mister Z is, forget him. Do you really think he’s thinking of you right now?”
I shook my head.
“Then why waste the brain space?”
“You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
“That’s my girl.” She kissed my forehead, then smirked. “Now, what would the Vera I know do when a man tries to steal her heart?”
A grin tugged at my mouth. “Well… Jim Goldman texted this afternoon. Asked if I was going out tonight. He’s at Tango with a few colleagues.”
Saph’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Daddy Jim? The silver fox with the big cock?”
“Yep. That guy,” I quipped, biting my lower lip. Jim was a fit and handsome in his mid-fifties who knew how to get a woman wet.
“Saph, you’re a genius,” I blurted. “Jim’s circling, and I need to get over Mister Z.”
Her brows arched. “What exactly are you thinking, Vera?”
“I’m thinking… a taste of Jim’s prime cut.”
“Oh my God.” Saph choked on a laugh, dissolving into giggles. She finally caught her breath, patting my hand like I was hopeless. “Fine. Best dress. Tango. One drink. Then we see where the night takes you.”
Tango Nightclub, 8:15 p.m.
“Hey, Jim,” I called, rolling my hips as I closed in on the man with a beer in hand. Confidence hit me like a shot: red leather skirt hugging my waist, matching bustier showing every curve. Scarlet lips, lashes thick with mascara. Dangerous.
“Wow. You look stunning.” The solicitor grinned. Jim had once interviewed me for a spot at his firm. I didn’t get the job, but he called after to apologize. One dinner later, we were fucking for dessert.
Saph elbowed me, and I remembered my manners. “Jim, this is my friend, Sapphire.”
“Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand, her smile sweet as sin.
“Good to meet you, too.” Jim clasped it, then turned back to me. “Vera, you remember Mark from the interview?”
I followed his gaze to the younger man at his side—dark hair, heavy brows, and eyes that didn’t bother hiding their interest.
“Yes, it’s great to see you again.” I nodded at Mark, catching the way his eyes traveled up and down Sapphire’s slender frame.
“Would you ladies like a drink?” Jim asked.
“Why, of course, babe.” I brushed my fingers along his shoulder. “Saph will have a Long Island iced tea, and I’ll take a Pornstar Martini.”
The next half hour blurred with heat and laughter. Saph played the perfect wingwoman, keeping Mark occupied, while Jim anchored me with the weight of his hand on my lower back. His cedarwood cologne curled around me, intoxicating.
His fingers squeezed my ass, bold like he knew exactly how to play me.
This man is begging to be fucked.
His gray eyes burned, pupils blown wide, as he pressed his hard length against my skirt. “You’re so fucking beautiful. A goddess,” he murmured. “Spend the night with me?”
“Yes,” I purred, arching closer. “I’d like that very much.”
“Vera,” Saph cut in, her voice pulling me back. “I’ve got to go. My boss just called. Media interview, can’t wait.”
“On a Friday night?”
“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Politics isn’t a nine-to-five. Election season.”
“Vera and I are about to leave. We’ll walk out with you to find a cab,” Jim said to Saph, then glanced at his friend. “Mark, I’ll see you on Monday.”
Saph hailed a taxi after leaving the club. “Here’s my ride,” she sang, hugging me. “I’ll see you soon, Vera, and it was nice to meet you, Daddy Jim. You both have a fucktastic—whoops, I mean fantastic time.”
Shit. I couldn’t believe Saph said that.
“You’ve been naughty,” Jim growled, plundering my neck with red-hot kisses.
“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, feeling his swollen erection press against my body.
“Because you never returned my calls,” he said, rubbing my backside in sensual circles.
“Sorry, I was busy.”
“Would you like to play with Daddy Jim tonight?” Jim teased.
“Yes, please, Daddy.”
“You dirty little girl.”
Jim could no longer hide his prominent bulge. It was time to leave town and check into his place, a seaside home with a spectacular ocean view which housed a special room of kinky sex toys and walls adorned with large images of nude couples copulating. I looked forward to handcuffing Daddy Jim, sitting on his face, and making him lap up my juices. Only after that, I might let his meaty cock dig deep inside one of my holes.
Daddy Jim’s meat was my sweet treat.
The doorbell’s buzz yanked me out of a mid-afternoon nap on the sofa on Sunday. After a weekend of being wrecked by a man who knew every trick in the book, the last thing I needed was an uninvited guest.
“I’m coming,” I snapped, marching to the door as it buzzed again. “No rest for the wicked.”
I pulled it open. Two wide, puppy-brown eyes blinked at me.
Erin Everton-Scott.
“What the hell are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?” I planted a hand on my hip, taking in her glossy hair and perfect manicure. Of course. Alistair had a type—tall brunettes. She and I could’ve traded shoes, same five-nine frame.
“I have my ways,” she said, her eyes narrowing at my checkered pajama pants before she smiled too widely. She wore bubblegum-pink leggings and spotless off-white trainers, all dressed up in mock innocence. “I came to raise a white flag. Call a truce.”
I studied her, weighing the odds. Erin was poison dressed as fruit, but curiosity always tripped me up. I stepped aside. “Fine. Say what you need to say, then get out.”
My eyes dropped to her stomach. “How’s the pregnancy? Any nausea?”
She gave me a syrupy look. “Oh, sweetheart, just a little morning sickness. A touch of dizziness. Otherwise, I’m peachy-perfect.”
Sweetheart. Alistair used to call me that. I’d been stupid enough to let him.
Erin’s gaze sharpened, cutting through the sugar. “Oh, poor Vera. You look upset. Honestly, your face looks like it’s been hit by a truck.”
“It takes a lot more to upset me than a homewrecker, honey,” I lied, masking the pain. “So, does your husband know the baby isn’t his?”
Erin let out a high-pitched laugh that made my skin crawl. She cleared her throat, eyes glittering. “I’ve come to an agreement with Oliver and Alistair. Oliver’s name goes on the birth certificate. We stay married. And, well, he accepts that I’m… let’s call it polyamorous.”
I raised a brow. “Wow. Living the dream. Funny, though. Polyamory usually requires informed consent. So tell me, was Oliver informed before you spread your legs for Alis—”
Her glare sliced across me. “Vera, do I need to remind you who I am? I am a Scott. And you will respect that. Oliver knows the truth. He and Alistair both love me. Oh, you didn’t know?”
The words landed like broken glass. My chest tightened, but I forced my shoulders straight, my stare steady. “Stop fucking with me and get to the point.”
“You’d better be careful.” Erin’s hand stroked her bump, her voice dropping into a mock warning. “Pregnant women are vulnerable. You wouldn’t want to hurt Alistair’s child, would you?”
“You’re married to his brother.”
“And I’m carrying Alistair’s baby.” Her smile sharpened. “I love him. He loves me.”
“You’re either stupid or a liar,” I shot back. “Why would you even tell me this? I could go to the press tomorrow and ruin your picture-perfect marriage.”
She leaned in, voice honeyed and cruel. “Sweetheart, nobody would believe you. They’d laugh you off as a desperate gold digger trying to cash in on the Scott name. Alistair dated you a few times. Big deal. He fucked you because you were easy. And the whole time?” Her smile twisted. “He was thinking of me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he told me. He can’t have me, so he uses other women to release his—”
“He can’t have you? I thought you said you were polyamorous,” I cut her off. I knew now she was lying. Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What do you want from me?”
Erin tilted her head, lips curling into a snarl. “You’re shaking. Wow. I didn’t think it was so easy to get rid of pests. That is what you are to me.”
“It’s time for you to leave my apartment.” My voice came out steady, even as heat prickled behind my eyes and my knees wobbled beneath me. I locked her with a stare, daring her to see anything else.
Her plastic smile stretched wider. “Alistair has a message for you.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Her gaze narrowed, cold and gleaming. “He wants you to stay out of his life.”
“Get out.” My patience snapped. I seized her arm and shoved her through the doorway before she could spit out another word.
Pregnant or not, Erin Everton-Scott would never be welcome in my home. Or in my life.
