Chapter 3: Models, Meltdowns, and One Last Lie

I let myself get lost in the warmth of the models, totally forgetting everything else. For a minute, I almost felt free.

Suddenly, the door opened. I thought it was just a server bringing more drinks and didn’t look up. Not my problem.

“How do those abs feel?”

“Yeah…” Halfway through, I realized that voice was way too familiar. My heart did a weird flip.

I looked up and locked eyes with Jackson’s stormy gaze.

“So that’s how you figured out I’m ‘just average’? Turns out you’ve been living it up all along.”

The comments flashed by again.

[Isn’t the main guy supposed to be out shopping with the side girl? Why is he here? Am I confused?]

[You’re not confused, this was where the heroine was supposed to see him with the side girl and run off crying.]

I was scrambling for a comeback when Megan peeked in from behind Jackson, looking wounded.

“Jackson, you left me at the mall just to come find her?”

Jackson said, “Yeah, didn’t I give you my card? Buy whatever you want. Why’d you follow me here?”

Megan started crying, tears streaming down her face. “I’m your girlfriend! You said I was the most important person to you. Do you not love me anymore?”

“Harper Quinn, can’t you stop clinging to someone else’s boyfriend? Girls like you are the worst!”

What the hell? Is she blind? It’s Jackson who’s chasing after me!

The model on my right leaned in and whispered, “Hey, who’s that guy?”

I shook my head. “No clue. Probably wandered into the wrong room.”

He shrugged and pulled my hand onto his abs.

“If you like, just keep touching.”

“You’re gorgeous—seriously, it’s an honor.”

“Tonight, I’ll make sure you have a great time.”

He even shot Jackson a mocking look, as if daring him to do something.

Not to be outdone, the model on my left grabbed my other hand and put it on his abs, too. I had to admit, they felt great—warm and firm. Money well spent!

The comments drifted by.

[No wonder they’re models, they really know what to say.]

[I want a turn, too.]

[Suddenly the heroine doesn’t seem so pathetic anymore. She’s living her best life.]

[No, I want to see her get hurt so the main guy has to chase her!]

Jackson shook off Megan’s hand, strode over, and pulled me out from between the two models.

He shot them a cold look and tossed a wad of cash. “If you want to keep your jobs, get out.”

The two guys who’d just been calling me “gorgeous” grabbed the money and bolted like rabbits.

“Harper Quinn, can’t you go a single night without a man?”

Jackson stomped on the gas, his face stormy. I sat in the back, calmly fixing my lipstick, ignoring him completely.

Megan, in the front seat, couldn’t sit still and sniped, “President Quinn, you’re twenty-eight already. I heard women your age like to try wild things, like—what do they call it—chocolate syrup and handcuffs? President Quinn, ever tried that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, with your boyfriend. Happy now?”

“You… you…”

Megan burst into tears. “I knew there was something wrong between you two!”

“Pull over, Jackson! You owe me an explanation!”

He stopped by the side of the road and pulled her into his arms, coaxing softly, “She’s just making stuff up. There’s nothing between us, babe, you have to believe me.”

“Harper Quinn, apologize to Megan!”

I leaned in close, staring at Jackson’s face, and mimicked Megan’s tone, “Jackson, is there really nothing between us? You sure didn’t say that last week in my bed.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. “Harper Quinn, have you no shame? If I hadn’t been drunk, do you think I’d have touched you?”

I snorted, turned on my heel, and started to walk away, my heels clicking on the pavement.

A few steps away, I reconsidered. I really needed to clear things up with Megan. No way was I taking the blame for being a homewrecker.

I ran up to her and said,

“Look, I just want to explain. I only found out you two were together yesterday, so I didn’t knowingly get involved. He lied to me.”

“Jackson’s the one two-timing you. If you’re mad, take it out on him, not me.”

Megan just cried even harder. Her sobs echoed off the car windows, sharp and unrelenting, like she wanted the whole world to know how wronged she felt. For a second, I almost felt sorry for her—but then I remembered who started this mess. I squared my shoulders, wiped the smudge of mascara from my cheek, and decided right then: I was done playing the villain in someone else’s drama. This story was about to get a rewrite. And this time, I was holding the pen.