"Yes," the Verna agent replied politely, almost robotically.
"Okay, good," Queen murmured, then fell into a tense silence as her eyes scanned the fine print.
She barely saw the words. Her mind was too full—noisy with replayed argunts. She hadn’t seen Drake since that night. Since the argunt. Since the confessions and accusations had filled the air, choking out any reason or logic. After that, she hadn’t gone ho. She’d checked into a hotel under an alias and ignored every call Drake made.
She clenched her jaw, flipping a page a little too hard.
He kissed Chay. Her so-called best friend. The girl who’d grown up like a sister beside her, who’d shared dresses, secrets, and late-night ice cream raids. Chay, who had dared to press her lips against Queen’s husband. The betrayal burned.
First Liam—the picture-perfect fiancé who had cheated the night before their wedding. And now Drake, her knight in shining armor—except his armor ca with a mouth he couldn’t keep to himself.
Queen slamd the docunt shut and pressed her palms to her forehead.
She was done with n. Utterly. Finished.
Until the door opened.
And in walked the traitor himself.
Wearing that stupid suit that hugged his fra.
Queen looked up. All the fury, all the ice, evaporated in an instant.
Her traitorous heart stuttered. God help her.
Even now, after all the betrayal, her body still reacted to him. Her stomach flipped, her lips parted slightly, her chest ached in that irritating, involuntary way it always did when he walked into a room.
She hated it.
She hated that she still wanted him.
She sat straighter in her seat, crossing her legs.
He was sinfully gorgeous.
Even now, standing across from her, Drake looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine that Queen would never subscribe to but would secretly flip through at the salon.
Truth be told—though she would sooner eat glass than admit it aloud right now—she had missed him.
The weekend without him had been filled with silence so loud it humd in her bones. The hotel room, with all its modern elegance and curated perfection, still felt cold. And now, with him standing in front of her in her office, she suddenly forgot half the reasons she wanted to punch him in the jaw.
"Good morning, sir," the young woman beside her said, springing to her feet.
"I’m Louisa from Verna Real Estate. I was asked to bring the docunts to the house you showed interest in," she added, offering Drake her hand.
He took it briefly, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. His gaze kept drifting toward Queen. anwhile, Queen busied herself with pretending her laptop was the most fascinating object in the solar system.
"So you say I have to sign sowhere?" Drake asked.
Without a word, Queen picked up the folder and passed it across the desk. Their fingers didn’t touch. She made sure of that.
"Yes," Louisa chid in, flipping open the file and pointing at the designated lines. "As soon as you make the rest of the paynt, the deed will be sent to you."
Drake frowned, brows knitting together. "Rest of the paynt? What paynt? I haven’t made any previous paynt."
Queen’s heart did a weird little hop in her chest. Shit.
Louisa blinked, caught off guard. "Oh... I’m sorry, sir. I was inford that a 70% paynt had been made already. I’ll have to confirm with—"
"Louisa?" Queen said.
The young woman turned, flustered. She looked like she might burst into tears.
"Yes, ma’am?"
Queen leaned back, smoothing down the front of her blouse—an item so expensive it could pay a month’s rent in certain parts of town.
Louisa was barely her age, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, probably still living in a one-bedroom apartnt and living off iced coffee and hope.
"Get out!" Queen said simply, her voice sharp as broken glass but delivered with such practiced elegance that it could’ve been mistaken for politeness—if not for the way her eyes flashed in anger.
She didn’t even raise her voice.
Didn’t need to.
The words alone were enough to silence the already stamring Louisa, who blinked in stunned confusion as if soone had slapped her with a contract clause she didn’t read properly.
Queen tapped her manicured nail on the desk. Click. Click. Click.
She knew damn well that Victor should have personally overseen this deal. Not tossed it to a junior agent fresh out of school.
Louisa stood frozen. "Excuse ?" she whispered.
"I said get out," Queen repeated, enunciating. "And tell Uncle Victor to send soone with a brain next ti."
Louisa, now trembling with humiliation, turned on her heel and exited the room, her ponytail swinging. They heard the soft sniffle just before the office door closed with a near-silent click.
Then it was just the two of them.
Queen and her storm. Drake and his wreckage.
Drake let out a humorless chuckle. His eyes were weary, but there was that glint—sharp, intelligent, laced with disbelief. "I should have known," he said. "I should have known that a house like that, in that area, for that ridiculous price was too good to be true."
Queen’s gaze didn’t waver. She simply said, "I made the down paynt."
He nodded slowly. A beat passed between them—tense, crackling with unfinished argunts and words never ant to be heard.
"I guess," she added, with a little shrug of her shoulders, "we both have sothing we’ve been hiding."
Drake’s head shot up, brows arched. "You’re comparing an innocent kiss with Chay to going behind my back and paying for a house?"
Queen scoffed, reaching for the mug of now cold coffee beside her, more for sothing to do than thirst. She sipped, then delicately dabbed her lips with a napkin.
"I went behind your back," she said coolly, "you went behind mine."
She set the mug down with a soft clink.
"We’ll call it even."
Queen flicked her fingers. The flick carried centuries of feminine dismissal, the type handed down through queens.
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