Chapter 1: The First Cut: A Whisper of Revenge
The VIP lounge at the afterparty was a velvet-draped sanctuary of gold and glass, where the air hummed with the scent of expensive whiskey and the low murmur of industry secrets. The kind of place where deals were made in hushed tones, where reputations were forged and shattered in the same breath. The dim lighting cast long shadows over champagne flutes, each one a silent witness to the power plays unfolding beneath the surface.
Kylie Jenner stepped through the door like a storm given human form.
Her dress was a second skin, black and shimmering, clinging to every curve as if it had been painted onto her.
The fabric dipped low in the front, teasing the swell of her breasts, and rode high on her thighs, the slit parting with every step to reveal flashes of smooth, golden skin. The room stilled for a fraction of a second—just long enough for her to notice, just long enough for her to savor it.
Jacob Elordi was already there, leaning against the bar, one arm draped over the back of a velvet chaise, his dark eyes tracking her like a predator who had already decided she was prey. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his body a testament to the kind of discipline that came from knowing exactly how good he looked.
His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortlessly sexy, and his lips curled into a smirk that said he knew exactly what kind of thoughts were running through her head. Kylie’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she approached, her hips swaying with deliberate precision. She didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were glued to her ass, the way the fabric clung to her like a second skin.
The moment she was within reach, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand slid up the inside of her thigh, his touch possessive, demanding. She let out a soft gasp, but her smirk never wavered.
His fingers inched higher, his thumb brushing against the damp lace of her panties, and she could feel the heat of his breath against her neck.
"Fuck, Kylie," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You’re so fucking wet for me already."
She arched into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled his lips to hers. The kiss was brutal, hungry, their tongues clashing in a battle of dominance. His hand slid beneath the fabric, his fingers parting her folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate circles.
"Goddamn, you’re soaked," he growled against her mouth. "You want this, don’t you?
Want me to fuck you right here, where everyone can see?" Jacob’s voice was a dark purr, his fingers working her clit with just enough pressure to make her hips jerk against his hand. "Want them to watch as I make you come so hard you forget that piece of shit’s name?"
Kylie’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as she ground herself against his hand. The VIP lounge was still buzzing around them—laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation—but none of it mattered. All that existed was the heat between her thighs, the way his fingers slid through her slick folds, the way his thumb pressed just right against her clit.
Kylie’s lips parted, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as she rocked against his hand. The world blurred at the edges—champagne flutes, murmuring voices, the weight of a hundred eyes—but none of it mattered. Not when Jacob’s fingers were inside her, stretching her, fucking her with slow, deliberate thrusts.
"Fuck, you’re tight," he groaned, his lips brushing against her ear. "Bet your cunt feels even better around my cock."
Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer. "Then why the hell are you still talking?"
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.
"Because I want to hear you beg for it first."
Kylie’s eyes flashed, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. She wasn’t the type to beg—not for anything. But the way his fingers curled inside her, the way his thumb pressed against her clit with just the right amount of pressure, made her thighs tremble. She could feel the heat pooling in her core, her body betraying her with every gasp, every shudder.
"Fuck you," she breathed, but there was no real bite to it. Her voice was thick with desire, her body arching into his touch.
Jacob’s grin turned predatory.
"Say it again," he murmured, his fingers stilling inside her just enough to make her whimper. "But this time, sound like you mean it."
Kylie’s breath hitched. She knew the game he was playing—power, control, the thrill of making her submit. But she wasn’t about to give in that easily.
"Make me," she challenged, her voice a low, throaty purr. She ground against his hand, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, forcing his fingers deeper. A groan rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening on her waist.
"You’re playing with fire, baby," he warned, but his voice was rough, his control slipping.
His fingers twisted inside her, curling against that sweet spot that made her vision blur. Kylie gasped, her nails raking down his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Then burn me," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. The words were barely out before his mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue forcing its way past her lips in a brutal, hungry kiss. His fingers never stopped moving, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes while his thumb pressed down hard on her clit.
Kylie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as she rode his hand. The VIP lounge was still alive around them—laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation—but none of it mattered.
Not when Jacob’s fingers were buried deep inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Kylie’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her body trembling as she rode his hand. She could feel the heat pooling in her core, her pussy clenching around his fingers, desperate for more.
Jacob’s lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just hard enough to make her gasp. "You like that, don’t you?" he murmured against her throat. "You like being fucked with my fingers while everyone watches."
Kylie’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze sweeping across the room.
The VIP lounge was a blur of faces—some familiar, some strangers—but all of them were watching. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and sweat, the low hum of conversation drowned out by the pounding of her own pulse in her ears. Jacob’s fingers were still buried deep inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit with just the right amount of pressure, making her hips jerk against his hand.
"Fuck," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music. "Fuck, Jacob, don’t stop."
He smirked, his lips brushing against her ear. "You want me to make you come right here? In front of everyone?" Jacob's smirk deepened, his fingers curling inside her, pressing against that spot that made her vision blur. "You want them to see you fall apart, Kylie? Want them to watch as I make you come so hard you can't even remember your own name?"
Kylie's breath hitched, her eyes locked onto his. The VIP lounge was a sea of faces, some smirking, some shocked, but all of them riveted. She could feel the weight of their stares like a physical touch, the heat of their gazes burning into her skin. The thought of it—of them watching her, seeing her lose control—sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her.
Her pussy clenched around Jacob’s fingers, her hips rolling in desperate, needy circles.
"Fuck yes," she whispered, her voice rough with desire. "I want them to see. I want them to know that I’m not the one who got played."
Jacob’s dark eyes burned into hers, his smirk turning feral. "That’s my girl," he growled, his fingers twisting inside her, stretching her, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes. His thumb pressed down hard on her clit, circling in tight, relentless motions.
"God, you’re so fucking wet for me," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "So fucking tight.
So fucking wet." Jacob’s voice was a low growl as he curled his fingers inside her, his thumb grinding against her clit with just the right amount of pressure. "You’re gonna come for me, Kylie. Right here. Right now. And everyone’s gonna watch you do it." The VIP lounge was a blur of faces—some smirking, some shocked—but all of them were watching.
Kylie could feel the weight of their stares like a physical touch, the heat of their gazes burning into her skin. His breath was hot against her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. "You want them to see you come, don’t you, baby?
Want them to watch as I make you lose your fucking mind?" Jacob’s voice was a dark whisper against her ear, his fingers still buried deep inside her, curling just right to make her gasp. His thumb pressed down hard on her clit, grinding in slow, deliberate circles that made her hips jerk against his hand.
Kylie’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as she rocked against his fingers, her body trembling on the edge of release. The VIP lounge was a blur of faces—some smirking, some shocked, but all of them watching. The heat of their stares burned into her skin, the weight of their attention making her pussy clench tighter around his fingers.
Jacob’s thumb pressed down harder on her clit, circling in slow, deliberate motions that sent electric jolts through her body. She could feel the wetness dripping down her thighs, the slick sound of his fingers moving inside her obscene in the hushed silence of the VIP lounge. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, sweat, and sex—her sex.
"Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight," Jacob growled, his voice rough with lust. "I can feel your cunt squeezing my fingers like it’s begging for my cock." His free hand gripped her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. "You want that, don’t you?
You want my cock inside you while everyone watches." Jacob’s voice was a dark purr as he curled his fingers inside her again, his thumb pressing down on her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Kylie’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched into his touch. The VIP lounge was a sea of faces—some smirking, some shocked—but all of them riveted on the scene unfolding before them.
The air was thick with tension, the low hum of conversation drowned out by the pounding of Kylie’s pulse in her ears.
Then, she saw him.
Timothee.
He stood near the bar, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock and something else—something that looked a hell of a lot like fear. Kylie’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk as she locked eyes with him.
The man who had looked at her with those same eyes just weeks ago, whispering promises of forever while his hands roamed her body. The man who had made her believe she was the only woman in the world worth wanting—until she’d walked in on him, buried between some actress’s thighs in their own damn bedroom.
Now, he stood frozen, a glass of whiskey halfway to his lips, his knuckles white around the crystal. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitching from across the room. Good. Let him feel it. Let him *choke* on it.
Let him watch.
Kylie’s smirk deepened as she held Timothee’s gaze, her hips still rolling against Jacob’s hand. The way his fingers curled inside her, the way his thumb pressed down on her clit—it was all for show now. Not just for the room, not just for the whispers that would spread like wildfire through the industry by morning. But for *him*.
For the man who had once made her believe in forever.
Timothee’s glass trembled in his grip, a single drop of amber liquid sloshing over the rim and splashing onto the polished marble of the bar.
His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a man drowning. The VIP lounge had gone eerily quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the wet, obscene sounds of Jacob’s fingers moving inside Kylie. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, the musk of sex clinging to the velvet drapes and the crystal chandeliers.
Kylie didn’t break eye contact with Timothee. Not for a second. She wanted him to see every flicker of pleasure on her face, every gasp that escaped her lips.
She wanted him to remember the way her body moved when she came, the way her nails dug into flesh when she was lost in ecstasy. She wanted him to *burn* with the knowledge that she had moved on—no, that she had *elevated*—while he was left choking on his own regret.
Jacob’s fingers curled deeper inside her, his thumb pressing down with just the right pressure on her clit, and Kylie’s back arched involuntarily. A soft, breathy moan slipped past her lips, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second before she forced them open again, locking onto Timothee’s horrified stare.
His knuckles were white around his glass, his face a mask of something between fury and devastation.
Jacob’s fingers twisted inside her, his thumb circling her clit with deliberate precision. "You’re so fucking wet for me, baby," he murmured against her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just hard enough to make her gasp. "You like this, don’t you? Knowing he’s watching?"
Kylie’s breath hitched, her hips rolling against his hand in slow, deliberate circles.
The VIP lounge was a blur of faces now, but one pair of eyes burned brighter than the rest—Timothee’s. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitching in his cheek, his fingers white-knuckled around his whiskey glass. Let him *feel* it.
Jacob’s fingers curled inside her, his thumb pressing down with just the right pressure on her clit, and Kylie bit her lip to stifle a moan. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and sex, the low hum of conversation drowned out by the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.
Kylie’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she rode Jacob’s hand, her body trembling on the edge of release. The VIP lounge was a blur of faces—some smirking, some shocked—but all of them watching.
And then there was *him*.
Timothee stood frozen near the bar, his face pale, his eyes wide with something between horror and recognition. His fingers tightened around his glass, knuckles whitening as he watched Kylie’s body arch against Jacob’s touch. The way his jaw clenched, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard—it was all the confirmation she needed.
*He was suffering.*
Good.
Let him suffer.
Kylie’s lips parted as Jacob’s fingers curled deeper inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her body trembling on the edge of release. The weight of their stares burned into her skin, the heat of their attention making her pussy clench tighter around Jacob’s fingers.
Timothee’s glass trembled in his grip, a single drop of whiskey sloshing over the rim and splashing onto the polished marble of the bar.
His knuckles were white, his jaw clenched so tight Kylie could see the muscle twitching in his cheek from across the room. The VIP lounge had gone eerily quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the wet, obscene sounds of Jacob’s fingers moving inside her.
Kylie didn’t break eye contact with him.
She wanted him to see every flicker of pleasure on her face, every gasp that escaped her lips as Jacob’s fingers worked her with slow, deliberate strokes. The VIP lounge was a sea of faces—some smirking, some shocked—but none of them mattered. Only him.
Timothee’s glass trembled in his grip, a single drop of whiskey sloshing over the rim and splashing onto the polished marble of the bar. His knuckles were white, his face a mask of something between fury and devastation. Kylie could practically taste his regret, thick and bitter on the air.
She let her head fall back against Jacob’s shoulder, her dark hair spilling over his arm like liquid silk. Her lips parted as Jacob’s fingers curled deeper inside her, his thumb pressing down with just the right pressure on her clit. The VIP lounge had become a stage, and she was the star of the show.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Jacob murmured against her ear, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so wet. You like this, don’t you? Knowing he’s watching you fall apart?"
Kylie’s breath hitched as Jacob’s fingers twisted inside her, his thumb circling her clit with deliberate precision.
The VIP lounge blurred at the edges—gold chandeliers, velvet drapes, the low murmur of shocked whispers—but none of it mattered. Not when Jacob’s fingers were buried deep inside her, not when Timothee’s eyes burned into her skin like a brand.
She locked onto his gaze, her lips curling into a slow, cruel smile. *Let him watch.* Let him see the way her body arched against Jacob’s touch, the way her nails dug into his shoulders, the way her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. Let him remember the way she used to gasp his name, the way she used to tremble beneath his fingers.
Let him remember it all as he watched her come undone for another man.
Jacob’s fingers curled inside her, his thumb pressing down with just the right pressure on her clit, and Kylie’s back arched involuntarily.
Jacob’s lips brushed against her ear, his voice a dark whisper. "You’re so fucking wet for me, baby.
So fucking tight," Jacob growled, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. His fingers twisted inside her, curling just right to make her vision blur.
Kylie’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rocked against his hand.
"Look at him," Jacob murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. His fingers never stopped moving, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes.
"You want him to see you like this, don't you?" Jacob's voice was rough, his breath hot against her neck. "You want him to know you're not the one who got played."
Kylie's breath hitched as his thumb pressed harder against her clit, circling in slow, torturous motions. The VIP lounge had gone deathly quiet, the only sounds the wet slide of his fingers inside her and the ragged gasps escaping her lips. She could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on her, but only one pair mattered.
Timothee's face was ashen, his whiskey forgotten on the bar. His fingers trembled around the glass, knuckles white with strain.
The VIP lounge had become a theater of humiliation, and he was the only audience member who mattered. Kylie could see the exact moment realization dawned on him—that this wasn’t just a casual hookup, that this was a calculated performance designed specifically for his suffering.
Jacob's fingers curled deeper inside her, his thumb pressing down with just the right pressure on her clit. "That's it, baby," he murmured against her neck, his voice rough with lust. "Let him see what he lost. Let him see what he'll never have again."
Kylie's breath hitched as Jacob's fingers twisted inside her, his thumb circling her clit with deliberate precision.
The VIP lounge had become a theater of humiliation, and she was the star of the show. His fingers trembled around the glass, knuckles white with strain.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Jacob groaned, his voice rough with desire. "Your cunt is squeezing my fingers like it's begging for my cock."
Kylie's eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto Timothee's horrified stare.
His whiskey glass trembled in his grip, the ice cubes clinking against the crystal like a countdown to his humiliation.
Then his phone buzzed violently against the marble bar top, the sudden vibration making the glass jump in his hand. A sharp, electronic chirp cut through the thick air of the VIP lounge, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed silence. Timothee's fingers twitched, his eyes darting down to the screen before he could stop himself. The glow illuminated his face for a split second—enough to show the way his jaw clenched, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard.
The text message flashed on the screen, bright and unmistakable, even from across the room. Kylie's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as she read the words reflected in Timothee's wide, panicked eyes.
**"You should see what your ex is doing right now.
#KylieJenner #PaybackIsABitch"**
The words glowed on Timothee’s phone screen, bold and unmistakable, the text message timestamped just seconds ago. His fingers twitched around the glass as the message lit up his face, the neon blue glow casting sharp shadows under his clenched jaw. The VIP lounge had gone eerily quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the wet, rhythmic sounds of Jacob’s fingers moving inside Kylie—now punctuated by the sharp, electronic chirp of Timothee’s phone.
Kylie’s smirk deepened as she watched his reaction, her hips still rolling against Jacob’s hand in slow, deliberate circles. She didn’t need to see the screen to know what the message said. She had *planned* it.
Every detail. The VIP lounge’s dim lighting, the precise angle of the velvet chaise where Jacob had her pinned, the way Timothee’s whiskey glass trembled in his grip like a man already drowning. But she hadn’t anticipated the flash.
A blinding white burst exploded in the corner of the room, so sudden and violent that for a heartbeat, the entire lounge was frozen in its glare. Kylie’s pupils contracted to pinpricks, her vision swimming with afterimages—gold chandeliers, shocked faces, the jagged outline of Timothee’s jaw as he recoiled. The flashbulb’s crack echoed off the marble floors like a gunshot, and then the world snapped back into focus.
The paparazzo was already moving, a wiry man in a rumpled suit, his camera raised like a weapon.
The flash tore through the dim VIP lounge like a lightning strike, freezing Kylie mid-moan, her back arched, her lips parted in a silent gasp. The moment shattered—Jacob’s fingers stilled inside her, the air between them turning electric with something new: panic.
Timothee’s phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with another message. Kylie didn’t need to see it. She knew. The trap had sprung.
Jacob exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her hip. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "That was *not* part of the plan."
Kylie’s breath came in short, uneven bursts as she processed the damage. The flash had been too quick, too bright—it had caught everything. The way her dress had ridden up, the way Jacob’s hand was buried between her thighs, the way her face had been twisted in pleasure.
The flash had captured it all.
Jacob’s phone exploded into a ringtone—some obnoxious, pulsing EDM beat that cut through the VIP lounge like a siren. The screen lit up with a name Kylie recognized instantly: **Lena Carter**, his agent. The woman who had been trying to get him into *serious* roles, not tabloid scandals. The woman who was about to lose her mind.
Jacob’s fingers stilled inside her, his body tensing like a coiled spring. "Shit," he muttered, his voice low and rough. His free hand fumbled for the phone, knocking over a half-empty glass of whiskey that shattered against the marble floor. The sound was swallowed by the sudden, suffocating silence of the lounge.
Kylie didn’t move. She kept her hips pressed against Jacob’s hand, her thighs still trembling from the edge of release.
The phone’s shrill ringtone cut through the air like a blade, and Jacob’s body tensed beneath her, his fingers still buried deep inside her. Then came the voice—Lena Carter’s, sharp as broken glass through the speakerphone: *"Jacob, what the actual fuck is happening right now?"*
Kylie didn’t flinch. She tilted her head just enough to meet Jacob’s panicked gaze, her lips curling into a smirk that was pure venom and victory. The VIP lounge had gone deadly quiet, the only sounds the distant clink of ice in glasses and the slow, deliberate slide of Jacob’s fingers as he reluctantly withdrew them from between her thighs. His touch lingered for a second too long, his thumb brushing against her clit one last time—deliberate, possessive—before he pulled away completely.
Lena’s voice crackled through the phone again, louder now, her words slicing through the charged silence.
*"Jacob, if you don’t answer me in the next five seconds, I swear to God I will personally ensure you never work in this town again."*
Kylie’s smirk didn’t waver, but her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. The crystal groaned under her grip. Across the room, Timothee’s face had gone slack, his phone still clutched in his hand like a weapon he didn’t know how to fire. The paparazzo was already backing toward the door, his camera still raised, the flash dying in his grip as he realized the real story wasn’t just Kylie and Jacob—it was the three of them.
Jacob exhaled sharply, his free hand raking through his hair. "Fuck," he muttered, then pressed the phone to his ear. "Lena. It’s not what it looks like." His voice was rough, but Kylie could hear the lie in it.
The phone slipped from Jacob’s fingers, clattering to the marble floor as Timothee’s glass shattered against the wall. Whiskey splashed across the velvet drapes like blood, the amber liquid staining the fabric as Timothee lunged forward, his face twisted in a snarl that was pure, unfiltered rage.
Jacob barely had time to turn before Timothee’s fist connected with his jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the VIP lounge. The impact sent Jacob stumbling back, his shoulder slamming into the bar. Bottles rattled, glasses tipped over, and the scent of spilled liquor mixed with the metallic tang of blood. Jacob’s hand flew to his mouth, his fingers coming away red. His dark eyes burned with shock, then fury, as he wiped the blood from his split lip. "You *fucking* piece of shit," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He didn’t hesitate—he swung back.
The sound of knuckles splitting against bone was wet and final, Jacob’s head snapping back as Timothee’s fist connected with his nose. Blood sprayed in a dark arc, splattering across the marble bar and the front of Kylie’s dress before she could even react. The room erupted—glasses shattered, chairs scraped back, and a chorus of gasps and shouts filled the air. Jacob staggered, his hand flying to his face, fingers coming away slick and red. His dark eyes burned with something between shock and fury as he wiped the blood from his lips, his smile turning feral.
"Oh, you *wanted* to do that?" Jacob’s voice was a low growl, thick with blood and amusement. He wiped his hand on his shirt, leaving a smeared streak of red across the white fabric. "That’s cute.
You think you can hit me once and walk away?" Jacob’s voice was thick with blood and laughter, his fingers flexing like he was already calculating where to land the next blow. The VIP lounge had descended into chaos—shattered glass, overturned chairs, the acrid sting of spilled whiskey in the air. But the paparazzo’s camera flashed again—this time, capturing the exact moment Timothee’s fist connected with Jacob’s jaw, the spray of blood arcing between them like some grotesque firework.
Timothee didn’t wait for an answer. He lunged again, his shoulder slamming into Jacob’s chest, sending them both crashing into the bar. Bottles shattered, whiskey raining down as they grappled, fists flying in a blur of violence. Kylie watched, her heart pounding, as the fight escalated—Jacob’s smirk never fading, even as blood dripped from his split lip. He was enjoying this.
Kylie could see it in the way Jacob's lips curled even as blood dripped down his chin. The way his dark eyes burned with something between amusement and triumph as Timothee's fists connected with his ribs. The way he took every hit like it was foreplay, his body coiled and ready to strike back harder.
Timothee wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting because he couldn't stand the sight of Jacob's hands on her. Because he couldn't bear the idea that Kylie had moved on so completely, so publicly, so *deliciously*. His jealousy was a living thing, twisting in his gut, making his movements sloppy and desperate.
Jacob, on the other hand, fought with the precision of a man who had spent years training his body to be a weapon. Every punch landed with calculated force, every block executed with fluid grace. He wasn't just fighting Timothee—he was putting on a show.
Kylie watched, her pulse thrumming in her throat, as Jacob's fist connected with Timothee's ribs. The sound was sickening, a wet *thud* that made her stomach clench. Timothee grunted, doubling over, but Jacob didn't let up. He grabbed a handful of Timothee's shirt and yanked him upright, his voice a low, dangerous purr.
"You really thought you could just walk in here and act like you had a right to be angry?" Jacob's free hand shot out, gripping Timothee by the throat and lifting him clean off his feet. The actor's legs kicked uselessly as Jacob held him suspended in the air, his face twisted in a mix of shock and humiliation. The VIP lounge had gone eerily silent, every eye fixed on the spectacle as Timothee's polished dress shoes dangled inches above the shattered glass and spilled whiskey.
Kylie watched with cold satisfaction as Timothee's face turned an impressive shade of purple. His fingers clawed at Jacob's wrist, but the actor barely seemed to notice the struggle. Instead, he turned slowly, making sure every person in the room got a good look at the man who had once been Hollywood's golden boy now reduced to a flailing, gasping mess.
His eyes locked onto Kylie's, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them - a silent acknowledgment of the power shift that had just occurred.
Then the doors burst open with a crash that echoed through the VIP lounge like a gunshot. Three hulking security guards in black suits stormed in, their polished shoes crunching over broken glass as they moved with military precision. The first guard's hand was already reaching for his radio, his voice sharp and commanding: "We've got a situation in the VIP lounge. Need backup now."
Jacob didn't even flinch as the guards closed in. He maintained his grip on Timothee's throat, his bicep flexing as he held the struggling actor aloft. His lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts dangerous and amused, his voice dropping to a low purr as he spoke directly to the security lead: "This one's all yours.
He seems to have a problem with personal space." With a final shove, Jacob released Timothee, sending him stumbling backward into the arms of the nearest guard. The actor gasped for air, his hands flying to his throat as he coughed violently, his face still mottled with rage and humiliation.
Kylie stepped forward, cutting the scene with the precision of a director calling "cut." The room stilled instantly, all eyes snapping to her like magnets. She didn't need to speak—her presence alone was command enough. The security guards hesitated, their hands hovering near their radios, waiting for her signal. Jacob wiped the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, his dark eyes never leaving Kylie's face. The smirk never wavered, but there was something new in his gaze now: respect. He knew, as they all did, that this was her show to run.
The VIP lounge had become her stage, and she was the only one who could end the scene.
Kylie’s heels clicked against the shattered glass as she moved forward, the sound sharp and deliberate. The air was thick with tension, the scent of spilled whiskey and blood mixing with the musk of sweat and adrenaline. Jacob’s smirk never wavered, but his fingers flexed at his sides, as if he was still itching for another fight. Timothee, meanwhile, was doubled over, gasping for air, his once-perfect hair now disheveled, his designer suit rumpled and stained.
The security guards hovered around him like vultures, their hands hovering near their radios, waiting for Kylie’s command. The VIP lounge was a wreck—shattered glass, overturned chairs, the acrid sting of spilled whiskey in the air. But Kylie didn’t care. She stepped forward, her heels clicking against the broken glass with deliberate precision.
She didn’t need to speak—her presence alone was command enough.
Jacob wiped the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, his dark eyes never leaving Kylie’s face.
Timothee, meanwhile, was doubled over, gasping for air, his once-perfect hair now disheveled, his designer suit rumpled and stained.