Chapter 3: The Second Encounter Part 1:

Daisy.

"Well, what a surprise! Lascalles hadn't disappeared completely. If you'd like, I'll buy you a drink to warm you up before taking you to bed. I promise to be very generous, given your current situation. I'm a gift to you." That was the voice that stopped me at the entrance to the building when I returned from the tennis courts after my last class. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I had never liked any of my brothers' friends, especially Conrad Montgomery. He was a well-known actor in public, but in reality, he was a sick psychopath and a stalker. The one I hated the most, though, was the pig standing in front of me at that moment: Brand Walter—or rather, Slobbery Walter, as all the women in high society knew him.

Brand was one of my traitorous brother William's best friends. Come to think of it, that was only logical: trash recognizes trash. He had tried to cross the line with me, his best friend's little sister, several times, even when I was underage. He was almost four years older than me. But since I already knew him, I knew his weak spot.

He was very macho and confident with women who were intimidated by his advances or showed weakness. However, with those who were more direct, aggressive, or derogatory—in other words, potential shrews—he felt insecure and came across as weak and pathetic.

I don't know if it was his words or the memory his presence evoked, or if he was simply a perfect substitute for my hatred of my brothers, but an excessive and uncontrollable anger overwhelmed me when I looked at him.

I forced a smile, like the one I used to use when looking at a dirty, cheap, classless object. I raised the racket and rested it on my left shoulder in case his stupid advances prompted me to use my lethal backhand to put an end to them.

At the same time, I struck a somewhat sexy yet haughty pose, as if I were Cleopatra looking at her slaves. After expressing all the disgust he provoked in me by standing in front of me with my gaze, I turned my eyes to my nails, which were no longer manicured, and acted as if that sight were the most interesting thing in the world—certainly much more interesting than that repulsive being. Faced with my attitude, he stopped smiling, somewhat intimidated, reacting as I had expected.

"What sewer did you crawl out of, Slimy Walter? Didn't your mother teach you to wash your mouth out before talking to people so as not to contaminate them?" I said this while still looking at my ruined nails, thanks to the racket I used every day.

"How...how dare you, you wretch?" he stammered, trying to show his anger, but his confusion at my reaction was greater.

I just smiled cheekily. But I wasn't entirely sure, especially after hearing what she said next.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be so haughty, you fool. Your family has lost everything. Your brother, William, ran away with what little value your family had left. That idiot and snob from Vermont is in jail, your father is dead, and you're alone in this world. I could kidnap you right now, and no one would miss you. By the time they noticed, you'd be an obedient little kitten in my hands." His words scared me because there was a lot of truth in them. However, I forced myself not to show my fear and smiled even more brazenly than before.

"Who told you I'm alone, you idiot? Do you think I'd be in this club playing tennis if I were a classless woman with a strong man by my side who came from an important, powerful family?" I resorted to a white lie, one that could save your life and that many women use to scare off annoying pests.

"Impossible! ... Impossible! ... According to my sources, you're not with anyone. You work here. Don't try to fool me," he said, trying not to show his insecurity but failing.

I knew I had to strike at that moment, so without thinking, I let my imagination run wild, surprising even myself.

"Do you think I would lie to you? If you want, call my man, although I'm telling you, I don't think he'll like that a worm, a nobody like you, has spoken to his girlfriend the way you have. You damn fool! I'm about to call my—" I hesitated for a second, trying to think of the name of a powerful, intimidating man who would make the coward Walter run away in terror. But my mind wasn't helping until my disturbed, psychopathic subconscious took control of the situation. "My dear Marcus Miller," I said, laughing with contempt. At the same time, when I heard myself say that name, everything inside me shuddered. I was more astonished than Brand by my supposed man. I almost had a stroke when I heard myself say the name of my greatest enemy, whom I thought I had forgotten.

As I tried to control my anger at myself for mentioning the devil, I could see Brand's eyes open wide, almost covering half his face.

The Miller family was well known in London high society thanks to their wealth, their huge business group, and the social press coverage of the weddings of their two eldest children and the births of their numerous offspring, which dominated headlines in several countries, especially North America and the United Kingdom, a few years ago. Ailan Caroline Miller, the family's second daughter, married the mega-millionaire and all-powerful Scotsman Finlay Alacintye, my brother's worst enemy and my worst mistake and shame from my time as the stupid heiress of the Lascalles.

"So, you damn fool, how could you have used his name? How could you have used the name of the only man to ever humiliate you, without being punished? It would have been better to say that you are Prince William's disgusting secret lover than to name that damn son of a..." I began to reproach myself inwardly, but Brand's reaction to my words, when he saw me pretend to dial the phone to call my supposed boyfriend, cut off my thoughts.

"Daisy Lascalles, you are definitely a bitch. Rot in hell. I will never help you, you damn woman,” he said, and then, like the coward he is, he turned and walked down the hallway leading to the men's locker room.

"Don't ever show your face to me again, you idiot. You're not on my level. You're useless," I shouted sarcastically at his back as I watched him run down the hallway.

"Marilyn, you definitely haven't changed, have you? I'm glad that, as 'your man,' I've gotten to know this unpleasant side of you so that I can back off and rethink our non-existent relationship." Hearing that voice behind me did two unbelievable things, things that no one had ever done to me before.

First, I wished the earth would open up and claim me so that I could be tortured mercilessly in hell before having to face my greatest rival. Second, it made me realize that no matter how humiliated you think you are, there's always a Marcus Miller to show you how wrong you are.