"Lexy," Fallyn called softly, her voice echoing as she checked each stall in turn, pushing the doors open one after another.
As her hand reached for the next door, it was seized without warning. She was pulled forward, the space collapsing around her, and before she could protest, her breath was stolen by a sudden, consuming kiss forceful, disorienting, and unmistakably deliberate.
Elsewhere, unease gnawed at Fiona as she stepped back into the corridor, her confusion sharpening into instinctive dread. Her gaze lifted and locked onto the sign across from her.
MEN.
Her pulse spiked.
She crossed the short distance, fingers tightening around the handle before wrenching the door open. The room beyond was bright, hushed too quiet.
She had barely taken a few steps inside when she heard it.
A restrained gasp. A muted struggle.
Then a low, urgent sound, raw and unmistakable.
The echo of aggressive kissing lingered in the air.
Fiona slipped into the stall beside them without a sound, easing the door shut and securing the lock with practiced care.
Confrontation would be effortless and useless. Storming in would only give them a momentary shock, nothing more. What she needed was leverage. Evidence. Something sharp enough to fracture what they shared and let suspicion do the rest.
That would be far more satisfying.
She steadied her breathing and lifted her phone, the screen glowing faintly as she set it to record.
"Ah…" Fallyn gasped when Alexander finally broke away, her voice unsteady. "How dare you shove me into the back of the car?"
"I'm sorry, babe," Alexander murmured, his tone quick and conciliatory. His hands remained firm around her waist, possessive, anchoring her where she stood. "I didn't mean it that way. If I hadn't done that, it would've been obvious."
"Who cares?" Fallyn snapped, her restraint finally fracturing. "Are you so in love with her that you're terrified of losing her?"
Alexander stiffened. "Lower your voice," he said tightly. "You know I don't love her. It's you my heart beats for. But think how do you imagine it would look if people found out I'm entangled with two sisters?"
"Then end it," Fallyn hissed, venom lacing every syllable. "Break up with her already."
The sudden rush of water from a nearby tap cut through the tension like a blade. Both of them froze, breaths held, ears straining. Seconds dragged on too long until the sound stopped and the restroom door creaked open, then shut again.
Convinced the coast was clear, they moved quickly, stepping out in unison
and collided with Manson.
The air seemed to collapse.
Embarrassment flared across their faces raw and undeniable before instinct took over. Neither spoke. Neither lingered. They hurried past him, guilt propelling their retreat.
Without hesitation, Fiona stepped out of the stall. Manson stood nearby, methodically drying his hands, his composure untouched as if nothing in the room could rattle him. She moved to pass, intent on leaving without acknowledgment, when his voice cut in, smooth and cutting.
"Do you make a habit of lurking around, or do you simply enjoy watching other people make out?" he asked, sarcasm laced so thick it bordered on disdain.
"Mind your own business," she muttered, her tone clipped, eyes forward.
A faint, amused exhale escaped him.
"Curious," he said coolly. "I was just wondering which of us is truly incapable of staying out of other people's affairs."
She ignored him and took another step.
"Amazing," Manson continued, his voice a lazy drawl. "So boldly chasing after your ex while you're on the verge of being engaged to me." A slow smirk curved his lips, sharp and merciless. "Or should I say, he's still your boyfriend?"
The mockery was precise, calculated, meant to wound.
Fiona stopped not from guilt, but from the unsettling realization that this wasn't speculation. Manson wasn't guessing. He was dissecting her, piece by piece, with the ease of someone who already held all the cards.
"Shut the hell up! You don't know anything so stop pretending like you do!" Fiona's voice ripped through the air, raw and ragged, her eyes flashing crimson with anger.
Manson didn't flinch. His tone was deceptively calm, each word laced with a razor's edge. "True, I don't but today, I've seen exactly how selfish and shameless you can be, trying to cling to two men at once."
Rage bubbled over, hot and uncontrollable. Fiona took a step toward him, her hands trembling with barely contained fury. "I'm not trying to keep either of you, you jerk," she snapped, each word punctuated with venom. "I want both of you completely out of my life. Gone. Now."
A slow, deliberate smirk curled Manson's lips, the faint glint in his eyes both infuriating and magnetic. "I was starting to feel jealous," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing, yet threaded with danger. "That my girl was chasing after other men. Since you're determined to erase him from your life, I'll help you."
The words struck like ice and fire at once, sharp and undeniable. For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze the space between them charged with unspoken threats, unspoken desires, and a battle neither could yet control.
Fiona's chest heaved, her mind screaming at her to turn and flee, yet something in the way he said it, the precision in his gaze, held her rooted. This confrontation was far from over and deep down, she knew it.
Fiona froze, standing just an arm's length away. "And why exactly would I need your help?" she asked, her voice steady, unreadable.
Manson tilted his head, a sly glint in his eyes. "Playing hard to get, are we? Weren't you begging for my attention through my cousin, Hazel?" He tapped his temple lightly, clearing his throat. "So here I am. Or would you rather I take this to Mr. Brett?"
Fiona's chest tightened not from fear of her parents, but from the sudden awareness that all her plans could unravel
in an instant. The satisfaction of seeing her family taste true pain might slip from her grasp. A sharp controlled breath, later she made her decision.
"I will accept," Fiona said, her voice low, steady, and unshakable, each word controlled, measured, as if carved from steel. "But only under one condition."
'Killing two birds with one stone wouldn't be a bad idea,' she thought, a quiet smirk curling at the corner of her lips, unseen but fully present in her mind.
Manson's gaze sharpened. "And what condition might that be?" His tone was deceptively casual, but the underlying edge carried the weight of a predator assessing its prey.
"You keep the engagement private," she replied evenly, her words precise, "and later, you break it off returning my freedom by discarding those signed documents." Her eyes didn't waver; she held his gaze as firmly as a sword poised at its mark.
Manson leaned back slightly, clapping his hands together with exaggerated, almost theatrical calm. "Aww…" His smirk deepened, playful yet dangerous. "Aren't you brave? And tell me, what will I get in return?"
The words hung in the air like a finely honed blade, sharp enough to cut. Fiona stiffened, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears, her chest tightening, her mind scrambling for a response that wouldn't betray her. Every instinct screamed, yet she remained rooted, caught in the precarious space between defiance and caution, unsure which move would save her or doom her.
"Hmmm…" Manson murmured, lips jutting in mock protest, eyes glinting with amusement. "Come on. I have to make your little boyfriend pay for cheating, and I still have to break the engagement. What's in it for me? Don't be so selfish. Don't I get something too?"
Fiona's jaw tightened, her voice sharp and measured. "I don't have money. I can only offer my body."
For a heartbeat, the words hung between them, dangerous and electric. Then Manson's laughter exploded, rolling through the restroom like a storm, raw and uncontrolled. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as the sound shook the air. "Hahaha! Okay fine."
Straightening, he let his gaze linger on her, dark and predatory. "So I can do whatever I like, right?" His tone was casual, but the glint in his eyes promised mischief and danger wrapped in amusement.
"Yeah," she said flatly, her eyes rolling with both disgust and defiance. "Your call."
Then, as calmly as she could, she pivoted and left, each step deliberate, controlled, every motion radiating quiet strength.
Manson remained where she had left him, his grin slow and controlled, a manic spark dancing in his eyes. "Fascinating," he muttered under his breath, voice low and dangerous. "She's unpredictable. I think my days of boredom are officially over. This… this is going to be very, very interesting."
He exhaled slowly, swallowed by the storm of his own thoughts. 'Calm down, Manson' but even as the words formed in his mind, a shadow of something unstoppable crept closer.