Page 3 of Vendetta

His gruff response hit like a slap, a sharp pang of embarrassment tightening my chest. But if he thought I’d give up that easily, he didn’t know me. Ignoring the girl, I pressed on.

“Look, about earlier—I’m sorry if I did something to upset you. It wasn’t my intention, I swear. I just wanted to clear the air. Olivia is one of my closest friends, and I’d like for us to get along, maybe even become friends ourselves. So whatever it is I did to annoy you, can we just talk about it and sort it out?”

He stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, though his eyes burned with something that felt like barely restrained anger. Or was it disdain?

“Listen, Landry, I don’t want to be friends. As a matter of fact, I want absolutely nothing to do with you.”

The mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbling inside me snapped into something sharper. My liquor-fueled confidence urged me forward, unwilling to let him steamroll me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I demanded. “I literally just met you today! What could I have possibly done in the ten seconds of knowing you that has you acting like this?”

“You want to know my problem, blondie?” He leaned in slightly, his voice low and laced with venom. “You. You’re my fucking problem. Because I know you. I might have just met you, but I knowexactlythe kind of girl you are. Little Miss Popular, who always gets her way, coasting on daddy’s money and a trust fund that keeps you from lifting a finger. Let me guess, cheerleading captain in high school? Did you also have a maid and a private chef? And those fake tits—were they a graduation gift?”

My mouth fell open, stunned into silence. For a moment, I was sure I’d misheard him. But no—his sneering expression confirmed it. Anger and humiliation warred within me, heating my cheeks as I struggled to find a response.

“First of all, fuck you,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I’d intended. “And second, my tits arenotfake!”

A horrible comeback, sure, but the audacity of his words had knocked all the fight from my brain. His little friend looked thoroughly amused but kept silent, likely realizing it was better to stay out of this.

Cashton’s lips quirked into a smirk, revealing a dimple that only served to infuriate me more.

“Prove it.”

I froze, the conversation taking such a bizarre turn that it gave me mental whiplash.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I practically shouted, all self-control evaporating. The glint of amusement in his eyes only grew as I stood there, seething. His cocky posture, leaning back against the counter with arms crossed, did nothing to help my anger—or my sudden, infuriating attraction to him.

I took a deep breath, trying to rein in my emotions before speaking again.

“You know what? I’m not entertaining this anymore. I’ll be around Olivia and TJ whether you like it or not, so respectfully, fuck off and leave me alone.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “Gladly.”

I reached around him to snatch the bottle of vodka off the counter before storming off. My hands shook with residual anger as I marched through the crowd, taking a long swig straight from the bottle. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, but I refused to look back.

I wasn’t usually confrontational, and I had no idea where that side of me had come from. Cashton had managed to claw at the fight buried deep within me, and I hated how he made me feel. But underneath the anger was something far worse—hurt.

His words hit closer to home than I cared to admit. Because, on some level, I feared he was right. Or at least, I feared beingseenthat way. And that was the worst part of all.

Was my family wealthy? Yes. Had I been a cheerleader in high school? Also yes. But none of those things defined who Iwas. I didn’t want to be liked because of superficial things—I wanted people to seeme.And for Cashton to throw all of that in my face, without even knowing me, reopened wounds I thought I’d healed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter and games. I made a conscious effort to keep the incident with Cashton to myself, determined not to let him ruin my fresh start. By the time Bexley and I called an Uber to leave, I was drained in every sense of the word.

When we reached the front gates, I cursed myself for breaking the seal earlier. “How long until it gets here?” I asked, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

“About fifteen minutes,” Bexley replied with a chuckle. “Go. You’ve got time to pee, and if I need to, I’ll tell the driver to wait.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you!” I didn’t waste a second, turning and running back toward the house.

The first bathroom had a line a mile long, and the second and third were locked. With no time to spare, I headed upstairs, figuring the bedrooms must have en-suites.

The hallway was quieter, the music and chatter fading into the background as I stumbled from door to door. Alcohol clouded my focus, and my search became increasingly frantic. Finally, I opened a door—and froze in place at the sight before me.

A king-sized bed in the center of the room was made up with a silk comforter the color of obsidian. White-washed furniture complimented the space, though the walls were devoid of any decor and there weren’t any indicators of personal belongings to be seen.

But I barely noticed any of it because against the far wall by the window was Cashton, leaning against the wall, his head laid back.

Even more shocking was the head of glossy black hair that he had in his grasp, the girl that he had been with earlier on her knees and swallowing his cock as her moans filled the room.

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