The Heiress 18+{BWWM}

Ch. 1

"My wedding dress is ruined," my sister Ariana
exclaimed, her voice trembling with tears. Unfortunately, I couldn't deny my involvement in this unfortunate incident. I tend to become obsessive and vindictive when provoked. My ex-boyfriend learned that the hard way when he cheated on me. I took revenge by breaking into his house-well, he never bothered to change the code to his condo-bleaching his Armani suits, and, admittedly, harming his dog. I assure you; it wasn't enough to cause any serious harm.

He attempted to sue me, but little did he know, I was aware of his own dirty little secret. And let's just say he no longer plays ball. He got my message with two middle fingers up.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," my mom reassured, gently rubbing Ariana's back. It's no secret that Ariana is the favorite in our family. "Your father will buy you another dress." You see, I come from an incredibly wealthy black family. My father became a billionaire after establishing his own cybersecurity company, while I gained fame in my own right for my stunning beauty. Modeling agencies would plead with me to join them, but I found greater satisfaction in defying my parents' expectations and indulging in their resources. I can't even recall the number of times my father threatened to cut me off. My response was always, would you rather I be a street bum or a rich bum?

"But the wedding is tomorrow-"

I let out an exasperated sigh; my patience was wearing thin. "I fail to see why it's such a huge ordeal. Monty is already slumming which your ugly ass-"

"I know you're behind this! You trifling ass bitch!" My sister exploded with anger, advancing toward me.

"Step back, or I'll snatch that bird's nest off your head-"

"That's enough! Both of you!" Our mother intervened, her tone commanding. "We are the Chapmans, a dignified family, and you will not embarrass your father and I." Brushing off her Chanel ensemble, she carried herself with even more regal poise as she walked towards the cash register.

"Fake, titti bitch," I muttered under my breath, and then left the bridal shop to wait in the car. My new bodyguard, Mik, followed me outside. I could feel his eyes on me, particularly my behind, so I teasingly swayed my hips. He let out a groan, attempting to disguise it as a cough. Mik replaced my previous bodyguard, who resigned after I... Let's just say he had a very unpleasant conversation with his priest. A devoutly religious man, if I recall correctly, a Catholic.

~*~

It's the usual bullshit you experience at a wedding-the bride and groom promising to be faithful and true until death do them part. I suppose that part holds true, because if my beloved stops being faithful and true, it will indeed lead to our separation... by death.

I sighed as my sister's new husband stood up to deliver a speech filled with utter nonsense. Sometimes, I don't understand women. We know that everything that comes out of a man's mouth is complete bullshit, yet we choose to believe it. "Why are you always lying, Monty?" I tried to yell over the cheers.

"There are still some honest guys around," a rich deep baritone announced. My whole body hummed to the sound of the seductive masculine lilt. A pleasant shiver ran down my arms and spine as if I was being physically caressed.

What the hell...

I had never experienced such a strong reaction to a man's voice before. I turned and flinched. He was like nothing I had ever seen. "More champagne," the waiter offered with a friendly smile.

He was tall and built more deliciously than any athlete I dated in the past- a ripped body you only get from hours devoted at the gym. Dragon scales extended from his fingers to beneath his jawline on the left side, creating beautiful and serpentine tattoos. His face, however, told a different story. Scar tissue from a severe burn marred his features, but even so, one could discern that he was once an exceptionally gorgeous man. He turned  those same scars into a canvas of intricate patterned tattoos, covering half of his face. One of his eyes was damaged, covered with a dark patch. While the other was a captivating blue hue. It was like staring into the ocean depths. Or perhaps lost at sea.

"Yeah, go ahead," I gestured towards my glass, unable to tear my eyes away from him. I was completely spellbound. It seemed that his burns and his one good eye did not repel me. I didn't want to find him attractive. He reminded me of the comic book character Two-Face. And I told him so- like any mature adult would do. Note the sarcasm. This man affected me like no other man ever had. He was magnetic. And I didn't know how to behave around him.

His gaze locked onto mine. He didn't just look at me; it felt as though he was seeing me. The real me- whoever that woman was. His eyes held commiseration as he said to me, "I pity you," before turning his back and walking away. I must admit, he had an impressive backside. His muscles stretched the white dress shirt to its limit.

Once I got over my mountain of lust, I blinked, unable to take my eyes off the back of his head. His words and the intensity in his eye shook me to my core. What made it worse was his comment wasn't intended to be a comeback. My world was tipped off its axis that day and suddenly began to spin anew and for different reasons.

I was furious as I entered my father's office and accessed the files where he kept employees' personal information. Technically, it wasn't breaking and entering since I knew the passcode. I discovered details about Two-Face, managing to find his name from one of the other waiters. His name was Randal Hardy, twenty-nine years old, and he lived on the other side of the track.

I had my driver take me there. The apartment building was rundown and neglected. I didn't have to worry about a security system when I picked the lock. I rummaged through his personal belongings, attempting to understand who he was. He was behind on rent, as indicated by a pay-or-quit letter on his pitiful dining table.

I sat on his sofa, waiting for him, holding a gun. Well, it was a water gun, but he didn't need to know that. I chuckled without humor. This is going to be fun. Now I know what you're thinking. Why not just ask him out? Where's the fun and adventure in that? I wanted to be spontaneous. Men love that shit...I think.

Hours passed before Hardy returned home. In the meantime, I played Goldilocks-watching his TV, drinking his beer, and eating his food. I made a mental note to buy him more groceries. Finally, Randal walked in and froze, visibly tense at the sight of me. "What the hell are you doing here?" He didn't appear pleased to see me.

"What does it look like?!" I pointed the water gun at him. "This is a stick-up, bitch!"

He relaxed and closed the door behind him, a hint of amusement lighting up his eyes, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. "Oh, really? You're most likely to be disappointed. I'm broke as hell, baby-girl," Hardy replied, confidently advancing towards me. He had the swagger of a male model. Strange. Very strange.

To conceal my true desire to lick him like a lollipop or perhaps climb him like a tree, I fabricated some bullshit. "I want to know how you knew, Hardy. Until I find out, I'm going to be glued to your ass," I gave him an intense stare, invading his personal space and poking his chest. God, he smelled incredible, just coming from the gym. The blend of masculinity, cologne, and sweat emanating from his skin aroused me. It appeared that it didn't take much to arouse me when it came to Randal Hardy. As I said before I don't know how to act around him.

He shook his head. "At what age did your doctor diagnose your mental retardation? It's clear you're on the spectrum." Clearly, he was joking. Hardy raised a questioning eyebrow. Oh, he was serious. I wasn't mentally retarded, and besides, that term isn't even used in the medical field anymore. His deep blue eye scanned me from my head all the way down to my oh-so-peachy painted toenails. "Grow up," he told me. I mean no one and I do mean no one could accuse me of not being "grown up". My womanly figure was wearing the hell out of high-waist black faux leather tights and a crop top with open toe strap stilettos.

Before I could utter another word, he walked past me to the front door and opened it, silently telling me to "get out."

"This isn't over. I'm still going to be tape to your ass."

"I know," he says and slams the door in my face.