Betrayed by Him Claimed By His Rival

Chapter 8

Jack

I drove back to my penthouse, the hum of the city fading into the background as my thoughts raced. The lights blurred past the window, but all I could think about was *her*—Samantha. The image of her face, peaceful in sleep, clung to my mind like an unshakable ghost. No matter how hard I tried, she lingered, stirring something in me I couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t long before I arrived at the penthouse. A few minutes later, I was already slumped on the sofa, a cup of coffee in my hand. The bitter taste grounded me, but it couldn’t drown out the turmoil in my head. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the photos I’d snapped of Samantha while she slept—pure instinct, really. I zoomed in on her face, her lips slightly parted, the curve of her cheek catching the faintest glow of dawn.

I smiled, the sight of her pulling at something in my chest. Vulnerability suited her in a way that made me feel... protective? No, that wasn’t it. I wasn’t the protective type. But still, I couldn’t deny it—there was something about her that was getting under my skin.

*Maybe I should help her.* The thought crossed my mind again, louder this time. But even as I considered it, I could hear the alarm bells going off in the back of my head. I didn’t get involved—ever. People were liabilities. Yet, here I was, plotting ways to keep her close.

Besides, the idea of Louis finding out I was the one pulling the strings was too damn satisfying to resist. Watching his face twist in shock, realizing I was behind the curtain? That was reason enough to act.

My phone rang, cutting through the silence. I snatched it off the table, already annoyed. "What is it, Marcos?" I barked.

"Good morning, sir," Marcos started, his voice tense. "There’s a ton of paperwork piled up on your desk. You haven’t been in the office for two days. Our clients and stakeholders are—"

"Handle it," I cut him off, my voice cold. "That’s why I pay you. If you can’t manage something this simple, then maybe I’m wasting my money."

"I-I’m sorry, boss. I’ll take care of it."

"Good," I muttered, already hanging up before he could finish his apology. My thoughts returned to Samantha’s photo. I zoomed in on her, my thumb tracing her outline on the screen. Her soft, flawless skin... her vulnerability.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was at the mercy of people far more dangerous than she realized. And, for some reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of her facing it alone.

Then the idea struck me. *What if I hired her as my personal assistant?* It would be perfect. I’d have her close, keep an eye on her without raising suspicions. Plus, she needed the money—and it would give me the excuse I needed to help with her brother’s case without making it obvious.

*This could work.*

I quickly scrolled through my call history, finding her number. I’d used her phone to call mine while she slept. A precaution—just in case. Without hesitation, I shot her a text:

**"If you need my help, meet me at my office, 10 a.m. sharp. I’m sure you know the address. Don’t be late."**

Satisfied, I tossed the phone aside and got up. The shower did little to clear my mind, her face still lingering behind closed eyes. Samantha had slipped under my skin, and I couldn’t quite tell if I liked it or hated it. Either way, I knew one thing for certain—I wasn’t going to let her slip away so easily.

After a change of clothes and a quick breakfast, I headed to the office. As I stepped out of the car, Marcos rushed over, his face flushed with excitement.

"Boss, you never told me you had a girlfriend! She’s gorgeous!" he blurted, practically bouncing on his feet.

I stopped mid-step, my brows furrowing. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, my tone sharp.

"A lady walked in here a few minutes ago saying she’s your girlfriend. She mentioned you asked her to come over. Judging by how gorgeous she looked, I didn’t doubt it for a second. Boss, you’ve got fine taste."

Girlfriend? The word hit me like a slap. I had no clue who the hell he was talking about. I’d had my share of flings, but none of them ever made it to the office. None of them mattered. And yet, there was a flicker of doubt.

I glanced at the reception area, but there was no sign of Samantha. My watch read 10:30. She was late. *Had she stood me up?* The thought stung more than I wanted to admit. Maybe she didn’t need my help after all. Or maybe she didn’t trust me enough to take the bait.

Marcos was still standing there, waiting for me to respond. I shot him a cold glare.

"Is this what I pay you for?" I asked, my voice like ice.

The smile evaporated from his face. "No, sir. I-I’ll get back to work immediately."

"Good." Without another word, I strode past him, heading for my office. My mind churned with unanswered questions, each one more frustrating than the last. Samantha was proving to be far more unpredictable than I anticipated.

Finally, I reached my office door. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

The sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.

Samantha was sitting in my chair, swinging around like she owned the place. And to top it off, she was wearing *my glasses*. She grinned as she slammed her palm on the desk.

"You’re thirty minutes late, young man," she said, her voice mockingly stern. "You need to learn how to keep appointments if you want to keep working in this office."

I blinked, stunned. Had she gone mad? "Samantha," I growled, "get the hell off my chair."

Her eyes widened, and she jumped up, laughing nervously. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just got carried away. Your office is amazing!" Her giggles were infectious, but I kept my face stern. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing I found it amusing.

She moved to stand in front of the desk, and I slid into the seat, leaning back to make myself comfortable. She tried to compose herself, but I could see the curiosity dancing in her eyes.

"Thank you for considering helping me, Mr. Smith," she said, her voice softening. "So... are you going to pay my brother’s bail, or are you going to send Louis to prison? Which one is it going to be?"

Her question was innocent enough, but I could hear the weight behind it. I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the desk.

"I was thinking both," I said, smirking. "We split it. You pay your brother’s bail, and I’ll send Louis to prison."

Her jaw dropped. "Two million dollars? How the hell am I supposed to come up with that kind of money?"

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "That part’s easy. You become my personal assistant, and everything else shall be added unto you."

Her eyes widened, and before she could protest, I pulled a document from my drawer and slid it across the desk.

"Here," I said, my tone serious. "Sign this."