Chapter 1 Dumped After Breakfast

June's Pov

I bent down for a moment to adjust my uncomfortable high-heeled shoe that Ella gave me. She comes from a rich home, so she loves dressing up so much. She and Ivy practically dressed me in this outfit that I find to be too revealing for a club party. It's an ordinary club, not a strippers' club. The neon lights slashed across the crowded floor, blinding me in pulses of electric blue and hot pink, while the bass vibrated so violently through the floorboards it rattled my ribs.

"June, stop pulling at the hem!" Ella yelled over the deafening music, slapping my hand away from the micro skirt that kept riding up my thighs. "You look gorgeous! Christian is probably sitting at home rotting, and you're here looking like an absolute queen."

"I look like a different person," I shouted back, finally abandoning my shoe and straightening up.

My chest felt tight, a mix of tequila and pure, unadulterated heartbreak burning in the back of my throat. Just twelve hours ago, my life wasn't supposed to look like this. I wasn't supposed to be sweating in a packed club, drowning my sorrows in liquor while wearing borrowed clothes that barely covered my assets.

I was supposed to be a professional. I was supposed to be employed at least.

That morning, I had woken up in my tiny bedroom, practically vibrating with excitement. It was the morning of the biggest interview of my life. For an entire year since graduating from university as a newly licensed interior designer, I had faced nothing but closed doors and automated rejection emails. Every single day was a cycle of applying, praying, and pacing the floor of the apartment I shared with my older brother, Ryan.

At twenty seven, Ryan carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was strict, overprotective, and rarely smiled, but he loved me fiercely. When our mother abandoned us, I was just a kid in elementary school, and our father passed away during my high school years, Ryan didn't hesitate. He dropped out of college, abandoned his own dreams, and took every grueling, back-breaking job he could find just to keep a roof over our heads and ensure I could finish my education.

"Eat your eggs, June. You need brain food," Ryan had muttered that morning, not looking up from his laptop where he was checking his shift schedule. "And don't be late for your interview, Harrington Architecture & Development Group doesn't wait for anyone. I'm personally rooting for you so don't mess this up."

"I won't mess it up, Ryan. I've got this," I had cheered, practically bounding around the kitchen table as my brother finally stood and left for work. I was bubbly, outspoken, and loud, never the sophisticated type, and certainly not the type to wear designer labels, but I was determined to get this job to finally lessen the financial burden on my brother.

An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a yellow taxi cab, tightly clutching my portfolio to my chest. New York traffic was an absolute nightmare, and the digital clock on the dashboard was ticking down dangerously close to my interview window. My palms were sweating, my heart racing as the cab crawled block by block.

Then, my phone rang.

It was Christian. My boyfriend of three years. We had started dating during our sophomore year in university, and I thought we were building a life together. Relief washed over me as I answered, completely expecting a sweet pep-talk to calm my pre-interview jitters. Instead, his voice through the speaker was ice cold.

"June, we need to end this," he said, his tone flat and unyielding. "I'm breaking up with you."

I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, assuming it was a sick, twisted joke. "Christian, what? My interview is in a few minutes, and I'm already running late in traffic. I really need to focus right now, please don't play with me."

Through the receiver, Christian let out a mocking, cruel chuckle. "An interview that you will still fumble anyway because of your basic dressing and your unpolished self. You lack elegance, June. My parents are hosting corporate galas now, and I can't keep bringing a girl who treats a five-star restaurant like a fast food joint. You're just... never going to be enough for where I'm going. I'm not joking. We are done."

The line went dead.

The verbal rejection hit me like a physical blow. The absolute cruelty of his timing shattered my composure right there in the backseat of the cab. My chest violently tightened, and a suffocating panic attack triggered instantly, leaving me gasping for oxygen as the entire car started to spin.

"Miss? Are you alright back there?" the cab driver asked, casting a nervous glance through his rearview mirror.

I couldn't breathe. Tears blinded my vision, spilling over my cheeks and ruining my makeup.

Terrified and completely unable to sit still in the confined space, I choked out a sob. "Pull over. Please, just pull me over!"

I threw a handful of cash at the front seat, shoved the door open, and practically stumbled onto the crowded New York sidewalk. I collapsed onto a nearby public bench, burying my face in my hands, sobbing so violently that I lost all track of time.

By the time the severe panic attack finally subsided and I managed to gather my breathing, I frantically wiped my face and sprinted the remaining two blocks to the Harrington Group headquarters. But it was too late. When I burst into the towering lobby, my chest heaving and portfolio rumpled, the stone-faced receptionist delivered the final blow: the graduate selection panel had officially closed for the day.

I had missed my shot. I had failed Ryan.

When Ella and Ivy found out what happened later that afternoon, they didn't offer pity. They brought pure, unadulterated chaos. They stormed into my apartment, hauled me out of my bed of sorrow, and refused to let me mourn a man who judged my worth by the label on my clothes. Which brings me right back to the present, standing at the bar of the city's wildest club, trying to forget that I was a jobless, single college graduate.

"Another round!" Ivy called out, sliding a vibrant green shot toward me. Her sweet face was flushed from dancing. "To erasing Christian from your memory banks."

I grabbed the glass and threw it back. The liquid burned, cutting through the numbness in my chest. For the first time all night, I laughed. The alcohol was finally taking over, blurring the sharp edges of my heartbreak. I threw my hands in the air and let Ella drag me into the middle of the pulsating crowd. I danced, letting my hair fall loose, losing myself in the rhythm, ignoring the buzzing of my phone in my purse whenever Christian's name flared up on the screen.

"I need air," I gasped out after what felt like hours, navigating the sea of moving bodies. I turned around too quickly, my uncoordinated feet slipping slightly on the slick floor. Before I could regain my balance, I crashed directly into a broad, solid chest.

Splash.

The amber liquid from the stranger's glass poured directly down the front of his pristine white button down shirt.

"What the hell?" a deep, smooth voice barked above me.

I looked up, my vision a little hazy, and stopped breathing. The man towering over me was devastatingly handsome. Sharp features, a jawline that could cut glass, and dark eyes that were currently glaring down at his ruined shirt.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I blurted out. I immediately grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and began frantically rubbing at his chest. "I completely lost my balance. These shoes are death traps, and your shirt is totally ruined, and...."

He caught my wrist, his grip firm. A jolt of pure electricity shot straight up my arm. "Stop, stop," he said, an amused smirk breaking through. "You're just rubbing the stain deeper, sweetheart."

"Right. Sorry." I pulled my hand back, my cheeks flushing hot under his intense gaze. "I'm June. And I'm a professional disaster, apparently."

He didn't offer his name in return, just let his dark eyes track over my face, lingering on my lips.

"Don't worry about the shirt, June. But you definitely owe me a drink to replace this one."

We squeezed through the suffocating crowd to a quieter, dimly lit booth in the back of the VIP lounge. As he ordered a new round of drinks, the conversation flowed with a shocking, effortless ease. Within an hour, the booming bass of the club faded into the background. He spoke about structures, scale, and spatial design with an unexpected, magnetic intelligence that made my inner designer swoon. He was funny, sharp, and possessed a confident charm that made me completely forget the toxic words Christian had spewed at me just hours before.

"You're not like the usual girls who come here," the stranger murmured, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed mine. "You're real. Bubbly. It's refreshing."

"My ex thought I lacked elegance," I confessed, the heavy intake of alcohol stripping away all my filters. "He dumped me over the phone today because I'm 'too ordinary'."

The stranger leaned in even closer, his warm breath brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "Then your ex is a complete idiot. There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you, June."

When his large hand slid around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest, the last remnants of my caution completely shattered. Every point of contact felt like an explosion of heat through the thin fabric of my dress. He tilted my chin up, his dark eyes burning with an intense, raw desire that made my breath hitch. When his lips finally met mine, the entire room dissolved. It was a breathless, demanding kiss. His tongue slid into my mouth, claiming me with a fierce possessiveness that left me completely undone. My hands locked behind his neck, pulling him closer as the friction of our bodies ignited a fire low in my stomach.

He pulled back a bit, his heavy gaze locking onto mine, his thumb stroking my flushed jawline.

"Coming with me?" he whispered, his voice a gravelly, seductive challenge.

I hesitated for a single, fleeting second. A tiny voice in my head warned me about Ryan, warned me about the emergency interview Ella had set up for me the next morning. But then I looked at his breathless smile, felt the intoxicating ache between my thighs, and threw caution to the wind.

I nodded, my voice thick with desire. "Yes."

The ride to his luxury penthouse was a blur of heavy hands and whispered promises against the leather seats of his car. The moment the heavy oak door of his apartment clicked shut behind us, the tension exploded.

He pinned me against the wall, his hands immediately tangling in my hair as his mouth devoured mine again. I groaned, arching my back into his solid frame as his hands slid down to grip my hips, lifting me slightly until my legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. The reveals of my micro-skirt suddenly became a blessing as he tore the fabric away, his fingers bruising my skin. He carried me down the dark hallway, never breaking the kiss, before tossing me onto the center of a massive, king-sized bed. The luxury surroundings faded into complete irrelevance. I watched, my chest heaving, as he ripped off his stained white shirt, revealing a sculpted, hard chest and perfect abs.

He slid over me, his heavy weight becoming a comforting anchor, his lips tracing a path of fire down my neck. "You are so beautiful," he growled against my skin.

In the electric, fast, and intoxicating moments that followed, the pain of the breakup and the fear of the future finally erased themselves. We lost ourselves in each other until, wrapped tightly in the heavy sheets and tangled in his arms, the exhaustion of the day finally took over. For a few hours, the world outside simply didn't exist.