THE REJECTED HEIRESS

Claire Dunlop clutched the steering wheel of her bright red BMW, seething beneath her flawlessly applied makeup. None of the asphalt road intertwined with the hills ahead concerned her, nor did the supposed vacation she was supposedly enjoying. Instead, she envisioned the campus she was departing from and the world that awaited her beyond.

She had just completed her final exams and was now on her way back to the Dunlop estate, which meant plunging further into a life she had always wanted to flee from. A life mainly filled with unattainable expectations, scheduled social gatherings, and the worst part of all – the wedding that her father had been obsessing over for the last few months. A marriage to a humiliating palace that was never based on love; rather, she was compelled to wed the family of an arrogant heir whose name had slipped her mind. It seemed like she had pressed the gas pedal to escape from reality.

But then- A jolt.

A flashing dashboard paired with an engine that hesitated. The vehicle suddenly lurched and stopped along the road. Frustrated to no end, Claire sighed and started looking for her phone. Predictably, there was no signal. Fantastic. She hit her hands on the steering wheel.

"Are you serious? A car worth a hundred thousand dollars breaks down in an isolated area?"

Upon exiting the car, she inhaled deeply. There were meadows and there were woods. In the distance lay a road that could only fit two cars next to each other, with no cars visible anywhere. The summer heat was intense and made her quite uncomfortable since she hadn't dressed suitably for the drive.

Claire was unsure how long her arms stayed extended like that, deliberating on whether to hold out for a miracle or begin walking. However, a low roar of an engine resounded from afar.

A pickup truck.

A weathered old truck, the hue of corrosion, came to a stop next to her. The driver lowered the window and stuck his head out. Disheveled dark hair, defined jawline, striking blue eyes-he embodied a kind of attractiveness that seemed both natural and perilous.

He grinned. "Having issues with your car, princess?"

Claire frowned at the nickname. "Do I look like a princess to you?"

He cast a careful, measured look at her fashionable attire, the vehicle, and the diamond studs sparkling in the sunlight. "Yeah. You do."

She exhaled sharply, arms still folded. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"Cole Walker."

He leaned his head in the direction of the car. "Do you want me to check it out, or will you just keep glaring at me all day?"

Claire contemplated. He appeared to be the kind who was familiar with engines, yet he also seemed like the sort who took pleasure in watching her uneasy.

She let out a sigh and moved to the side. "Okay. But, if you damage something, you will pay for it."

He climbed out of the truck and laughed. "Right. Because I have a few thousand dollars just sitting there."

He donned a faded leather jacket and black jeans.

She disregarded him, observing as he opened the hood and bent over the engine. His actions were assured, exact-almost as if it came naturally to him. Time went by quietly, interrupted only by the sporadic murmurs of frustration as he toiled.

At last, he stood up straight, cleaning his hands on a cloth. "It seems your alternator is malfunctioning. You won't be going anywhere without a tow."

Claire let out a groan. "Great. Just great."

Cole was propped up against her car with her arms crossed. "I can take you to town. My shop is approximately ten minutes away from this location."

She looked at the truck with caution. "In that thing?"

He grinned. "Afraid?"

"Certainly not," she fibbed. Cole moved in closer, gaze fixed on hers. "Now get in, princess."

Claire paused. Every rational part of her mind screamed against it-but there was something in the way he gazed at her, as if he were completely unaffected by her demeanor or her identity. And for some reason, that motivated her to demonstrate he was mistaken.

******************************************************************

Claire occupied the passenger seat of Cole's aged pickup truck while he towed her vehicle, arms folded and lips set in a tight line. The inside held the scent of oil and leather, a stark contrast to the citrus-fragranced opulence of her Mercedes. The journey was rough, and she needed to hold onto the door handle as the vehicle drove over a pothole.

"Have you ever heard of suspension?" she whispered softly.

Cole laughed softly, maintaining his focus on the road. "She has a lot of suspension. Simply not the type you're familiar with, princess."

Claire flinched. "Please don't call me that."

"What name should I use for you then?"

After a moment's pause, she replied, "Claire Dunlop."

Cole momentarily glanced away from the road to gaze at her, his eyebrows lifted. He remained silent, simply kept driving, focused on the road. The little town they entered was completely different from the modern, glass-and-steel environment Claire was used to. Rather than skyscrapers, there were family-owned eateries, brightly lit taverns, and a few shabby stores. As they arrived at Walker's Auto, Claire hardly hid her displeasure. The garage was messy, with a strong odor of grease and gasoline filling the air. Two vintage muscle cars were positioned on lifts, while classic rock music blared from a hidden radio.

"Is this all there is?" she inquired, lacking enthusiasm.

Cole lifted an eyebrow as he exited the truck. "What did you expect? A valet?" Claire laughed derisively. "I'm not sure, perhaps something... neater?"

Cole laughed softly, shaking his head as he brought her inside. "You rich types truly have no clue what the actual world is like, do you?"

Claire tensed up. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me." He took a cloth from a workbench and cleaned his hands. "You enter this place acting as if you're above it. But let me take a wild guess-you'd be totally okay if I were a billionaire mechanic repairing your car in a modern, high-end showroom, wouldn't you?"

Claire felt a warmth spread across her face. "I-that's not-"

"That's precisely what it is," Cole interjected, his tone steady yet composed. "Listen, darling, your wealth doesn't matter to me. You may have a fit over grease and tools all you like, but that vehicle of yours won't move without my help. Either you can continue to look down at me, or you can allow me to do my job."

Claire began to speak in opposition, but his gaze held her back. She tightened her arms and looked away. "Okay. Just repair it."

Cole smirked, shaking his head while approaching her vehicle. "That's more like it."

Claire observed him begin his task, pushing up his sleeves and skillfully navigating around the engine. He was talented-she had to acknowledge that. His hands were adept, his motions exact. And even against her will, she struggled to turn her gaze elsewhere. Minutes elongated into an hour, the tension between them remaining but more subdued now.

At last, Cole cleaned his hands and forcefully closed the hood.

"You're all set," he remarked, throwing her the keys.

Claire apprehended them, an unwilling sense of gratitude forming in her heart. "How much does it cost?"

Cole rested against the car, with his arms crossed. "Don't worry about it."

Claire made a face. "Hold on, what?"

Cole lifted his shoulders. "Think of it as my kind act for the evening."

She squinted her eyes. "Why are you willing to repair my car at no cost?"

He smiled. "Since I enjoy seeing you writhe."

Claire sighed, exasperated, and rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

She dug into her handbag, pulled out a stack of money, and gave it to him. "Here. You did your job and I have to pay you for it."

He gazed at her, unwilling to accept the money.

"Keep your cash", he said, something in his voice.

Claire jammed the money into his hand, "look I don't know what game you're playing or what your angle is, but it's yours. Take it."

He scowled and moved back from her. "Take your money and your vehicle and go," he said angrily.

Cole pivoted, strolled over to a different vehicle beside hers, acting as if he had something to do. He was obviously annoyed by her being there. She unlocked her car door, but as she got inside, she paused, looking at him through the glass. There was something about Cole Walker that irritated her. For the first time in a while, Claire Dunlop felt uncertain about whether she despised it or enjoyed it.

******************************************************************

The room was silent apart from the gentle whir of the ceiling fan and the sporadic swish of the bedding. Moonlight poured in through the window, creating faint shadows on the bed.

Cole rested on his back, one arm positioned under his head, gazing at the ceiling with unfocused sight. Hailey's body nestled next to him, her gentle and steady breath brushing against his exposed chest. One of her legs lay protectively over his, while her arm was settled on his abdomen.

He should have felt relaxed. Satisfied.

But he didn't.

His chest felt constricted. His mind was noisy.

Claire Dunlop.

The name resonated in his thoughts like a murmur and a hex.

The heir to the Dunlop fortune. All diamond, privilege, and haughtiness. The way she had walked into his shop with her heels clicking like she owned the damn place. Tossing her name around like it meant something to him. He shouldn't have offered to help, but he couldn't help himself. He wasn't that kind of guy to see a person in need and refuse to help.

Indeed, it signified something. The Dunlops were well-known by everyone in this town. Her dad possessed half the damn skyline. Claire was expected to be merely another pampered child-someone who hadn't ever done even a little work for anything in her lifetime. When she insisted she pay him, it struck something in him. She ought to have disgusted him.

And still...

Cole's jaw tightened as he recalled the instant she faced him, her silk top adhering to her form, her lips tinted like temptation, confronting him with those maddeningly piercing eyes.

He recalled the glimpse of fragility hidden behind all the attitude. The manner in which her voice wavered for a brief moment when she mentioned her car had broken down. Perhaps there was additional depth to her beyond the facade of privilege.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He glanced over, directing his gaze at Hailey. She appeared serene while sleeping, her face at ease and her blonde lengthy hair spread across his pillow.

She had always been there. Simple. Familiar. Comfortable.

But tonight, he had called her-not out of longing, not out of need. He had called her to silence something else. Something far more dangerous.

Claire had awakened something in him. Though his brain told him to she is a baggage of trouble, his body betrayed him.

Damn testosterone.

His eyes closed lightly, yet Claire remained-within his thoughts, not merely as a recollection, but as a tempest. The fragrance of her perfume remained in the edges of his recollection. The manner in which her lips opened as she gazed at him. The silent tension that buzzed between them whenever she was a bit too near.

Even now-even now-after making love to Hailey, his body reacted just thinking about her.

He felt disgusted with himself.

He exhaled and muttered under his breath, "This is a damn mistake."

Hailey shifted next to him. "Mmm?" she mumbled drowsily, her tone filled with sleepy fondness. "Are you alright?"

Cole glanced at her briefly, managing a gentle response. "Yeah. Just thinking."

She nestled against him, letting out a sigh. "Don't think. Just hold me."

He complied, as it was simpler. Since he wasn't prepared to confront the reality at this moment. Yet as he encircled her with his arms, all that filled his vision was Claire. That difficult grin. The blaze in her gaze. The paradox she represented-wealthy, protected, intricate... and completely enchanting.

He had thrown her out of his garage that day because he'd known. Even then, in the first few moments. If she stayed any longer, he would have kissed her. Hard.

He hadn't trusted himself.

Still didn't.

And now he was lying in bed with the woman he thought he wanted, feeling like a traitor.

A whisper escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"...Claire."

Hailey moved a bit, yet remained asleep.

Cole shut his eyes once more and sensed shame rise in his throat.

Whatever was happening to him-it was too late to deny it.

Six months later.

The splendid ballroom of the Dunlop estate was illuminated in golden light, with the chandeliers emitting a cozy radiance over the ocean of high society. The air was filled with laughter and the sound of champagne flutes clinking, harmonizing perfectly with the gentle melodies from a string quartet in the corner. All seemed ideal-if only on the surface.

Claire Dunlop stood in the elegant ballroom, sensing like a beautifully packaged present eager to be unveiled. Her dress-a bespoke piece from a Parisian couturier-was a refined shade of champagne gold, with its subtle beading shimmering in the light with each hesitant step she made. The silk clung to her shape flawlessly, the off-the-shoulder neckline revealing her collarbones and the gentle curve of her shoulders. Her deep brown hair was styled into a smooth chignon, with a few loose strands highlighting her prominent cheekbones.

From the outside, she embodied every aspect of the ideal Dunlop bride-to-be. Internally, she felt as though she was choking.

The engagement celebration was a display of opulence-crystal chandeliers sparkled above, tables were decorated with white roses and gold-edged china, and the best champagne poured without stop. Attendees in tailored suits and elegant gowns twirled, chuckled, and engaged in courteous discussions regarding investments, corporate mergers, and extravagant getaways.

And then came Patrick Sinclair. Her alleged fiancé was at the heart of it all, soaking up the attention as though he had secured a trophy. Which, in his view, he possessed. Her.

Patrick was lanky, possessing a defined jawline and blond hair neatly slicked back. His bespoke black tuxedo was crafted flawlessly, with his cufflinks shining brightly beneath the chandelier's glow. He embodied the ideal husband-strong, self-assured, and refined.

But Claire knew better.

His blue eyes, perceived by others as alluring, contained a possessiveness that caused her stomach to churn. His grin, which others perceived as brilliant, was merely a smirk of dominance when directed at her.

Her father's voice jolted her back to reality.

"Claire, come." Charles Dunlop stood next to Patrick, a pleased grin on his face as he signaled for her to come over.

"It's time to make it official."

Claire gulped down the knot in her throat and compelled herself to advance. Each step seemed as if she was heading to her own funeral. The gathering moved aside as she approached Patrick. He wrapped a controlling arm around her waist, his fingers digging uncomfortably into the material of her dress. She fought against the instinct to withdraw.

"Everyone," Patrick called out, his tone smooth yet tinged with the arrogance she loathed. "I simply want to express how fortunate I feel to have this beautiful woman beside me. Claire embodies all that a man desires-elegant, stunning, and soon, officially mine."

The room burst into cheers. Claire felt a knot in her stomach.

Patrick faced her, his hand gliding up her arm in a manner that sent shivers down her spine. "Please say something, Sweetheart."

Sweetheart. As though she was his own.

Claire donned a courteous smile, the kind she had refined over years of being a Dunlop. "I appreciate everyone who attended tonight."

Her tone was calm, yet frigid. "I eagerly anticipate what lies ahead."

She didn't mention Patrick-and she was aware her father observed. His face clouded a bit, yet he remained silent. Patrick, on the other hand, chuckled, reinforcing his hold on her. ""Always so proper. That's why I chose her, gentlemen-she knows her place."

Her fingers pressed into her hand. Her place?

The toast went on, yet Claire hardly listened to the speeches, hardly noticed his hand on her waist while he murmured compliments about her to their guests. Rather, she gazed into the horizon, her heartbeat steady and heavy, like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.

Then Patrick leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. "Smile, Claire. You're making a fool of yourself."

She tensed up. He continually did this-prompted her about her position, his dominance. He had never directly hurt her, but his words, the way he touched her just enough to remind her of her lack of options-it was a gradual suffocation.

"I need to get some fresh air," she whispered, stepping back before he could object.

She navigated the throng, disregarding the whispers, overlooking her father's piercing stare on her. As soon as she walked out onto the balcony, she took a deep breath, the refreshing night air a sharp difference from the oppressive warmth indoors.

She held onto the railing, gazing across the flawlessly maintained gardens, her heart racing.

She can't do this. She would not do this. But what options were available to her?

Her father governed all aspects-her future, her fortune, her very life. If she opposed him, she possessed nothing. But wasn't there anything worse than a lifetime confined with a man who viewed her as little more than his possession?

A voice interrupted her thinking. "Here you are."

She glanced over to find Patrick stepping onto the balcony, a familiar smirk on his face.

Claire steadied herself. This evening was nowhere near its end.

"Leaving already?" he inquired, walking onto the balcony with measured, careful steps.

"That's quite unladylike behavior from you."

Claire raised her chin. "I just needed some space."

Patrick rested against the railing next to her, much too near for ease. "You'll have plenty of space once we're married. Our property is enormous."

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

He extended his hand towards hers, his fingers chilly against her touch. "I understand, Claire. You feel anxious. However, believe me, this setup is for the better. You and I? We're perfect together."

Perfect for his image, maybe.

Claire retracted her hand. "You don't actually know me, Patrick."

He laughed softly. "I don't have to. You are a Dunlop. I know exactly what that means."

And there it was. The truth she had always known but never wanted to face.

To Patrick, to her father, to all in that ballroom, she wasn't Claire. She belonged to the Dunlop family. A title, an emblem, a heritage to be transmitted. Not an individual. Not an individual with aspirations, worries, or a decision.

Her stomach twisted.

Patrick inclined forward, lowering his voice. "You will learn to love me."

Her blood turned icy.

No. No, she would not. Although she may lack a plan at this moment, she was certain of one thing. She needed to leave. Before it became too late.

"Excuse me," she remarked while hurrying to the restroom.

*****************************************************************

Claire had hardly gathered herself when she reentered the ballroom. She took a flute of champagne from a waiter who was walking by.

The aroma of high-end perfume and champagne twisted her stomach, while the sleek grins of the upper class blended into a swirling blur. Yet nothing-nothing-infuriated her more than what she witnessed next.

Patrick. Positioned by the bar, his hand placed on the lower back of a different woman.

Not just any female, either. Madeline Astor.

Blonde, attractive, and among the most infamous flirts in their social group. She chuckled at something Patrick murmured, tilting her head slightly to reveal the graceful curve of her neck.

And Patrick? He was devouring it. His eyes gleaming with laughter, his hand gently drawing circles on the satin of her gown.

Claire's hold on her champagne glass stiffened as she observed Patrick glide his fingers along the curve of Madeline Astor's arm, his lips perilously near her ear. He wasn't even attempting to be subtle.

Unbelievable.

They were not married yet, and he was already acting like a man who had no desire to remain loyal.

It wasn't something she was bothered by. Not exactly.

She did not love Patrick. She didn't even care for Patrick. Yet the boldness of it-flirting so overtly, at her engagement celebration, before their whole circle-set her blood ablaze.

She couldn't determine what caused her more anger. The fact that he was carrying it out, or that no one appeared to be surprised.

Naturally, this was anticipated. Individuals like Patrick consistently evaded consequences for this.

Laughter echoed from their section of the ballroom, and Claire sensed the burden of the act weighing heavily on her. This is how my life will turn out.

A lifetime of public grins and private disgrace. A spouse who lacked respect for her. A father who viewed her merely as a transaction, and a society that anticipated her to tolerate everything gracefully.

A breath next to her caused her to tense up.

"Claire, you're making a scene." Her father's tone was soft, a caution cloaked in elegance.

Charles Dunlop stood next to her, his presence imposing as ever, his face expressionless.

Charles Dunlop was a person who earned respect without having to elevate his tone. He constructed his empire with relentless accuracy, transforming the Dunlop name into one of the most influential in elite circles. Each agreement, each relationship, each meticulously planned partnership had been established with a singular objective-domination. He was in his late fifties, yet the passage of time had only defined his features instead of softening them. His salt-and-pepper hair was consistently styled back perfectly, every strand in position, similar to the persona he presented to others. His defined jawline and prominent cheekbones imparted a sense of nobility, while his intense gray eyes-icy and assessing-could reveal an individual's vulnerabilities with just a fleeting look.

Charles consistently appeared impeccably dressed, opting for tailored three-piece suits in rich, authoritative shades-navy, charcoal, jet black, similar to the one he donned at present. His cufflinks displayed the Dunlop emblem, a subtle indication of the heritage he bore, the burden of countless generations prior. Everything about him radiated authority, from his posture-upright, assured-to his manner of speaking-steady, purposeful, with a hint of decisiveness that allowed for minimal debate. He was not a person who accepted resistance.

To everyone else, Charles represented the ideal of a cultured entrepreneur-elegant, serene, a person who understood how to navigate the system and succeed.

However, to those who genuinely understood him, he was a different person altogether. Unyielding, controlling, ruthless when opposed. To Claire, he represented the guardian of the luxurious prison she had been born into.

He was skeptical about love. He had faith in partnerships. He viewed marriage not as a bond of hearts, but as a deal-one that should be advantageous, tactical, and most importantly, lucrative. Just like his marriage to her mother, Genevieve.

And what about Claire?

She was merely another strategically positioned piece on his chessboard. A step he had previously arranged. A future he had already chosen.

Claire looked at him, hardly masking the resentment in her tone. "Am I? Because it looks like Patrick is the one making a scene."

Charles turned his attention to where she was looking, his expression unreadable as he observed Patrick leaning in to say something to Madeline, who chuckled and moved in nearer. Still, he stayed apathetic.

Her father sighed deeply, as though she were a kid having a meltdown. "Claire, we've talked about this."

"No, you made this choice," she retorted, pivoting to confront him completely.

"You organized this engagement without consulting me. And here I am, at my engagement party, while my supposed fiancé is openly flirting with someone else."

She tightened her hands into fists. "And you think I'll smile and overlook it?"

"Yes." His response was prompt, resolute.

Claire felt a knot in her stomach.

Her father's gaze was icy, methodical. "Patrick is a great fit. He hails from an esteemed family, his fortune matches ours, and his connections in politics will guarantee a future without hardships for you. He will make a good husband."

Claire released a sarcastic chuckle. "A good husband? He doesn't even act as if he respects me."

Her father's jaw clenched. "You will discover how to handle him. He might have his... diversions, but that doesn't impact you."

She looked back at Patrick, who was currently murmuring something into Madeline's ear, his hand brushing the small of her back.

Yet, nobody was concerned.

Her voice became low, icy and incisive. "You're saying it has no impact on you."

Her father breathed out deeply, pressing his fingers against his nose as though she was tiring him out. "Claire, that's enough. This is what is most beneficial for you."

She was ready to respond when a recognizable voice cut in.

"Funny. I thought what's best for Claire would be something she actually wants."

She glanced over to her cousin, Ethan Dunlop, who stood next to her with arms crossed, a challenging grin playing on his lips.

Ethan was the family's outcast-the individual who consistently challenged the stifling customs of their society. He possessed the identical sharp Dunlop traits, the same noble demeanor, but while their fathers had turned into merciless entrepreneurs, Ethan had carved out his own direction.

At that moment, he seemed prepared for a confrontation.

Her father's face grew serious. "Ethan, this is none of your concern."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Claire is my cousin. That makes it my concern."

He looked at her briefly. "You don't desire this, do you?"

Claire felt a tightening in her throat. She understood that if she declined, it would alter everything. However, before she could respond, another voice interjected. "She doesn't need to express it. Just look at her."

Claire looked over to see Lena Whitmore, her best friend, joining the discussion.

Lena, consistently daring and unrepentant, donned a sleek emerald-green gown that contrasted magnificently with her vibrant red locks.

Her green eyes flashed with annoyance as she stared at Charles. "This whole gathering is a farce. Patrick is a conceited, dishonest jerk, and everyone here is aware of it."

Claire's father exhaled slowly and deliberately. "Lena, this-"

"No," Lena interrupted him, moving nearer. "You have no right to speak on what's 'best' for Claire while you're giving her to a man who views her as an object."

It was evident that Charles' patience was clearly diminishing. "This is a family matter."

Lena grinned. "It's a good thing I'm almost like family."

She was. Lena was her childhood friend. Her father, James Whitmore was a business associate of Charles. They met when they were four years old at a gala and have been inseparable ever since. Lena was the sister Claire wished she had, just as Ethan was the older brother she always wished for. They have always had her back, supporting her in everything, just as they did now.

"Claire knows what's good for the family. I'm sure she knows what will if she disappoints me", Charles said and walked away.

Ethan shook his head, "I hope you know what you're doing Claire. I wouldn't want to see you unhappy", he kissed her cheek and left.

Lena hugged her, "If he ever hurts you, just say the word and I'll arrange his murder. I'll make it look like an accident."

Claire laughed, "I hope it never comes to that."

Lena looked with a slight frown, "I'm serious Claire. You know I love you and want what's best for you. But if you feel like this is what is best, then I'm here for you."

Claire smiled weakly, tears threatening to fall, "I know and I love you too."

Lena hugged her one more time and left her standing alone with her thoughts.

She hoped the night would end swiftly. She attempted to envision her life as Patrick's wife.

Claire envisioned a life confined in a passionless, stifling marriage-her days consumed with hollow social gatherings, enforced grins, and murmured rumors about her husband's recent infidelities.

She imagined being alone at an elaborate dining table while Patrick amused his "distractions" in another place, his vows of loyalty merely a punchline. Nights when his caress felt like a prison, his words laden with entitlement instead of love.

She watched herself diminish, reduced to nothing but Claire Sinclair-Patrick's spouse-a label, an object, a prize. Without passion, there is no choice, and no way out. Merely a lifetime of silent suffering concealed behind impeccably shiny doors.

But as she looked at Patrick-continuing to laugh, still murmuring tender words into another woman's ear-she understood something.

Her time was running out. She had to escape. And soon.

The radio hummed in the garage, crackling between classic rock songs while Cole Walker tinkered under the hood of a '68 Mustang. His hands were smeared with grease, and his dark gray t-shirt clung to his back due to the day's heat.

The aroma of oil, rubber, and metal felt instinctive to him-his domain, his refuge, the sole thing that had ever resonated with him. Today, however, his thoughts were not focused on the engine before him. It was in a different place.

It was about a girl with captivating brown eyes and a witty tongue. A girl he encountered six months prior who was stuck, solitary on the road, sporting high heels, confidence, and a sense of entitlement. As soon as she spoke, he had identified her as a pampered princess, the sort of girl who had never done a thing in her life.

And for some inexplicable reason, Claire Dunlop had been lodged in his mind ever since. Even now, while he tightened a bolt, he could see her in his garage that day-arms crossed, watching him as if she felt too superior to be there yet too obstinate to walk away. He ought to have erased her from his mind the moment she left.

However, he did not. And that became an issue.

"Cole."

He blinked when Logan's voice interrupted his thoughts. His best friend was propped against the tool chest, arms folded, observing him with a playful grin.

"You're spacing out once more."

Cole breathed out through his nostrils, nodding his head. "I'm simply exhausted."

"Really?" Logan cleaned his hands on a cloth. "Are you sure it's not her?"

Cole stood still, his hold on the wrench becoming firmer. "Who?"

Logan's grin grew larger. "You know who. The rich girl. What was her name again? Claire?"

Cole shot him a look. "Drop it."

Logan laughed, raising his hands in defeat. "Hey, dude, all I'm saying is, you've changed since she arrived here. And given that your current girlfriend is still involved, that's a bit unethical, don't you agree?"

Cole's jaw tightened. Logan was not mistaken. His girlfriend, Hailey Chase, had been in his life for the last two years. She was stunning, enjoyable, and for a time, she had been satisfactory.

However, recently? She no longer thrilled him. The discussions during the night had shifted to voids of silence. The joy had diminished into duty. And even worse? He harbored doubts regarding her. There were countless late nights when she failed to answer his calls. She often arrived reeking of costly cologne that belonged to someone else.

However, Cole had never faced her. Not due to fear of the truth, but rather because, at his core, he no longer cared as much. The issue was, he couldn't figure out how to conclude it without causing her pain. Hailey wasn't a terrible person, and a part of him continued to feel accountable for her.

However, he was also aware of one thing without doubt-he could no longer continue pretending.

And the most unfortunate aspect? Whenever he was around Hailey, he couldn't stop thinking about Claire. That by itself revealed to him all he required to understand.

Before he had a chance to speak, the sound of heels striking the ground caused him to become tense.

Speak of the devil.

Hailey glided into the garage as if she owned it, her long blonde hair flawlessly styled, and her chic black dress far too pricey for a location that reeked of motor oil. She possessed an effortless beauty that caught attention wherever she went-but not from me. Not any longer.

"Hey, babe," she cooed, striding directly toward him. Cole maintained a blank expression.

"Hailey." She reached up to kiss him, but he tilted his head a bit, allowing her lips to touch his cheek instead.

She scowled, withdrawing. "Are you serious?"

Logan grinned from the side, feigning concentration on the engine he was fixing.

Cole dismissed him. "What brings you here?" Cole inquired, taking a cloth to clean his hands.

Hailey crossed her arms, tilting her head. "I came to see my boyfriend. Is that illegal?"

Cole breathed out. "I am very busy."

"You're always busy," she replied, pouting a bit. He once thought that pout was charming. At this point, it merely seemed like another game.

Hailey brushed a polished finger along his arm, speaking in a quieter tone. "Come on, Cole. You've seemed withdrawn recently."

Because I don't love you anymore.

The words weighed heavily in his throat, yet he kept them unspoken. Rather, he withdrew. "I've recently had a lot to think about."

Hailey sighed heavily, obviously annoyed. "Perhaps I can distract you from your troubles."

Cole looked over at Logan, who was clearly faking disinterest to avoid eavesdropping.

He exhaled deeply. "Hailey, not right now."

Her lips formed a narrow line. "Alright. Call me when you choose to behave like my boyfriend once more."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and exited, her heels tapping on the pavement.

As soon as she left, Logan released a quiet whistle. "Wow. That was tough."

Cole flung the cloth onto the workbench. "It had to be done."

Logan lifted an eyebrow. "So, it's over?"

Cole brushed a hand through his hair, breathing out. "Not yet. But it will be."

Logan observed him for a brief moment before he shook his head. "Dude, you're a wreck."

Cole smiled subtly. "Tell me something I don't know."

He faced the Mustang again, clutching the wrench more tightly. Since no matter how hard he attempted to overlook it, the reality was evident.

The moment Claire Dunlop entered his life, everything transformed.

He didn't know what to do about her. He tried as hard as he could to forget her for six months, but he couldn't. She kept coming to his mind, like a rash that refused to go. A good kind of rash.

He had thought of asking her out, but he immediately dismissed the thought. A rich, privileged girl like her would never go for someone like him. A mere mechanic who dropped out of college because he could no longer afford to pay his fees. She deserved someone better. Someone in her class.

With all his might, Cole pushed all thoughts of Claire Dunlop aside and focused his attention on the mustang.

His past, his struggles, his shop-this was his world. And she didn't belong in it.

******************************************************************

Two weeks had gone by since Claire Dunlop's engagement celebration, and she felt more confined than ever. Her father wasted no time in imposing her new reality, making certain that she and Patrick spent time together-regardless of her feelings.

Three dates, each one more unbearable than the previous. Patrick embodied all the traits she loathed in a man-narcissistic, privileged, and domineering. He hardly paid attention when she talked, interrupting her in the middle of a sentence to discuss his business endeavors, his family's impact, or his preferred subject-himself.

During their first date, he monopolized the entire evening boasting about his latest investment deal, stopping only to rectify her whenever she attempted to share her thoughts.

During their second date, he placed her order without inquiring about her preferences.

On the third? He had flirted with another woman in her presence, smirking when she caught him.

And still, in spite of everything, her father had merely offered her a condescending smile when she voiced her concerns. "Claire, building relationships requires effort. Patrick is an excellent fit. You simply have to stop being so hard to deal with."

Here she sat, two weeks in, in her bedroom, gazing out the window, feeling trapped in her own existence.

Claire's bedroom served as both a refuge and a confinement-a stunningly lovely enclosure designed for a life she did not select.

The space was enormous, featuring arched ceilings, a chandelier adorned with crystals, and a balcony that gazed out over the impeccably landscaped gardens of the Dunlop estate. The walls were coated in gentle ivory, highlighted with gold-edged molding, while the floors featured polished hardwood, partly adorned by a sophisticated Persian rug. In the center stood a canopy bed, lavishly covered in white linens and embellished with numerous decorative pillows. Opposite it, an impressive fireplace featuring a marble mantel imparted a royal feel to the room, even though Claire seldom utilized it.

Beside her, a vanity table displayed various designer perfumes, cosmetics, and accessories-items she hardly valued but had accumulated through the years. A walk-in closet stretching from floor to ceiling contained a limitless array of couture dresses, designer footwear, and handbags valued at more than the rent of most individuals.

Yet, in spite of its beauty, the room seemed vacant. Chilly. Similar to a location intended for admiration rather than habitation.

The only section of the room that genuinely felt like hers was the snug reading corner by the window-an inviting chair encircled by shelves packed with books she had diligently gathered throughout the years. It was the only place where she could find refuge, even if just in her thoughts.

And still, regardless of how often she immersed herself in a book, reality inevitably reemerged. The truth that this space, this existence, was never genuinely hers to manage.

A rap on her door snapped her back to reality. "Ugh, if it's my father, just say I'm sleeping," she shouted.

Rather than a servant's voice, she heard the recognizable laughter of her closest friend. "Oh, darling, if you believe I take orders from your father, you truly don't know me."

Claire pivoted as Lena Whitmore entered the room, hands on her hips, dressed in stylish designer jeans and a top complemented by red heels.

With her vibrant red hair, green eyes, and a rebellious spirit that knew no bounds, Lena had always been the one who wouldn't allow Claire to dwell for too long. Born into affluence yet never dominated by it, Lena had devoted her life to bending (and occasionally outright defying) the conventions of elite society.

While Claire felt the pressure to fit in, Lena chose not to be subdued. She expressed her thoughts, questioned those in power, and no patience for the pretentiousness of their world. She had a wicked sense of humor, a love for adventure, and a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit-which is why she hated Patrick with every fiber of her being. Lena had consistently been the one individual who never allowed Claire to dwell for too long.

"You seem unhappy," Lena declared, throwing herself onto the bed next to her.

"I feel wretched."

Lena supported herself on her elbow, raising an eyebrow. "Are you betrothed to the devil?"

Claire let out a dramatic sigh. "Three dates, Lena. Three. Each one worse than the last. If I have to listen to him talk about his stock portfolio again, I might really scream."

Lena made a gagging noise. "Please say he at least acted like he was curious about your interests."

Claire chuckled without any amusement. "Oh, he certainly did. He inquired about my preferred designer brand and then explained why I was mistaken."

Lena grasped her chest as if she had been hurt. "A tragedy. A true tragedy." Then she raised herself, resolve shining in her gaze. "That's it. We are going out."

Claire sighed. "Lena, I'm not-"

"Nope. No excuses." Lena lifted her up. "You require a pause from Patrick, your dad, and this whole constricting existence."

She leaned her head. "Take a moment before you decline-think about it: lunch, a film, and some drinks. A full day without anyone making you deal with an absolute jerk."

Claire paused. The idea of a day removed from her reality was alluring.

Lena grinned, feeling triumphant. "Let's go, princess. Let's run away."

Claire breathed out. "Okay. But, I am choosing the movie."

******************************************************************

A couple of hours later, Claire was laughing for the first time in several weeks. The lunch had been ideal-a quaint café in the city where no one murmured about her engagement.

The movie? A nonsensical action movie that lacked any logic but managed to keep them amused. And now, following a few too many margaritas, the world seemed a bit brighter.

While driving home with music pumping from Lena's car, Claire let out a satisfied sigh. "I needed this."

Lena smiled. "Told you." She hit the steering wheel. "You see? Life isn't entirely terrible."

Claire rested her head on the window, observing the city lights fade by. After weeks, she finally felt like her true self once more.

And then- the vehicle jolted. A strong clunk echoed from the engine, succeeded by the unmistakable noise of the car shutting down.

Lena swore, veering to the edge of the road. "Oh, give me a break."

Claire sighed. "Are you serious?"

Lena attempted to turn the key. Nothing at all.

With a theatrical sigh, she released her seatbelt. "I suppose I should check it out."

Claire chuckled. "You? Take a look? You don't even know how to change a tire."

Lena grinned slyly. "True. But it's the thought that counts."

They both exited the vehicle, the cool evening breeze enveloping them. They found themselves on the edge of town, with the road largely empty except for some far-off headlights.

Claire folded her arms. "So what's the strategy, clever one?"

Lena looked around before her eyes settled on something in the distance. "Oh. Perfect."

Claire tracked her gaze, and as soon as she spotted it, her stomach clenched.

An auto shop. An auto repair shop that seems familiar.

The neon sign blinked softly, just as she recalled from six months prior. She recognized this place.

An odd feeling of déjà vu enveloped her while she gazed at the garage, her thoughts drifting back to the evening her car had failed on the route home from school. To the evening she had encountered him.

Claire gulped nervously. What were the odds?

Lena failed to notice her doubt. "Come on, let's see if someone's still working."

She seized Claire's arm and pulled her ahead. As they drew near, Claire's heart raced a bit too quickly. She was unaware of the reason. Yet something informed her...

She was about to see him again.