Chapter 5

Hearing Giselle's shameless words, Donovan hesitated, wavering between releasing her and holding on. He finally settled on a hard stare.

Anne felt an inexplicable thrill watching him physically “defend” her. Despite the water still dripping from her face, she pretended indifference. However, the moment she saw Donovan's grip remain on Giselle's arm, discomfort pricked at her.

“Don, ignore her,” Anne urged. “She’s a lunatic. You don’t know what she’ll do. Just let her go. She’s not worth it!”

“Yeah, Don,” Renee added, clearly relishing the drama. “I get you can’t stand seeing Anne picked on, but Giselle’s picked up some bad habits overseas—smoking, drinking, pills, the works. Even Tony can’t control her. For family peace, we’ve had to let it slide.”

But Donovan remained focused on Giselle, his eyes locked on her face, his grip unwavering.

Growing impatient, Giselle was about to dislodge his hand—until her gaze fell upon it, as strong and familiar as she remembered. She changed her mind.

Instead, she laid her hand over his, deliberately stroking it with slow, teasing caresses. Their eyes met, hers alight with challenge.

As expected, Donovan visibly recoiled from her bold display. Disgusted, he released her.

“That’s enough,” Anne snapped, her patience exhausted the moment Giselle touched Donovan’s hand. Abandoning pretense, she hooked her arm through Donovan’s, ensuring Giselle received the message. “If you love seducing men, go find someone else. Don’t drag my fiancé into your games. He’s far too good for you!”

Giselle scoffed. The irony of seeing him fussing over his fiancée, remembering their passionate nights together, was not lost on her. Rich people certainly knew how to play their games, didn't they?

She’d had enough of these vipers. She spared Donovan one last glance before walking out, her shoulders straight, refusing to appear defeated. She climbed into her blue Panamera, slammed the door, smoothly reversed, and sped away from the villa.

Driving with one hand on the wheel, she replayed the confrontation endlessly in her mind. Donovan's face lingered like a ghost.

…

It was 8:00 pm when Giselle arrived home. She lived alone in a modest 970-square-foot house in an ordinary neighborhood, a place she’d bought and renovated for under $500,000. It was nothing like the Holts’ villa, but it was hers—her safe haven.

Her intelligent shepherd dog greeted her enthusiastically. After playing with him, she chatted with a friend overseas for ten minutes, then ordered takeout. By the time she showered and changed into pajamas, the food had arrived.

Without hesitation, she opened the door to retrieve her order. To her shock, the door was flung open, and a man burst inside.

Giselle instantly recognized the icy presence. Before she could react, Donovan shoved her onto the couch.

“Fuck,” she spat, her anger unrestrained. She met his dark, menacing gaze. “Why the hell did you follow me home? What do you want?”