Roy instantly pegged the flashily dressed, broad-shouldered man as a rival. He thought, “Who does this guy think he is? Talking like Molly’s cheating on him? Shermaine confirmed she’s single.”

Molly, having just hung up, regarded Beckett with icy calm. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Beckett roared. “Our families have all but finalized our marriage. Or did you forget?”

Roy’s face turned even paler at the word marriage.

Molly crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “Are you dreaming? When did I ever agree to marry you?”

Beckett shot back, “You never refused, either.”

He had a point. Molly had let her family believe she would marry Beckett, especially since her father approved. Beckett’s assets merging with her career was too tempting a deal.

But Molly had no intention of going through with it. Men were tools to her, and Beckett’s usefulness would expire soon enough.

Softening his voice, Beckett stepped closer and took Molly’s wrist. “I know what you want, Momo. I can give it to you. You’ve already used me. Why stop now? But I’m not doing it for free. Cut ties with this bastard and leave with me.”

The threat hung thick in the air.

Roy’s heart sank. If not for the fever dulling his reflexes, he would have lunged at Beckett right then. The man’s words struck a nerve.

Roy knew Molly wouldn’t abandon him now, but the fear lingered—Would she cut him out of her life one day?

Molly’s eyes narrowed at Beckett. “Take your hand off me.”

Beckett tightened his grip. “Momo!”

“I won’t repeat myself.” Molly’s voice was icy.

Beckett’s face darkened, but he knew better than to push her. Reluctantly, he released her.

The walk back to the hotel room was silent, Roy’s mind churning.

Molly, ever unshaken, broke the quiet in the suite. “Change your clothes.”

Roy hesitated. “Will you leave?”

“Not until the doctor checks you.”

A subdued “Oh” was all Roy managed before retreating to his room. There, he fired up his laptop, digging into Molly’s so-called engagement.

Among Ustrana’s upper class, the arrangement was common knowledge. Everyone talked about Beckett’s true love for Molly. After all, he was willing to sacrifice his fortune for her. What devotion.

Roy’s scowl deepened with every click. Anything Beckett could do, he could do better.

A quick comparison proved it. Roy outstripped Beckett in wealth and looks. Only one flaw—Roy’s roots were in Wallington. In Ustrana, Beckett’s local influence was bigger than his. Beyond money, Roy had little to offer Molly.

Frustration boiled over. But then again, Roy did have his special skills, and he had friends like Joshua and Shermaine, who carried serious weight.

Roy licked his parched lips, shut the laptop, and headed to the living room.

Molly lounged on the sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. Clearly, she was unaffected by Beckett’s outburst. That alone showed how cold-hearted she could be in relationships. And yet, somehow, Roy was hopelessly addicted.

Drunk on fever and longing, Roy stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Momo,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m so jealous.”