Beauty and the Devil

chapter 13

Samantha’s POV

“No,” I said, stepping back from Aaron. “I’m not doing this.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “What?”

“I’m not going to help you take him down.”

“Sam—”

“He’s not perfect, I know that. But he’s not what you think. He protects people. He protects me.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched. His whole body tensed like it was taking effort just to stand still.

“You think he’s some tragic anti-hero?” he said, voice rising. “You think he’s broken and wounded and all he needs is your love to be better?”

I didn’t respond.

He stepped forward, just one step too close. His voice dropped. “He’s not complicated, Sam. He’s dangerous. He’s a monster.”

“You don’t know him,” I said.

“And you do?”

His face turned red—fully, visibly flushed.

“I offered you a way out,” he said, quieter now but angrier. “And you chose him.”

I stared at him, stunned at the venom in his voice.

“You’re a whore,” he added. “Just like the last one.”

Something in me snapped.

“Wow,” I said, my voice sharp and controlled. “There it is.”

“Sam—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Now you’re showing your real face. This is who you are.”

He flinched slightly.

“At least Clyde doesn’t hide it,” I said. “He tells me exactly what I am to him. You wrapped it in sympathy and protein bars.”

For a second, I thought he was going to hit me. He didn’t move, but something flickered behind his eyes — rage, hurt, shame — and then he turned around and ran out.

I stood in the empty room, breath uneven, heart racing.

Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?

Maybe. But it was too late now.

I grabbed my coat and flagged a cab outside the club. My knees wouldn’t stop bouncing in the backseat, and the cab smelled like vanilla and sweat. I didn’t care. I needed to see Clyde.

He had to know what Aaron just tried to do. That he was going to betray him. That I said no.

The gate to the mansion was already open when I arrived. I didn’t bother announcing myself. The front door was unlocked. I stormed through the foyer, heels tapping against the marble floor.

“Clyde?” I called out. “We need to talk.”

No answer.

The marble was cold under my shoes as I moved through the hallway, past the grand piano, past the wall of silent art. I rounded the corner to the living room, still rehearsing what I would say. How I turned Aaron down. How I chose him.

Then I stopped.

And the world split open.

Clyde was on the couch, shirtless, pants half-undone. Claire was straddling him, completely topless, her bra tossed to the floor like it meant nothing. Her hips rolled against him lazily, like she’d been there a while. Her fingers were in his hair, his mouth on her collarbone.

I couldn’t move.

Claire looked over first. She didn’t flinch, didn’t rush to cover up. She just grinned—teeth bright, lipstick smeared. Her hand slid down his chest, slow and intentional, like she wanted me to see.

Then Clyde turned. His eyes met mine with zero panic. No guilt. Just recognition.

“Back early,” he said, voice calm, like I was the maid and he’d forgotten to send a text.