I'll Make Him Beg
LILIANA’S POV
The moment I stepped into my boutique, I knew I was in no mood for pretending.
The place looked perfect, as always—rows of satin gowns hanging like soldiers at attention, silks catching the light, mannequins frozen mid-strut in dresses that cost more than some people’s rent. My staff had clearly been working their asses off while I was off, well… getting kissed senseless and then dismissed like yesterday’s trash.
God. My jaw clenched just thinking about it.
I walked past the front racks slowly, dragging my manicured fingers across the fabrics, pretending I was inspecting them but really just trying not to combust. Each swish of chiffon felt like a reminder of him. Of his hands gripping my waist. Of the way his lips devoured mine like he’d die if he stopped. And then—the way he had the audacity to shove me aside like none of it mattered.
Ugh.
“Liliana?”
Erica’s voice floated from the corner, and there she was—my best friend, the one person alive who could both hype me up and drag me down to earth in the same breath. She had a clipboard in hand, her curls pulled into a bun that I knew wouldn’t last past noon.
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “Oh no. I know that face.”
I tilted my chin, trying to look composed. “What face?”
“The face that says someone pissed you off, and judging by the fact that you’re walking through silk gowns like they personally offended you, I’m guessing his name starts with an R.”
I groaned, tossing my bag onto the nearest table. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
“Oh, honey, you’re ranting today. I can feel it.” She abandoned her clipboard and fell into step beside me as I marched deeper into the boutique. “Spill it.”
I stopped in front of a row of cocktail dresses, glaring at them like they were in on the betrayal. “He dismissed me.”
Erica blinked. “Dismissed you?”
“Yes! After everything that happened last night. After everything he said, everything we did—” My hands flew up in exasperation. “He acted like I was nobody. Like I was… just some girl who wandered into his house.”
“Technically, you did just wander into his house,” Erica pointed out, fighting a smile.
I shot her a glare sharp enough to slice. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, obviously,” she said, holding up her hands. “But babe, breathe. Remember—you started this little game. He’s probably just overwhelmed. Give him a minute.”
“A minute?” I snapped, pacing down the aisle, my heels clacking against the polished floor. “I don’t need to give him a minute. He needs to get on his knees and beg for my attention. That’s what needs to happen.”
Erica bit her lip, clearly amused. “So, what’s the plan then? You gonna storm back to his place and demand he worships you?”
I paused, tapping my chin dramatically. “No. Even better. I’m going to ignore him.”
Her brows shot up. “Ignore him?”
“Yes.” I spun on my heel, hair whipping over my shoulder. “No calls. No texts. Nothing. I’ll be as professional as possible, cool as ice, like last night never even happened. And you know what that’ll do?”
Erica smirked. “Drive him insane.”
“Exactly.” I grinned wickedly. “Because I’m already in his head. I could see it. The way he looked at me last night, the way his hands wouldn’t let go. He’s already halfway gone, and if I pull back now, he’ll come running.”
Erica laughed outright. “Girl, that is crazy.”
I shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Crazy works.”
She shook her head, still chuckling. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” I said sweetly, flipping my hair.
She leaned against one of the racks, crossing her arms. “So, are you going to tell me what exactly happened last night? Because I swear if you don’t spill, I’ll die of curiosity.”
I rolled my eyes, pretending to be busy rearranging a row of sequined dresses. “I didn’t ask you not to come to the dinner, remember? You had your chance.”
“Oh, don’t even—” Erica started, but I was already striding toward my office, my laughter echoing back at her.
“Liliana!” she called, chasing after me. “Don’t you dare shut that door—”
I shut the door in her face and leaned against it, giggling like a teenager.
Her muffled groan came from the other side. “You are evil.”
“I know,” I sang out, making my way to my desk.
I collapsed into my chair, exhaling dramatically. My phone sat on the table like a silent temptation, screen dark but full of possibilities. One call, one text—that was all it would take. He’d answer. I knew he would.
But no. Not this time.
I crossed my legs, steeling myself. “No calling. No texting. Not until he does it first.”
I tapped the desk for emphasis. “And when he does, I’ll be the picture of professionalism. Cold, polished, untouchable.”
The thought made me smile.
Let him replay every second of last night until he can’t take it anymore. Let him wonder why I haven’t called, why I’m not begging for his attention.
By the time I’m done, he’ll be the one chasing me.
And I’ll make him work for it.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
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