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KIMBERLY CARTER

The Angel.

That's what they called me. Because I looked like one, acted like one flawless, untouchable, perfect.

But they never saw how hard I worked to make them believe it. Never noticed how carefully I crafted the lie.

Because angels don't exist. We only pretend to.

And because of that, I now stood in a crowded, glittering ballroom, surrounded by the rich, the filthy rich, and the ones who made them look poor.

Elite heirs, heiresses, socialites, and power-hungry politicians-all gathered under the same golden chandeliers. They spoke in careful tones, their smiles sharp as glass, their secrets buried beneath designer suits and silk dresses.

I wasn't one of them. Not really.

In their world, I was a nobody. Middle class. Invisible. My mother, a flight attendant. My father, a café owner. How we got here? I had no idea.

But that wasn't what plagued my mind at the moment.

No, it was the fact that I didn't belong here at all.

The party was suffocating-too much perfume, too many fake smiles. I gripped my champagne flute, scanning the room for an escape.

And that's when I saw him.

Nathaniel Mercer.

He leaned against a dimly lit hallway, fingers stained crimson. He wiped his hands with a white cloth-except it wasn't white anymore. My stomach twisted.

I should've looked away.

But his eyes caught mine, pinning me in place. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips, as if he'd been waiting for me to see this.

To see him.

Though I had no idea what this was, something in my gut told me it wasn't something I was supposed to witness.

I swallowed hard.

There were a hundred people in this room, yet somehow, the only two who mattered were him and me.

The room around me blurred-the laughter, the clinking glasses, all fading into background noise. My fingers tightened around my champagne flute, the chilled glass burning against my skin.

Nathaniel didn't move. Didn't blink.

He just watched me. Eyes dark, unreadable. Amused. Like he was daring me to say something. To cause a scene.

Or better yet, to walk up to him.

I took a step back.

My heel nearly slipped on the polished marble floor, but I caught myself, heart hammering against my ribs.

Walk away. Forget you saw anything. Forget you saw him.

That would be the smart thing to do.

That was the thing I wanted to do.

But I couldn't. Not because I was afraid of being followed or ambushed. And definitely not because I was curious.

No.

Because I'd come to this event for my parents-to meet potential clients.

I didn't know who those clients were, though, considering my parents' jobs. But I knew one thing: the answer wasn't my concern.

Papá was always busy, running four cafés that were in permanent rush hour mode, especially with the holidays coming up. People wanted his pastries, drinks, and new seasonal specials.

And Mamá? She was always flying, waking up early for back-to-back flights and making sure strangers got where they needed to go safely.

So I remained rooted in place, hoping he'd look away. Maybe at someone else.

But he didn't.

So I did.

I turned my gaze away, set my champagne flute down, and walked off-heels clicking against the marble floor, my only companion in the too-loud silence of my thoughts.

I passed the kitchen. The sitting room. The pool area.

I didn't stop until I reached the garden.

The black silk of my dress clung to my frame, the draped fabric shifting with every step. Small jeweled embellishments caught the moonlight, shimmering like distant stars against the night. The delicate chiffon ruffles trailed behind me, whispering against the stone pathway.

Out here, it was quieter.

Darker.

The scent of roses and freshly cut grass replaced the overwhelming stench of money and power.

I made my way to the bench at the center of the garden, lifting my chin just enough to catch a glimpse of the pale full moon.

Finally.

A moment of peace.

Or so I thought.

A hand covered my eyes. Another curled around my throat, firm yet gentle. Not choking, not threatening-just holding.

His voice was a slow, rich drawl, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade.

"Leaving so soon, Carter?"

My breath hitched.

I hadn't told him my name. And he'd never met me before.

My fingers trembled as I slowly covered the hand around my throat, my pulse hammering beneath his touch. I swallowed hard, forcing my voice into a careful, hesitant whisper.

"I'm not scared. I'm perfectly fine." I mumbled under my breath

Then why was my heart racing?

"Wh-who are you? And how do you know who I am?"

I had a guess. But I wouldn't name names-not until I was sure.

I could practically feel his grin against my skin. His hold tightened, just enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, I think you know exactly who I am, Carter." His voice was smooth, teasing, laced with something darker. "The real question is... what are you doing here?"

What kind of question was that? Obviously, the same reason everyone else was here.

"I'm here for personal business reasons like everyone else, obviously... let me go."

He laughed-a low, hollow sound that slithered down my spine. It wasn't the kind of laugh that softened a person, that hinted at something redeemable beneath the surface. No, this was different. This was the sound of someone who knew exactly what they were and reveled in it.

"Like everyone else?" he echoed, voice dipping lower, laced with amusement. "You're deeply mistaken, douceur. Gravely, in fact. Are you sure you didn't end up at the wrong party?"

His grip on my throat loosened just slightly, enough to let his words settle, to let me feel how close he was. The scent of him curled around me-leather, smoke, and something sharper beneath it all, something that felt dangerous to breathe in too deeply.

I forced my voice to stay even, though my pulse betrayed me. "I know exactly where I am."

"Do you?" He hummed, as if considering my answer, fingers grazing my pulse before finally releasing me.

I exhaled shakily, shooting up from my seat on the bench stepping forward to put space between us, but he was faster. In one fluid motion, he caught my wrist, tugging me back against his chest. His breath was warm against my ear, deliberate, calculated.

"You saw something you shouldn't have, Carter," he murmured, each word dragging against my skin. "And now... I'm very interested in what you're going to do about it."

I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I didn't. Because deep down, I knew something else-something much more terrifying than the way he touched me, than the way his voice made my skin prickle.

Nathaniel Mercer was interested in me.

And that was dangerous.

"I have no clue what you're referring to. I saw nothing."

Technically, that wasn't a lie. I had no idea where the red staining his hands had come from. And though I had my suspicions, I wanted no part in confirming them. So, for now-and hopefully forever-I'd convince myself it was paint. Or dye. Anything but what my gut whispered.

Nathaniel tilted his head slightly, as if studying me, before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "You can't lie to me, Carter. I can smell your anxiety."

"I'm not lying!" The words came out sharper than I intended, my voice raising a fraction too high. Shit.

He just chuckled.

"What do you want?" I demanded. "Money? Are you going to blackmail me? Just tell me."

He didn't need money-he had more than enough. Filthy rich. But he was clearly the type who got off on power, on control. The type who had everything yet still decided to be a complete psycho just because he could.

Honestly, it's always the loaded brats. They're never normal. And I mean never.

"Is the money you have not enough?" I shot, crossing my arms.

His smirk didn't waver. If anything, it deepened. Like I was amusing. Like I had no idea what I'd just stepped into.

And maybe... I didn't.

"Money? Maybe. You can never have enough, right?"

"But that's not what I'm after."

"I'm after you."

"Because right now? I'm bored. And I need something to entertain me.

"A little while ago, I was perfectly content-minding my own business, enjoying the event. But then I felt it-a pair of hazel-brown eyes locked on me, consuming my every move.

"And do you want to know who those eyes belonged to?"

I didn't need to ask. I already knew.

I just wasn't in the mood to be his fixation.

But fine.

"Do I?"

His eyes darkened, and I forced a smile-tight, careful, the kind meant to defuse a bomb before it exploded.

It didn't work.

He didn't smile back. Didn't blink. Didn't move.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, coiling like a noose around my throat. He's the kind of man who doesn't like to be questioned-whether jokingly or seriously.

I should've stopped pushing. Should've looked away.

But I couldn't.

Not when the air between us felt sharp enough to draw blood.

Not when every instinct screamed that turning my back on him would be a mistake.

I wet my lips, forcing my voice past the knot in my throat.

"Who... who did the eyes belong to?"

Soft. Hesitant.

A voice that wasn't mine.

I never trembled. I never hesitated. Fear was foreign to me.

But this?

This was something else. Something raw and unfamiliar.

Because deep down, I already knew the answer.

I just didn't want to hear it.

━━━

NATHANIEL MERCER

Defiant. Nervous. Annoyed.

All three emotions were written plainly on her face, as if she hadn't decided which one to settle on. Her full lips-plump and slightly parted-pressed together for a fleeting second before curving into something caught between a scowl and an attempt at composure. Her jaw tensed, a subtle tic forming at the hinge, betraying the calm she desperately tried to maintain.

But it was her eyes that fascinated me the most.

Dark-lashed and sharp, those hazel-brown irises flickered with uncertainty, darting between me and the exit, calculating. Her pupils were just a touch too wide, the barest tremor in her gaze exposing what she didn't want me to see-hesitation. Yet, beneath the nerves, beneath the obvious restraint, there was something else. A fire. A stubborn defiance that refused to let fear take over completely.

Her brows, delicately arched but currently knitted together, only deepened the expression of unease. She was annoyed-at me, at herself, at this entire situation. But more than anything? She was waiting.

For me to make the next move.

I couldn't help but smirk-she was certainly amusing. So tense, so wary, yet still standing her ground.

"Since you asked so nicely," I drawled, letting my gaze flick over her, watching the way her breath hitched just slightly, "I'll tell you. Those hazel-brown eyes? They belong to the little liar in front of me."

Kimberly's gaze dropped, her dark eyelids flickering shut for a beat, her long raven lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. I studied her in that brief moment of silence before speaking.

"Tell me, Carter-are you curious to know what you saw?"

Her head snapped up. A quick response. Too quick.

"I told you, I saw nothing! I can't even see from far away!"

My eyes narrowed slightly. "You can't see from far away?"

She nodded, still staring at me. "I wear glasses... but! I broke them before tonight."

She expected me to believe that? That she-

Oh.

The faint indent along the bridge of her nose.

Huh. So, she actually did wear glasses.

"I see," I murmured, the weight of my gaze settling on her as I tucked that detail away.

"Anything else? Or am I allowed my peace now?"

Kimberly's voice was a low murmur, soaked in defiance. She stood there, chin tilted in that stubborn way of hers, waiting for me to answer.

I could've lied. Could've teased. Instead, I leaned closer, eyes locked on hers.

"Are you, Ms. Carter?" I murmured, voice dipping into something more dangerous. "You tell me."

She didn't respond.

Didn't sass.

Didn't run.

She just stared at me for a beat longer than necessary before pulling back. Smart girl. Smarter still because I let her.

I always let them walk away-right before I decide how I'll pull them back in.

But Kimberly Carter wasn't like the others.

Her energy didn't drain me-it intrigued me. Fascinated me. It had weight, gravity. I wanted her to keep it. Save it. Because I wasn't done yet.

Not even close.

I watched her disappear through the side garden path, the hem of her black dress brushing over the stone, moonlight glinting off her bare shoulders like temptation sculpted into skin. Her steps were uneven-careful, calculated. She thought she was escaping.

She wasn't.

And then, just like that, the air shifted.

"Who was she... Nathaniel?"

Fuck.

There it was.

The voice-sticky sweet and sharp as broken glass. Like perfume too thick in your throat.

"Not now, Leonia," I muttered under my breath, mood immediately soured.

She strutted into the garden like it belonged to her, heels clicking with intention, a violet-pink dress hugging her curves like it had been made to be torn off. Blonde curls tumbled over her bare shoulders, shimmering in the low light, and those too-blue eyes locked on me with a smile that meant trouble.

Leonia Lewis.

The second oldest of the Lewis sisters.

And the one who ruined reputations like it was a sport.

She was a walking storm in designer heels-entitled, loud, too used to people kneeling for her presence and swallowing her tantrums. She wore her beauty like a weapon and her surname like armor.

But none of it worked on me.

I tilted my head, voice coated in ice. "What do you want?"

She pouted, stepping closer until her perfume clashed with the night air-sweet, expensive, suffocating. It was like she hadn't heard the edge in my tone.

I had no time for spoiled girls who mistook chaos for charm.

And if she thought she could bait me now-right after Kimberly fucking Carter had just walked into my life-she was even more delusional than I gave her credit for.

"Oh, don't be like that," she cooed. "You looked lonely."

"I am lonely," I said. "By design."

She sighed, dramatically, like I'd just kicked her prized Pomeranian. "You don't have to be so cold, you know... You're much nicer around my parents. Even with my sisters. Why not treat me the same?"

I turned my head, my expression hollow. "Because I dislike you."

The words were clipped, cruel, and loud enough to slap the smirk off her face.

"Fuck, go back inside, Leonia," I snapped, voice hard. "And stop bothering me."

She didn't move.

Just stood there, spine taut, fists clenched at her sides, rage brewing in those ice-blue eyes of hers. "Jesus, Nathaniel." Her voice cracked. "You could at least pretend to be decent." "I'm not decent. You of all people should know that." She crossed her arms, chest rising and falling with short, uneven breaths. "You're such an ass! I'll have my father know about this-about the way you're treating me. And you didn't even answer my question!"

This girl was a damn pest.

"Really?" I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think your father will give a damn? He's been out of town for two months, Leonia. Every time you call to whine, he delays his return." I barked out a cold laugh. "But go ahead. Let me know if he answers the phone this time. Or will he ghost you again like the last five times you tried to cry your way into his calendar?"

That shut her up. but I didn't stop.

"You know why, don't you?" I leaned in, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's because he's tired. Tired of your theatrics. Your tantrums. Your attention-starved little princess act. Of the way you pretend the world is your runway.

He's exhausted by you-and so am I."

Her shoulders pulled back, lips parting like she might slap me or scream. Her lips parted like she wanted to deny it.

Maybe she even believed she could. For a second, I expected her to crumble-to do what she always did when I cornered her as a kid: cry, run, slam a door behind her like it would seal her away from the truth.

But she didn't say a word.

Not for a moment.

Then, as if flipping a switch, she plastered on a glossy, venom-laced smile. "Is that what this is about?" Her voice purred, sickly sweet. "Did I ruin your little moment with your mystery girl? Poor thing. Couldn't handle you the way I can?"

I didn't move. Didn't give her the reaction she was begging for.

She leaned in anyway, voice softer now. "Who was she?"

Silence.

She was digging, trying to provoke something. Anything. "I asked you a question, Nathaniel."

Her voice dropped an octave, low and demanding. "And I expect an answer."

I finally turned to face her fully, the cold smile I'd perfected curling onto my lips.

"You really want to know who she was?" I asked, voice smooth and quiet.

She blinked.

"Someone worth a hell of a lot more than you." She lost it.

Her hand shot up, and before I could blink- SLAP!

The sharp crack echoed through the quiet garden. My head tilted slightly from the impact, cheek stinging like heat under glass.

But my expression didn't change. Not even a flicker.

Because Leonia Lewis didn't deserve my emotions.

And she never would.

Her chest rose and fell like a storm barely contained. Her eyes-usually glazed over with privilege and entitlement-now shimmered with disbelief.

"You-" she choked out. "Do you see what you made me do?!" Typical.

She'd explode, blame me for lighting the match, and still beg the world to see her as the victim.

Her voice cracked as she shoved past me, heels scraping the path as she disappeared through the other side of the garden, lost in her own hurricane of self-pity and embarrassment.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my jaw.

God, that girl was a nuisance.

Not even worth the effort to hate.

My fingers curled loosely at my sides as I turned back toward the stone path, toward the bench where she'd interrupted me. And my thoughts I stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle back around me like smoke.

The air was cooler now. Still.

And the heat from her slap meant nothing compared to the scorch left behind by the girl who'd been here just before.

Kimberly Alisha Carter. Dark hair like spilled ink. A sharp tongue tucked behind lips far too soft to belong to someone like her.

Freckles dusted her cheeks like stars someone spilled across porcelain-scattered and delicate, the kind of detail you only noticed when you were close enough to memorize.

Kimberly Carter wasn't touchable. She wasn't made for hands.

She was made to be worshipped.

A contradiction in heels-chaos threaded with control. Sweet on the surface, sharp underneath. She wore polish like armor, poised and perfect for whoever she decided was worth the show.

But I saw it. The mess behind the gloss. The cracks beneath the mask.

She was what people imagined a saint looked like-until they got too close.

And me?

I wanted closer. Because if she had what I thought she did, then she was already mine.

She just didn't know it yet.

_______

Chapter-01 of Strange Corruption

#wattpad #original work #dark romance #psychological

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