Chapter 4 A Lesson Learned In Boundaries

(AURIANNA’S POV)

“Did you just fucking hit me?!” he yells, one hand clutching his jaw like I broke it.

I blink, still trying to process the absurdity of the whole thing. “Did I just hit you?” I stand from my barstool, crossing my arms. “You just grabbed my boobs without my consent!”

“I said it was a fucking accident!” he fires back, his voice half a shout, half a whine.

People are already turning to look. Music’s still thumping, but the energy around us shifts. The DJ might as well have hit a damn spotlight. Everyone’s watching with their phones out, some of them smirking, others pretending they’re not recording.

Personally, I don’t give a shit. But him? He definitely does. I can see it in his eyes, that flicker of embarrassment under the bravado. The mighty Zayne Beaumont, the billionaire golden boy, about to get humbled in front of an audience.

I huff, shaking my head in disbelief. “So that’s your excuse? You’re not even gonna apologize?”

“Apologize for what?” he says, lowering his voice now, glancing around nervously. “It was an accident, okay?”

“Wrong answer.”

Before he can say another word, I grab my drink and pour it straight down his face.

The entire bar goes silent for a beat.

“Jesus Christ!” he sputters, wiping at his soaked hair. “What the fuck is your—”

He doesn’t even finish before my fist connects with his face again.

The crowd gasps.

He stumbles back, clutching his nose. I swing again; he tries to dodge, but I catch him with a clean jab to the jaw. Then I grab his shoulder, twist my hips, and drive my knee right into his gut.

He wheezes, all that billionaire arrogance knocked right out of him.

I didn’t stop there. I grab his wrist, twist his arm behind his back, and I sweep his legs out from under him. He hits the floor hard, the air bursting out of his lungs.

Before he can even react, I plant my knee in his back and press my elbow against his spine, pinning him there.

“Next time,” I hiss, leaning close to his ear, “watch where you put your hands.”

Someone in the crowd yells, “Damn!” and another voice shouts, “Yo, she just dropped him!”

Phones are flashing everywhere now. Half the club’s recording. I can already see the headlines: Billionaire Tech CEO Gets His Ass Handed to Him by a Mystery Blonde at LUXE.

I push off him, standing tall. Zayne groans, still on the floor, his face red, his hair wet from the wine. And his pride?

Shattered.

I smooth down my dress, grab my purse off the bar, and sling it over my shoulder.

For a second, I glance down at him, and I don’t know what makes me smirk. The sight of him completely wrecked or the fact that he’s still trying to look dignified while lying face-down on the floor.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Beaumont.”

Then I turn on my heel and walk out of the club, the crowd parting for me like I’m Mo  ses and they’re the damn Red Sea.

The cold night air hits me the moment I step outside. My heels click against the pavement as I walk away with my head held high.

Just another night. And another man who learned the hard way not to touch me without my consent.

—

THE NEXT MORNING.

(ZAYNE’S POV)

My living room is filled with the sound of loud, obnoxious laughter. Exactly the kind of thing you hear when your best friend is five kinds of terrible.

Cameron’s doubled over on the armchair with his phone in hand, his eyes watering. He can’t breathe, ‘cause he's laughing so hard. I’m flat on the couch with an ice pack strapped to my face, and I want to throw something. Preferably at Cam’s head.

“Stop laughing,” I grumble.

“But it’s so fucking funny.” He wipes his eyes. “You should see the comments.”

“Shut up.” I smack my palm against the sofa cushion. It feels like someone shoved a fist into my jaw and left it there. “It hurts.”

“It’ll pass.” He cackles. “But the internet? Gold. You’re trending, man. TikTok, Twitter, Instagram—all of it.”

He holds the phone up like a trophy. “Here, listen to this headline. Young Tech Billionaire KO’d by Mystery Blonde at LUXE.”

He laughs again, harder.

I groan. It’s not the pain so much as the sound of Cam enjoying my humiliation.

“Cam, stop. I'm serious," I mutter under my breath.

The ice is cold enough to blur the world into slow motion. I press it harder against the swelling under my eye. My lip stings every time I move.

Cam scrolls, snorts, reads another headline. “Oh, get this. Beaumont’s CEO Gets a Dose of Reality—and a Black Eye.” He howls. “That’s gonna be the clip they play on morning breakfast shows, dude.”

I hurl a throw pillow at him. It sails across the room and bonks him square in the chest.

“Either shut the fuck up about it, or get the hell out of my house,” I snap, more irritated than I should be.

He just sits back, unbothered. “You need to calm down, Z. It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep.” I yank the ice pack off my face and stare at him. “Do you know how many calls I’ve gotten since morning? PR, the board, my mom—they’ve all been blowing up my phone for hours. This is going to be a disaster.”

Cam waves a hand. “Maybe. But dude, you literally grabbed her tits. How mad can you be at the world when you—”

“Shut the hell up!” I cut him off, then soften, because I’m trying to be honest with myself and the truth tastes bitter. “Okay—okay, I did grab her. But it was an accident. I slipped.”

“Accident or not,” Cam says, putting the phone down and folding his long legs across the chair, “it’s already causing serious damage.”

His voice goes quiet for a second, the kind of quiet that makes me sit up. “Beaumont Industries’ stock tickers are wobbling. People are talking. Investors don’t love viral scandals.”

I stare at the ceiling. Images from last night keep replaying—the club lights, the way that blonde moved, the coldness in her eyes when she said no, the fist, my face exploding in pain. My jaw thuds with every memory.

“Fuck,” I groan. More for my company than for my face.

Cam shrugs like it’s nothing, but his gaze is sharp. “You really fucked up, man.”

“You think I don’t know what?” I snap, more to myself than to him. I pick up my phone from the coffee table and thumb through a dozen missed calls and texts. Prayers, panic, some asking if I was okay. My PR guy’s name lights up the screen like a neon warning.

I press the ice against my face again, feeling the sting turn into numbness. It helps. Numbness is a good thing right now.

“But Z, to be honest that chick really fucked up your face.” Cam says, the look on his face morphing into something almost sympathetic.

“Really?” I sit up. “How do I look?”

“Like you got your ass handed to you.” he replies, bursting into laughter all over again.

“Fuck you,” I say, grabbing my phone. I flip the camera to selfie mode and raise it toward my face.

The screen doesn’t lie. There's purple blossom around my left eye, my nose is swollen and already starting to bruise, a busted lip, and my jaw looks like someone beat the hell out of it with a hammer.

Now there's another feeling, a hot, ugly one that sits under the swelling.

Anger.

She hit me, sure, but she also humiliated me in front of half the city. My pride’s on the floor with my jaw. And the part that makes it worse is—I don’t even know who she is.

I close my hand around that thought like a fist.

I’ll find her. I will find the girl who decked me in a club and made my face look like a crime scene, and I will make sure she pays for making my life a headline.

The house is quiet except for Cam’s faint chuckle as he scrolls some more. I lift my head and lock eyes with him. “Get me everything you can on last night. Videos, posts, comments—everything. And call my assistant. Tell her to dig. I want names. I want locations. I want every frame of that clip.”

Cam’s smile is maddeningly calm. “Already on it. Relax, Z. We’ll handle this.”

I let the ice sit against the bruise and exhale. My jaw aches and my pride bleeds, but I’m not helpless. Not anymore.

When I stand, the room tilts for a second. I steady myself on the sofa, and the anger sharpens into something colder.

I didn’t plan on getting punched by a stranger and becoming a meme. But if this is the game, I’ll play it. And when I find her? She won’t just be trending.

She’ll be sorry she ever swung at Zayne fucking Beaumont.