The Playboy's Wicked Revenge (Major editing In Progress)

8: Xander's Pov

Xander

Damn. Last week had been… entertaining.
All that planning, acting, setting the stage—And now, I had her.

Step one: complete.
Well done, Xander Black.

I smirked to myself as I steered the car through the city’s heart, Evans’ perfume still lingering faintly in the passenger seat.
The irony? I’d been searching for her for months—digging through dust, chasing shadows—and she walked straight into my life, like fate was mocking her.

At first, I really had mistaken her for a beggar.
Haunted eyes, wandering like some lost stray, Slumped shoulders, Dirt-streaked sweatpants, A faded cartoon shirt that belonged in a charity bin. I had genuinely—no, honestly—thought she was a beggar. Just some random girl loitering near a fancy house, hoping to snag a plate of food or sympathy.

But when I got back to my penthouse and checked the street cam footage, I froze. Paused. Zoomed in.

That wasn’t just any girl.

It was her.

Sia Lucy Evans.

The girl I'd sworn to destroy.

And she didn't even know it.

I leaned back in my leather chair, laughed to myself, and poured a drink. Took one slow sip. Then another.

That face. Those eyes. That stupid, fidgety energy.

She was the girl from the photographs. Older now. Still nameless back then. But thanks to my investigator, I finally had her full name:

I had nothing but her teenage photos. No updated ID, no trail, no real information. And yet, one look at her last week, and it all clicked into place.
Game on.

She’s... a strange one, though. So fumbly. So clueless.
I honestly couldn’t tell if she was genuinely that naïve, or if it was all part of some act.

But then again, does it even matter?

She’s mine now.
And she has no idea what kind of hell she’s about to walk into.
I turned up the music in my car and smirked, recalling the way she had looked at me—wide-eyed, lost, almost grateful. She had no idea that her savior was the very devil she should’ve feared.

I chuckled quietly and shook my head.
Oh, it was going to be fun—unraveling her, twisting the world beneath her feet. Introducing her to the real Xander Black.

The thought warmed me from the inside out.

Just then, my phone rang.
Cole.

I tapped my Bluetooth.
“What?”

“Come to the club. Now. It’s urgent.”
And he hung up.

Classic.

Cole Miller—one of my only two real friends. The other being Kyle Stauffer. We’d known each other since we could barely spell our own names. All three of us—cut from the same bloodstained cloth.

Cole, the heir to a luxury hotel empire, but too busy being a certified playboy to care. If there’s a world record for disappointing parents, he’s aiming for gold.

Kyle…
Let’s just say, he’s the one you don’t want to piss off. Twisted doesn’t even cover it. Scarred by a childhood no one deserves, he became the kind of person you fear in silence. But mess with his sisters? You’ll wish you hadn’t been born.

We’re all products of shitty parenting, stitched together by shared pain and rebellion.

They’re the only two people I’d ever take a bullet for.