Chapter 18: The Battle of Egos

Rafael was shaking, a barely contained storm in human form. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something primal, something beyond mere anger. The furrow between his brows deepened into an unforgiving crease, his lips thinning to a hard, merciless line. He was changing before her very eyes, morphing into a predator, a wolf on the verge of devouring its prey.

Before Arabella could move, before she could even inhale, he seized her wrist and crushed his mouth against hers.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was punishing, fierce, and overwhelming, a branding of possession. Arabella gasped, struggling against his grip, but Rafael wasn't letting go. He tasted of fury and desperation, of jealousy and heartbreak, and she could feel the tremor in his hands, the heat radiating off him like a fever.

Then, just as suddenly, he tore away, his breath ragged, his gaze burning into her.

"Did he kiss you like this too?" His voice was raw, almost hoarse, as if the words themselves wounded him.

Arabella, still catching her breath, lifted her chin. She shouldn't have said it. She knew she shouldn't. But the words came anyway, reckless and defiant.

"Yes," she whispered. "And better."

Rafael inhaled sharply, his chest rising with an unsteady breath. His hands curled into fists.

"There's no way that bastard is better than me." His voice dripped with disbelief, a desperate need to refute the very idea. "I know so. I can be exciting if that's what you want. Regardless of whose banana is bigger—" He made a sharp gesture, his frustration palpable. "What matters is the position. The pose. Okay, fine! I admit I took it slow—but only because it was your first time! But in the shower—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I was rough. And that didn't excite you?"

Arabella went rigid.

Her face flamed, her entire body suddenly thrumming with mortification. The makeup couldn't hide the telltale blush spreading like wildfire across her cheeks.

"Ahh! I'll kill him!" Rafael growled.

"W—what?" she stammered, stepping back, her heart hammering.

No. No, no, no. She needed to get out of here.

Turning sharply, she fled toward the dressing room, leaving Rafael standing there, his hands still clenched, his body still vibrating with unspent emotion.

He made a move to follow her, but at that moment, the crew members returned, flooding back into the studio.

Rafael exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair before retreating to his previous spot.

Meanwhile, Arabella stormed into the dressing room, pressing both hands to her burning cheeks. Damn him.

Damn him!

The room shifted as Louis emerged from the dressing area.

A hush fell over the set.

He was shirtless, and the transformation was staggering. Gone was the easygoing, boyish charm. In its place was a sculpted masterpiece—a golden-tanned, muscular physique, abs carved in sharp definition. The waistband of his elastic underwear clung low to his hips, framing a body built to be admired.

In the background, Rafael clenched his jaw so hard it ached. His hands found his hair, yanking in sheer frustration.

No wonder Arabella fell for that bastard!

Levi, on his way back to the set with a lollipop in hand, froze mid-step.

His mouth dropped open.

"Oh jesus," he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips before the lollipop tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

Levi's eyes widened. Hercules must be missing a statue!

He started forward instinctively, pulled toward the golden vision, but before he could get any closer, a crew member blocked his path.

"Stand behind the yellow line. We're about to start filming."

Levi groaned but complied, lingering at the edge of the set, his admiration now resigned to a long-distance gaze.

Rafael, still simmering with unresolved fury, turned to the director.

"Did you find the second replacement yet?"

The director sighed. "No. We might just have to film with only four models."

Rafael narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking to Louis.

"Then I'll be the second model," he declared.

The director blinked.

Rafael's decision wasn't up for debate. Without waiting for approval, he stalked off, following the makeup artist to change.

Minutes later, Arabella stepped out of the dressing room, right as Louis reached the doorway.

"This is my first time," Louis admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm kinda nervous."

She smiled. "You'll be fine."

"I've never been half-naked in a room full of strangers before."

She laughed softly. "It'll be over in no time."

The director's voice cut through the air. "Places, everyone!"

Arabella and Louis followed the crew to the filming area. The four male models took their positions around Arabella—Louis standing to her left, the others arranged in a semi-circle.

The director glanced toward the dressing room, waiting.

Then, Rafael emerged.

And, oh, he took his time.

His movements were deliberate—slow, controlled, the effortless glide of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. Every step was designed for maximum effect, the light catching the sharp angles of his sculpted chest, the hard ridges of his stomach. The waistband of his jockstrap framed his body to perfection, emphasizing—everything.

He wanted her to look.

No—he needed her to look.

Arabella met his gaze and instantly knew.

He wanted her to compare.

Levi, standing at the back, gasped so loudly it was almost a shriek. His fingers scrambled for his phone.

This—this needed photographic evidence!

The director called for the models to take their positions. Rafael and Louis flanked Arabella, standing on either side, while the other three men knelt in front of her.

Arabella was trapped between them, a silent war waging at her sides.

Laser-sharp glares clashed in an invisible battle.

Louis, ever the mature one, ignored Rafael's taunting presence. But Rafael?

He wasn't letting this go.

Every time the director called, "Action!" Rafael would immediately cut in.

"Wait—hold on! The lighting isn't right."

The crew groaned. The director pinched the bridge of his nose.

Rafael pointed at the camera crew. "Adjust this. Move that."

It was obvious. He was deliberately stalling, giving himself more time on set—more time to move, to flaunt, to make sure Arabella noticed him.

Arabella pressed her lips together, fighting the twitch of a smile.

He was an idiot.

A childish, self-absorbed, infuriating idiot.

What a pervert! Did he really think she had chosen Louis based on... banana size?!

Damn that Levi!

***

The director had reached his breaking point. His voice thundered across the set, raw and commanding. "I don't care if you're the CEO or the King of whatever land, Rafael! This commercial is my project, and it will be completed today!" His eyes blazed with finality. "One more interruption, and I swear, I will have you thrown out!"

Rafael clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening at his sides, but there was no choice. His gaze flickered to Arabella—her careful composure, her calculated indifference—and something primal burned in his chest. Still, he forced himself to remain silent. He returned to his spot beside her, and the shoot continued without further disruption.

When the final take was called, the director all but collapsed with relief, dismissing the crew with a wave of his hand. Louis followed the other models toward the dressing room, and Levi—giddy as ever—trotted after them, his phone already in hand, no doubt preparing to document Louis's next move. Arabella, meanwhile, moved swiftly toward the exit, her steps hurried, as if she could sense the storm building behind her.

She barely made it three steps before Rafael caught her wrist.

She whirled, glaring at him. "Let me change first."

"No. Now. Don't make a scene."

A few crew members were still lingering, watching with curiosity. Arabella exhaled sharply, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Fine. But make it quick."

His lips curved, dangerous and knowing. "If you want quick, I can arrange that."

She stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her behind the stage, down a narrow hallway cluttered with equipment and half-forgotten props. The space was dim, heavy with the scent of paint and old wood. Rafael turned, making sure they were alone before facing her fully. His presence loomed, his voice low and edged with steel. "Listen to me. You can't see him again."

She arched a brow, folding her arms. "You can't stop me. We love each other. In fact, we're planning to get married soon."

His jaw tensed, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. "No. I won't allow it. Not until the six months are over."

She tilted her chin defiantly. "Sorry, but I can't wait."

His eyes flashed. "Why? Are you already addicted to him?"

She hesitated, momentarily thrown. "What?"

He stepped closer, his voice a hushed growl. "Addicted to his touch?"

Arabella gasped, color rushing to her cheeks. The arrogance, the sheer nerve of the man! And yet, there was something intoxicating about the way he said it—as if the thought physically pained him.

Summoning her courage, she lifted her gaze, letting the fire in her eyes meet his. "Maybe I am."

His breath hitched. His hand found the small of her back, his grip firm but not forceful. "Arabella, you're making me mad. You think I don't know you? You think I don't see the way you fight this? You won't even look me in the eye when you say his name."

She swallowed, fighting against the undeniable truth in his words.

"I can't wait two more days," he murmured, his voice rough with longing. "The longer I wait, the more time you spend with him."

She forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "No matter what, I'll keep seeing Louis."

His hands curled into fists. "Are you telling me to share you with him?"

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "Yes. If you can stand sharing a woman with another man, then so be it."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "No. I don't share."

His lips crashed against hers, a collision of fire and frustration. He kissed her as if he could make her forget everything else, as if he could brand himself into her memory. Arabella pushed against his chest, but he didn't let go—at least not until she broke free with a gasp. Her dress slipped from her shoulder, exposing a sliver of skin, and suddenly, the heat of the moment snapped into reality. He froze, breathing hard, his eyes locked onto hers.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You don't get to do this to me."

His expression softened, remorse creeping in. "Arabella—"

"No." She wiped at her eyes angrily. "You just wanted to prove something to yourself. This was never about love. It was about control."

His shoulders slumped slightly. For a moment, he was no longer the infuriating CEO, no longer the man who commanded rooms with a single look. He was just Rafael—flawed, desperate, and utterly lost in her.

"I was jealous," he admitted finally. "I shouldn't have—"

"Damn right, you shouldn't have," she snapped, shoving him back. "You think you can just—just take what you want? That I'm some prize to be won?" She shook her head. "You disgust me."

His throat bobbed. "Arabella, please."

She didn't want to hear it. She turned on her heel, gripping the torn fabric of her dress to her chest. "Louis is waiting for me."

His eyes darkened. "Let him wait."

"If I walk out like this, everyone will assume the worst." She gestured to her disheveled appearance.

Rafael's lips twitched slightly, as if he might laugh. "Your dress is ripped, your hair's a mess, lipstick smeared, tears in your eyes..." He dragged a hand through his own hair, sighing. "I suppose it does look bad."

She glared. "Do something."

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous. "Just hide behind me."

She nearly screamed in frustration.

God help her, she was going to kill him.

The two of them headed back to the studio, Arabella trailing just behind Rafael, her steps quick but measured. The air between them still hummed with unsaid words, but neither spoke. Fortunately, the studio had emptied out, leaving nothing but the faint scent of perfume, stage lights cooling, and the distant hum of an air vent. Arabella, seizing the moment, darted into the dressing room, while Rafael disappeared into the men's room to change.

Outside, under the dim glow of the street lamps, Levi and Louis lingered near the parking lot, waiting. The night had settled in, the city alive with distant honks and the occasional ripple of laughter from passersby. Arabella emerged first, tightening her coat around her.

Louis's phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen, exhaled sharply, then turned to them. "I just got a call—I have to leave."

Arabella nodded. "That's fine. Levi will take me home."

A brief farewell, a knowing glance exchanged, and then Louis was gone, disappearing into the night. Levi unlocked his car with a beep, and Arabella slipped inside. The moment they were settled, Levi started the engine and pulled onto the road, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.

A few minutes in, he reached for the radio, twisting the dial until soft, sultry jazz filled the car. He hummed along, grinning to himself, clearly entertained by his own thoughts. Arabella, reading him far too well, stretched over and snapped the volume off.

"Levi," she said, her voice edged with suspicion, "what exactly did you say to Rafael?"

Levi let out a low chuckle, eyes still on the road. "Nothing much. You wanted me to bad-mouth you, so I did."

Her stomach tightened. "What did you say?"

A devilish smirk curled his lips. "Oh, just that Louis's banana smashed your kiwi—and that you loved it. Ten times more than Rafael."

Arabella's mouth fell open. "Levi!"

"What?" he teased, feigning innocence. "Was I wrong? Should I have said five times instead?"

She groaned, slumping back against the seat. "Ugh! The damage is already done."

Levi's laughter rumbled through the car. "Honey, that damage was done ages ago. Smashed to juice. And served up—what?—twice a week?" He waggled his brows at her, enjoying himself far too much.

Arabella shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through his amusement. "Shut up and just drive."

But Levi only laughed harder, his foot pressing a little more playfully on the gas.