Holly’s sweetest dream
Bree · Ongoing · 2.4k Words
Introduction
Now, she's the woman who refuses to let him go.
After escaping a lifetime of illness and pain, Holly is no longer Ava’s sick little sister—she’s fierce, fearless, and obsessed. David Hunt, Aka Mason Brown, the ex-spy who once betrayed her family and saved her from their murderous father, disappeared the moment she got him out of prison.
But Holly hasn’t stopped thinking about him since.
Ignoring her sister’s warnings, Holly abandons everything—her life, her country, her name—to track down David Hunt. And when she finds him? He’s not the ghost she expected. He’s thriving, hiding in plain sight, building a new life and trying to forget the sins of his past. But Holly won’t let him forget. She wants him. And she’ll fight anyone who gets in her way—including her own blood.
What begins as a one-sided obsession soon becomes something darker, more dangerous—and far more mutual. But when the daughter of David Hunt’s old enemy resurfaces with blackmail and a plan to destroy Ava and Orion once and for all, David is forced to become the villain again… and this time, he’ll use Holly’s love to do it.
In a world of secrets, manipulation, betrayal, and forbidden love—can obsession survive the truth?
Or will it burn them both alive?
Chapter 1
HOLLY’S POV
The Uber smelled like melted gum and regret, but I didn’t mind. I was on a mission.
Operation Stop David’s Whoring Days was officially rolling, and I was the train conductor, engineer, and demolition team all in one.
I sat in the backseat like a woman heading to a stakeout…well, a stakeout with lip gloss and a $5,000 donation from Ava to fund my crimes.
The gift bag Amber had given me sat on my lap like a ticking bomb. Inside: a sleek black box tied with gold ribbon and a handwritten card with David’s handwriting.
Of course it was smudged like he’d written it in a rush after tightening his tie in someone’s bathroom mirror.
Classic.
The address led me to a charming corner café called “Sunset & Sage.” Very aesthetic. Very... I just made you a latte with oat milk and also want your man.
I stepped out of the car, straightened my mini dress, and swiped my lipstick across my bottom lip again. I strutted in like I owned the damn building, hips swaying, heels clicking, and holding the little box like it contained the truth and a lit match.
Wind chimes jingled above the door as I stepped into a world of rustic tables, fake plants, and fairy lights that screamed “I do yoga and steal husbands.”
A barista with turquoise eyeliner and bangs that probably had their own fanbase glanced up from the espresso machine.
And there she was.
The girl.
Her name tag read Monique.
Because of course it did.
The girl clocked me instantly. She had that fresh-fling glow, hair tied up messily like someone had run fingers through it all night. I didn’t even need confirmation. She looked exactly like the type David would woo with fake sincerity and stolen time.
“Hi,” she said, her voice smooth as mocha and just as fake. “Can I help you?”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know you can.”
I walked straight to the counter, set the gift bag down like a bomb squad tech, and gave her my best pageant smile.
“This is for you,” I said.
She blinked. “From who?”
I leaned in slightly. “From a man who probably told you he’s emotionally unavailable because of childhood trauma. Tall, brooding, sharp jawline, touches his lips when he’s thinking dirty thoughts?”
Her face did that thing. You know the one. The oh my God he mentioned me to someone? I might be The One face.
Yep. I had her. Who could have thought I would be right with my description?
“Oh my God…David?” she whispered, visibly blushing.
Bingo.
“Sorry, who are you?” She asked.
“Let’s call me a holiday angel. Or…” I leaned in, voice low and casual, “just the girl who’s been running damage control for your part-time boyfriend.”
Her brows drew in. “What are you talking about?”
“There are dirty scumbags in this world who’d sell their own souls just to get laid,” I said, voice low but cutting through the air like a knife. “And then there’s David…stuck in the same tired old playbook, thinking his cheap tricks still work.”
I nodded toward the box. “Like I said earlier, that’s for you. Packaged by David himself with so much care. Or, well… at least that’s the story he wants you to swallow.”
“Excuse me?” she snapped, pulling the box toward her protectively. “You’re crazy. David’s not…who are you to walk in here saying…”
“This is my third stop today,” I interrupted, crossing my arms.
“Three different cafés. Three different boxes. Three different women. You’re the last one on the list. Lucky you…you got the gold ribbon.”
I lifted my phone and casually flipped through a few staged photos I took earlier…the same box snapped outside random areas and buildings. Different lighting. Slight angles. Total fiction.
“Here’s one from this morning,” I said, showing her. “And here’s another from an hour ago. Same box, different bows. He’s my boss but I have to admit that he’s not even creative.”
She stared at the pictures like they were burning holes in her brain.
“I don’t believe you,” she said after a beat. “David’s not like that. He’s not stupid.”
I gave a dramatic sigh, pulled the chair closer, and plopped myself up like we were about to have a TED Talk.
She looked at me, confused, and a little intimidated.
“Listen, Monique,” I began, opening my purse and casually pulling out lip balm like I wasn’t about to ruin her love life. Or sex life.
“This isn’t a delivery. This is a divine intervention.”
She squinted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said with a sigh, “I came all the way here to give you a little gift of my own. The gift of wisdom. Compassion. Emotional CPR.”
She leaned against the counter, curious. “Okay…”
“I’m here to tell you, as a woman to another woman…run.”
Her smile dropped. “Wait, what?”
“David is married,” I said solemnly, letting that word land like a piano falling out of a ten-story building.
“Married?!” she gasped.
“With triplets. And a wife who just beat cancer. She’s back on her feet now and building orphanages in Rwanda. Poor woman.”
Okay. That was dramatic. But I was on a roll and she was eating it up.
“Are you serious?” she asked, blinking hard.
“Serious as a midlife crisis. Look, I know he told you you’re ‘not like other girls,’ and that you make the best cappuccinos in Chile. But babe…”
I reached over the counter, gently touched her hand.
“He told Sally that last week. And she has never made cappuccino all her life. In fact, she doesn’t even work in a cafe. The poor girl works at the library!”
Monique clutched the gift bag to her chest like it might attack her.
“But the note…he said I was special!”
I nodded sympathetically. “Oh honey. He cut and pasted that note from a Pinterest board titled ‘Sexy Texts That Sound Deep.’”
Her jaw dropped. She looked between me, the bag, and her pride.
Then she threw the bag in the trash can behind her and screamed, “That whore!” loud enough that someone in the back dropped a plate.
A waiter peeked around the corner.
“Monique, everything okay?”
She held up a finger. “Give me a sec, Mario. A sister is preaching the truth right now.”
I gave her a wink and stood, mission complete.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I said. “Get a man who knows your worth. David is not that man.”
He’s my man.
She gave me a watery grin. “Thank you. You saved me from a future full of lies, mediocre sex, and heartbreak playlists.”
“You’re welcome. And hey…David ever texts again? Just ignore or block him. He might try to deny everything.”
She laughed. “You’re like a sexy Batman.”
I grinned. “More like petty Wonder Woman. But I’ll take it.”
Because I have to be really petty to be pulling up all these drama for David.
I strolled out, flipping my hair like I was on a runway, and felt the sun kiss my face like a high five from the universe.
One girl eliminated.
One whoring path detonated.
The café bell jingled behind me as I walked out, heels echoing on the pavement like victory drums.
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