Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 21

A guy like Ryan doesn’t just pass through your life—he leaves a mark you can’t wash off, no matter how much time goes by. Even just meeting him once, you’d never forget. And for Amelia, they hadn’t just met—they’d been rivals, constantly butting heads. Dr. Borgen used to joke that the two of them were like kings on a chessboard, locked in battle, never backing down.

Now, as Ryan strode toward her, tall and sharp in a perfectly tailored dark suit, he looked even more intense than she remembered. His features were all hard lines and angles, like a Greek statue come to life—untouchable, almost not real. And compared to seven years ago, he had this quiet, dangerous energy, like a whirlpool waiting to pull you under with barely a ripple.

Amelia’s only instinct was to run.

Why, of all times, did she have to run into him now? She was at her lowest, and he looked better than ever. It was almost funny—except it just made her want to crawl under a rock. If Ryan recognized her like this, knowing how much he used to hate her, he’d probably laugh himself awake at night.

“Apologize to this… ‘blind’ lady,” Ryan said, his voice cool and commanding.

The words hit Amelia like a relief. He didn’t recognize her.

Seven years changed a lot. She was skinnier now, hidden behind dark sunglasses. No wonder he couldn’t tell it was her.

Ryan’s gaze flicked to her hand gripping the white cane. She saw his posture relax, his mouth curving in a barely-there smirk, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Some things never changed—he was still easy to fool.

The creep who’d bothered her looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Ryan’s vibe—and the memory of Francisco nearly snapping his arm—made him cave.

“I’m sorry, miss. I drank too much. Please forgive me,” he mumbled.

“If you’re drunk, go find somewhere to lie down,” Ryan said, barely glancing at him.

“Yes, yes,” the guy stammered, then hurried off, practically tripping over himself to get away.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Amelia said, raising her voice and rasping it just a bit, trying to sound different. “Could you tell me where the elevator is?”

At the end of the corridor, behind an old wooden screen, was the terrace. The guy who’d just been humiliated was slumped in a corner, phone pressed to his ear, voice full of venom.

“Bring more guys. I’m not letting this go. Some pretty boy thinks he can play hero in front of me?”

He pictured Amelia’s fragile look, the way she seemed so vulnerable, and a gross smile twisted across his face. His free hand roamed to his belt, itching with anticipation. “Keep some guys at the entrance. Grab that girl for me. That blind chick is something else—hot as hell, and that voice… She’ll be even better screaming in my bed.”

He was getting more worked up, his voice dropping lower, when footsteps echoed behind him.

Click. Click. Click.

Each step cut through the silent night, every sound scraping across his nerves.