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Her career skyrocketed after ditching her ex, drawing in a swarm of admirers. Her regretful ex tried everything to win her back, only to watch her wedding of the century with another guy as the beloved of a billionaire. ===== "Stop it, Neil. This isn't fair to Katelyn..." Today was her anniversary with Neil Wheeler, and Katelyn Bailey had already planned the celebration. Katelyn excitedly came to the villa to find Neil, unexpectedly met with the w*man's voice coming from the master bedroom. Hearing that was enough to drain all the color from Katelyn's face, and it definitely didn't help when she recognized the voice. It was Lise Cooper. She was Neil's old flame. Katelyn never expected her to return. Yet there they were, in the master bedroom... "Why is it unfair? Our families joined by marriage for mutual benefits. Katelyn is just my wife in name. I don't care for her at all. I've never touched her since we got married." "I pity her! Three years of marriage, and she hasn't won her husband's heart," Lise commented. Katelyn began to tremble. Those words pierced her heart. Her marriage to Neil had always been one of convenience, and not by love. For the past three years, Katelyn had devoted herself entirely to her family. She did the laundry, cooked meals, and tried her best to be a good housewife. Despite her efforts, Neil had never shared a bed with her. Katelyn had believed she wasn't meeting his expectations and had failed to earn his approval. But now, she realized he had never cared for her. The ongoing sounds from the room made Katelyn's heart ache. "Bang!" All of a sudden, the door flew open. When Neil saw Katelyn, he froze for a moment before his expression turned cold. With disdain, he barked, "Get out!" Even though he had been caught, he still carried himself with an air of arrogance. Katelyn felt a sharp pain in her chest. Staring at her husband, who showed no remorse, she asked in disbelief, "Neil Wheeler, why are you doing this to me?" With a soft sigh, Lise said, "Katelyn, you should understand that Neil doesn't love you, I'm the only one he loves, which is why he can only be intimate with me. I'm sure you can understand our situation, right?" Lise smiled. She had deliberately chosen to s*duce Neil on their anniversary, relishing the thought of Katelyn being overwhelmed. Katelyn clenched her fists tightly and glared at Lise with bloodshot eyes. "You're proud of being a home-wrecking woman, aren't you?" Lise's eyes turned red as she replied, "How could you say that? Would I have broken up with Neil if your parents hadn't threatened my family's safety? Katelyn, forcing love only leads to suffering. And remember, in any relationship, the one who isn't loved is the real outsider." Katelyn stared at her in shock. So this was the story Lise had fed Neil. It was now clear to her how Neil couldn't seem to move on from Lise. The truth was that neither Katelyn nor her family had forced Lise and Neil apart. "That's a lie!" Katelyn wanted to defend herself, but before she could speak, Neil cut her off. "Katelyn, if it weren't for you, Lise wouldn't have suffered so much these past few years. How dare you and your parents treat her that way? I will never forgive the Bailey family." Neil had already stood up and dressed, his gaze toward Katelyn as cold as ice. Katelyn's heart continued to ache. In that moment, she abandoned any attempt to explain and smiled bitterly. She realized how blind she had been to love a man who cheated on her and felt no remorse. A flash of satisfaction crossed Lise's eyes. "Neil, don't be so hard on Katelyn. She overheard us at the door earlier. You haven't sl*pt with her in three years, so it's understandable she's feeling unbalanced." Katelyn trembled with rage. She stormed over to the bed and snapped, "You shameless! How dare you spew such nonsense? Didn't anyone in your family teach you any manners? I'll be happy to give you a lesson then." She quickly raised her hand... "Katelyn!" Neil's eyes narrowed. Without a second thought, he rushed to defend Lise. Caught off guard, Katelyn was struck and staggered back. Anger flared in Neil's eyes as he growled, "Who do you think you are? How dare you hit Lise! Marrying you is my biggest mistake in life." He turned abruptly, yanked open the drawer of the nightstand, and pulled out a divorce agreement. He threw it at Katelyn and shouted, "Sign it. I never want to see your face again!" The divorce agreement had already been prepared and signed by Neil. Katelyn fought back a bitter smile. However, she knew it was time to let go of her marriage. He didn't love her and had even betrayed her. There was nothing left for her to hold on to. Without hesitation, Katelyn picked up the agreement, quickly signed it, and threw it at Neil's face. "Neil Wheeler, I'm done. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other." As soon as she spoke, her phone rang. Katelyn froze when she saw the caller ID. Ignoring Neil's reaction, she swiped to answer the call. The voice on the other end sounded urgent. "Iris, when are you coming back to work? The orders at the studio are piling up. Someone has even offered a hundred million dollars for a chance to work with you." Chapter 2 Better Not Play Dirty Tricks "I'm back now. I'll be there in a second." Since Katelyn no longer needed to focus on Neil or play the docile and devoted wife, she was determined to return to her career immediately. She resolved never to fall in love again. Katelyn's expression grew serious. Although her appearance remained unchanged, Neil sensed something different about her. Her gaze and demeanor had shifted. Even the look in her eyes was no longer the same. Neil stared at Katelyn without blinking. For some reason, he felt irritated when she signed the divorce agreement so decisively. From the very beginning, she had loved him with every fiber of her being. He couldn't understand why she signed the divorce agreement so readily. Believing she might be playing games with him, Neil walked closer and sneered, "You'd better not try any dirty tricks, Katelyn." Katelyn ended the call and looked at him directly. "Do you really think you deserve that?" she retorted. Back in the day, she had loved him and cared only about him, which made her willing to endure everything for him. Now that they were done, he meant nothing to her. Without giving the two shameless another glance, Katelyn turned and left the villa. She walked with her head held high, as if nothing in the world could bring her down. Lise noticed Neil's eyes were still on Katelyn and felt a pang of jealousy. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a message. After reading it, Lise's mood brightened. She exclaimed, "Great news, Neil! Iris has agreed to work with us. Her manager just sent me a message." Neil snapped out of his thoughts and looked at her with surprise. "Are you serious?" Wheeler Group's design department had been facing a major issue with a critical project. Recently, their designer was caught plagiarizing. If they didn't meet the deadline, the company would owe the client several billion dollars in compensation. Only five days remained. The only designer capable of completing such a massive project on such a short notice was Iris, the top designer in the industry. The Wheeler Group had been trying to contact her for weeks but had been repeatedly rejected. Surprisingly, Lise had managed to secure the opportunity. She showed Neil the message and said excitedly, "It's true. You can go to the negotiation tonight. I spent the whole night convincing her manager. My efforts finally paid off." Iris was famous but had a difficult personality. Over the past three years, she hadn't produced any new designs and seemed to have disappeared. For that reason, anyone wanting to work with her had to go through her manager, but her manager was notorious for avoiding people. Neil placed his hand on Lise's and said seriously, "Lise, I've never forgotten how much you've done for me. I will keep my promise to you." She nodded eagerly in response. Suddenly, she frowned and winced in pain. Neil asked with concern, "Is everything alright with you?" Lise forced a smile and replied, "I'm fine." Neil gazed at her intently and stated, "Don't lie." After hesitating for a moment, Lise slowly lifted the hem of her dress to reveal large b*uises on her knees. Neil's expression immediately changed. In that moment, he realized why Iris had agreed to work with them. Lise had to get down on her knees, begging for their cooperation. Feeling deeply moved, Neil looked at her with affection and said, "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Lise." Lise responded shyly, "I'm willing to do anything if it helps you." Meanwhile, Katelyn had just arrived at her design studio. As she looked at the familiar office she had been away from for three years, she felt a pang of regret. She had wasted so much time on a man who wasn't worth it. Aimee Stephens, her manager, spotted her and quickly trotted over. Dressed in a black suit dress, she looked both professional and capable. She gave Katelyn a big hug. "My little Iris! You're finally back! I've missed you so much." A hint of guilt crossed Katelyn's face. "I'm sorry. It was all my fault. Aimee, tell me about this order." Aimee knew the importance of business. She led Katelyn to the sofa, where they both sat down, and said, "The offer was made by Lise Cooper. She did it on behalf of Neil Wheeler. Let me show you the documents." Katelyn was stunned. The next moment, she let out a sudden chuckle. What a small world! He had told her to leave, but now he badly needed her assistance. Chapter 3 Changed Tremendously Aimee looked at Katelyn with surprise and asked, "Isn't Wheeler Group your husband's company? You didn't help him? Why did they reach out to me instead?" Katelyn pressed her lips. She had known about the crisis in the design department and had offered to assist, but Neil had told her to leave and not cause any trouble. With a bitter smile, she responded coldly, "We're divorced, Aimee." Their marriage had lasted only three years, but she had loved him for ten. All that love had been wasted. In the end, she felt she deserved this unfortunate outcome. Aimee's eyes widened as she looked Katelyn up and down. Clicking her tongue, she remarked, "So, the love-struck girl has finally woken up. I warned you not to marry him after finding out he had an ex-girlfriend that he couldn't forget. I tried hard to change your mind, but you were determined. I guess you had to learn it the hard way." Katelyn's expression remained calm, though her once lively eyes seemed dull. Suddenly, she let out a chuckle and said, "You're right. I learnt my lesson the hard way. From now on, Aimee, I'm focusing on my career." "Fantastic! That's what I want to hear. Forget about love! Your career is what matters," Aimee said with enthusiasm. Then, she quickly added, "What's your plan for the collaboration? We can walk away from the 100 million dollars and give those b**tards what they deserve." Katelyn looked at her and asked, "The response you gave them was as vague as always, wasn't it?" Aimee nodded in confirmation. That was how they operated. They would preliminarily accept an offer once everything seemed in order, but the response remained vague. This allowed them time to further investigate the client. If anything suspicious came up, they would end the partnership immediately. Katelyn smiled as she thought it over. She had reviewed the file and knew that if Wheeler Group missed the deadline, they would owe their client several billion dollars. She chuckled and said, "Alright. Let's keep them hanging. Let them know we'll be at Skyline Building tonight." The Skyline Building was a place that catered to solely the upper class. The guests there were not only wealthy but also held significant influence. Lise sat in a private room, with a gentle smile, she said, "Neil, I'm sure you'll close the deal tonight." Neil smiled, "It's all thanks to you, Lise. I'm lucky to have you." Lise blushed, already envisioning her success. If the deal went through, Neil would realize her true worth and see that only she could truly help him. The meeting was scheduled at seven in the evening. The door to their private room was left open, allowing a clear view of the corridor. At the same moment, they both noticed two figures approaching. Lise's smile froze. She stared at one of the figures in shock. She wondered if she was seeing things, but it looked just like Katelyn. Neil also spotted Katelyn, and surprise flickered in his eyes. She wasn't dressed in her usual casual shirt and loose trousers. Instead, she wore a black, form-fitting dress that accentuated her figure. Her long hair was styled in loose curls that cascaded over her shoulders. She looked both alluring and distant. Her neck was graceful, and her waist was slender. To Neil, she resembled a figure from a classic oil painting. He pressed his thin lips together as his eyes traveled over her from head to toe. It had only been a day since they last saw each other, but Katelyn seemed completely transformed. Just yesterday, she was still his dull and mediocre wife. Now, he couldn't help but imagine the attention she would draw from other men when she was in a crowd. It seemed like Katelyn hadn't noticed them, as she walked straight ahead. Then, something unexpected occurred. Chapter 4 You Also Dragged Miss Stephens Into Trouble Katelyn and Aimee were discussing something as they walked. When Katelyn saw the drunk man stumbling toward Aimee, she quickly stepped in front of her to shield her. The drunkard scowled at Katelyn. "Hey, what is the matter with you? How dare you get in my way! Move aside!" In the next moment, he noticed how attractive Katelyn was, and his eyes lit up. "Hey, beautiful, are you alone? How about we hang out together?" He reached out toward her, but before he could touch her, Katelyn shied his hand away. The man's expression darkened. "You should be thankful I'm even interested in you. Don't be stupid!" His loud voice drew the attention of others nearby. Neil's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that Felix Ellis?" Lise was equally shocked. Felix was here? Felix Ellis was a notorious th*g in Chaepstow, known for making his living through loan sharking. He was ruthless and would do anything to get what he wanted. Lise covered her mouth with her hand and exclaimed, "He's dangerous! Katelyn could get hurt. Neil, we should help her." Although Lise pretended to be concerned, there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. She secretly hoped Felix would teach Katelyn a harsh lesson, which would also serve as her revenge. Neil gently patted Lise's hand and replied softly, "Lise, you're too kind-hearted. She brought this on herself. It's not our problem." Despite his words, he couldn't resist glancing toward the door. Katelyn was small and fragile. If Felix were to hit her, she could be seriously injured. With a slight frown, Neil decided to rise from his seat. But before he could act, Felix has been defeated by Katelyn. Neil watched in disbelief. The woman he once knew had transformed. She now radiated confidence and allure. He wondered if Katelyn had been hiding her true self during their marriage. Seething with rage, Felix glared at his henchmen and yelled, "What are you all waiting for? Get her!" The men quickly moved towards Katelyn. In response, Aimee stepped in, "If any of you lay your grubby little hands on my friend, you're all going to regret it. I'll make sure that you'll pay for it with your lives!" Felix's face went pale when he recognized the woman behind Katelyn. It was Aimee! Aimee managed the top designer Iris. Many powerful people avoided crossing her. Felix was suddenly intimidated. He hadn't expected Aimee to support the woman. Immediately, Felix's demeanor changed. He forced a smile and stammered, "Oh, Miss Stephens, is she your friend? I didn't realize. I'm sorry for the trouble." Lise stared at the situation in shock. This was unexpected. Neil also stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion. He never imagined that Katelyn had such a close relationship to Aimee. Only now did Neil realize that he knew absolutely nothing about his ex-wife. Aimee crossed her arms and said impatiently, "Enough! Get out of here! You'll regret it if you try to hurt her again." Felix quickly fell silent and fled the scene. Not long after, the corridor became quiet again. Aimee was about to respond, but Lise rushed over with a concerned expression. "Miss Stephens, are you okay?" Neil followed Lise, he gave Katelyn a cold look before saying hello to Aimee. Aimee ignored them completely. The way Aimee treated Katelyn was markedly different from how she treated them now, making Lise wonder about their connection. After a moment of hesitation, Lise said to Katelyn, "Katelyn, I understand you wanted to protect your friend, but that was too risky. What if you had been hurt? And see? You also dragged Miss Stephens into trouble." Chapter 5 I'm Sorry For Being Late "You've played the role of the delicate and kind-hearted soul for so long that you've started to believe it yourself," Katelyn said, her gaze filled with contempt. She realized Lise had simply been trying to drive a wedge between her and Aimee. Lise's face reddened with anger. Before she could respond, Neil chimed in, "Katelyn, enough!" He had witnessed the entire encounter in the private room. If Aimee hadn't intervened, Felix would have continued his h**assment. Neil was frustrated that Katelyn had shown no appreciation for Lise's concern. Moreover, he was irked that Katelyn had a connection with Aimee that she had kept hidden from him. Neil had been restless and anxious over the past weeks, while Lise had gone to great lengths to please Aimee. Katelyn, on the other hand, had done nothing. Neil's anger flared, and the tension in the air was palpable. Lise subtly tugged at his sleeve. Katelyn was Aimee's friend, and any conflict could negatively affect Aimee's view of them and jeopardize their potential collaboration. With a conciliatory smile, Lise said to Aimee, "Miss Stephens, our private room is just over there. Why don't we sit down and discuss the details of our cooperation?" Aimee glared at them with disdain. "When did I agree to work with you?" Lise and Neil were taken aback by her response. "You're a home-wrecker. Don't kid yourself into thinking Iris will work with someone as morally compromised as you. Stop dreaming!" Aimee growled. Lise stared at her, stunned and unable to hide her shock. She hadn't anticipated Aimee's harsh response. Despite feeling hurt, Lise didn't dare to confront Aimee or retaliate. The atmosphere turned icy in response to Aimee's remarks. Lise felt that Aimee's reluctance to cooperate might be due to Katelyn's influence. She suspected that Katelyn had spoken ill of them to Aimee, causing her to back out of their agreement. Lise suppressed her anger and shouted at Katelyn, "Katelyn, Neil's company is in crisis. Instead of helping, you've only caused more trouble. Stop behaving like a child!" Neil also glared at Katelyn and added, "Katelyn, are you finished causing trouble?" He blamed her for the issues affecting their cooperation, feeling that she had crossed the line. Katelyn's lips curled into a slight smile. Before she could respond, Aimee defended her. "Mr. Wheeler, stop flattering yourself." Neil's face paled slightly. Aimee continued disdainfully, "We've already chosen our partner. It's not you. Unlike you, he's respectable and hasn't been involved in any s**ndals. He adheres strictly to his morals, and he'd never cheat on his wife. Our studio doesn't work with s**mbags like you, Mr. Wheeler." "You! You..." Neil glared with icy anger. Lise quickly intervened, pinching his arm to calm him. Forcing a smile, she said to Aimee, "Miss Stephens, you've misunderstood. Katelyn's portrayal is not accurate. She is..." Clearly irritated, Aimee stated, "Enough of your excuses. I have no interest in your attempts to cover up. If you continue, you'll only diminish my respect for you. Please stop obstructing my path and acting like fools." Neil and Lise were visibly embarrassed and frustrated. Katelyn smiled, appreciating Aimee's sharpness. Just as she was about to speak, she noticed a commotion in the corner. All eyes turned toward them. A line of bodyguards moved with precision. Every single one of them looked intimidating, and they were escorting a noteworthy man. Dressed in a sleek black suit, he exuded an air of sophistication with every step. His face seemed almost divine, with features that looked meticulously crafted by God, himself. His eyes, deep and wintery, could captivate and unsettle anyone who met his gaze. Lise stood in awe, her eyes wide with amazement. She questioned whether she was imagining it when she realized the man was Vincent Adams. He was the president of Adams Group, a colossal business empire. The Adams Group started in real estate and later expanded into industries like medical and IT. Since Vincent took over the company five years ago, it had become one of the fastest growing companies in the world. And now, it was part of the ten biggest companies worldwide. His company played a significant role in the city's economy. Neil's expression tightened, his eyes reflecting his seriousness. Ignoring everyone else, Vincent approached Katelyn. His deep voice was like a cello's melody in the dark. "I'm sorry for being late." Katelyn stared at the man, puzzled about why he was speaking to her. She then glanced at Aimee, worried that her identity had been revealed. After a brief pause, Katelyn replied with a smile, "You're not late at all. Your timing is perfect." Her response seemed to soften Vincent's demeanor. His sternness gave way to a warmer expression. Standing side by side, their attractiveness created a noticeable chemistry. Neil tightened his fists, wondering if Katelyn had moved on with someone new right after their divorce. Filled with envy, Lise begrudgingly observed the situation, resenting that Katelyn had attracted such an influential figure. With a flattering smile, she approached and said, "Nice to see you here, Mr. Adams." Neil masked his feelings and greeted Vincent as well. "Good evening, Mr. Adams. What a surprise to see you here." Vincent acknowledged their greetings with a nod, clearly uninterested in engaging in further conversation. He turned to Katelyn, his eyes softening with warmth as he said, "I apologize for keeping you waiting." Aimee glanced at her watch and smiled, saying, "It's no problem, Mr. Adams. We've just arrived as well. Perfect timing. Shall we head to the room to discuss?" Both Lise's and Neil's expressions changed to shock when they realized that Vincent was the business partner Aimee had mentioned. What left them even more confused was the fact that Katelyn and Aimee walked into a private room together, arm in arm. Given the nature of the meeting, it was unusual for an outsider, even a friend, to be present. Katelyn's presence seemed out of place. Upon seeing Vincent's indifferent nod, Lise's frustration grew. She asked, "Aren't you supposed to be working with Iris? Why is Katelyn joining the negotiation?" Aimee retorted, "Why shouldn't Katelyn be here?" Lise and Vincent exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what she meant. ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &12&

She finally got engaged to her longtime crush. He blamed her for her sister's departure and slapped her for accidentally breaking a cup her sister gave him. Heartbroken, she refused to be a substitute any longer, slapped him back, and ended things decisively. She didn't know this was just the start of her nightmare. ===== Crack! My fiancé hit me. Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug. Then, Rhys sl**ped me across the face-hard. My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire. Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together. "Are you f**king insane?" I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw. Rhys's lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute. "It was just a mug with Catherine's face on it," he said, as if my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done. "You have got to be f**king kidding me." I stared at him in disbelief, my ch**t heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode. For half a second-just half-something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury. "No, you're the insane one!" he roared. "I already agreed to marry you-what more do you want? Catherine's gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!" His voice trembled with anger. "She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won't rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?" The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the s**p. My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bl**ding. But nothing hurt more than my heart. I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. "It wasn't me. I never asked her to leave." Technically speaking, I understood why someone might say that. Catherine had left behind a letter. In it, she said she'd seen my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to "let go," to "let him be yours." I don't think she ever understood that a diary meant privacy. I never meant for anyone to read it, but not only did she read it-she told everyone. No one cared about the pain I felt when my secret was exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, forced to pay for her so-called noble sacrifice. To my family, it was like I'd been bumped up to the starting lineup out of nowhere, replacing the golden girl-I should've been grateful. Even if Rhys had st**bed me in the gut, they'd still find a way to excuse it. It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much better I did than Catherine, they always saw me as bitter, as someone who couldn't protect her fragile pride. The searing pain on my cheek intensified. My fingers clenched tightly around the engagement ring. A wave of heat-anger, humiliation, resentment-rose in my throat. Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked fast, wiping them away before they could fall. I would not cry. I would never show weakness in front of him. I took a heavy step toward the door, struggling to move. I had to get out of there, or I would completely fall apart. Whatever shred of dignity I had left-I couldn't let it be destroyed in front of this man. Rhys suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. "Clean it up." I looked up at him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right. "You broke the mug. You clean up the pieces." His voice was icy, absolute. He had to be insane. "No." I lifted my chin and spat the word without an ounce of compromise. His face tightened, jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this?" "Yes. I said no." My eyes were red, but they blazed with defiance as I stared him down without flinching. If love meant I had to grind my self-respect into the dirt, then it was worthless to me. The air between us was taut enough to snap. I could almost hear it crackling. The fury in his eyes was an uncontrollable blaze, threatening to consume me. And beneath that fire, I saw something else-disbelief. The once docile little lamb had bared her fangs. He took a step closer, menace radiating from him. "Last chance. If you don't obey me, then we-" "-are over," I finished for him, cold and final. Shock froze his face. For a moment, the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it. While he was caught in that moment of confusion, I wrenched my arm free from his grip. The taste of freedom hadn't yet bloomed in my ch**t when he snapped back to life, grabbing my arm again with brutal force. Now. I spun around without hesitation and raised my hand-sm**k! A resounding s**p landed hard across Rhys's handsome, arrogant face. The air froze again, thick with silence. My palm tingled slightly, but it brought a rush of fierce, unprecedented satisfaction. Rhys staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief-not from the pain, but from a world turned upside down. He never thought I would dare. After all, I had once loved him so deeply. I lowered my hand, lifted my chin, and looked calmly at his stunned expression. I gave him a faint smile. "Now we're even." Without waiting another moment, I dragged my feet away from that suffocating h**l. If I stayed even one more second, I would break down. I'd rather choke on my own tears than let him see them fall. Then-thud-I fell. High heels and emotional chaos are a terrible match. Pain shot through my palms and knees as they scraped against the hard marble. Bl**d surged out instantly, but I barely felt it. I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking. Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him. Like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime, I burst out of the building-only to slam into a wall of mu**le and the in**xicating scent of expensive cologne. I looked up-and saw sharp, sculpted features with an aura so commanding it could silence a room. He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn't just ruin your life-he'd erase your entire existence. Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive. For a second, I wished he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to his lair-my face flushed red instantly. I snapped myself back to reality. "Sorry," I mumbled and rushed into the elevator of my apartment building. Back upstairs, I rummaged through my bag. My heart sank. No keys. Of course. The universe had clearly declared today The End of Mira Day. Frustration and helplessness surged in my ch**t. I kicked off my heels and shook the doorknob violently. It didn't help-but I needed to let it out. Why did everyone always choose Catherine?! Hadn't I done enough? I collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor as sobs tore from my throat. The tears came in a flood, impossible to stop. Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a voice-low, smooth, like black velvet-cut through the air behind me. "Your key." Fury sparked in my veins. Why did someone always interrupt me just when I was about to get it all out? Annoyed, I turned, ready to glare-only to freeze. Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him again. The man I had bumped into downstairs-the one who looked like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting. "Your key fell," he said, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the scattered contents of my purse. "That's probably why you couldn't find it." I stared at the key resting in his elegant hand, my face flushing so hot it could've lit a match. I snatched it from him and fumbled to unlock the door, stumbling inside without a word. It wasn't until my back hit the door that I realized-I hadn't even thanked him. Great job, Mira. You absolute id**t. Hesitating, I crept toward the peephole. Through that tiny lens, I saw him calmly turn, unlock the door directly across the hall, and stroll inside. He lived across from me? He must have just moved in. With a face like that-and that aura-there's no way I wouldn't have noticed before. Wait, Mira. What are you doing? You're seriously letting a hot new neighbor make you forget the h**l Rhys just put you through? No. Absolutely not. All men are tr**h. Always. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heartbeat, reminding myself not to be so st**id again. But no matter how hard I tried, that sculpted face kept flashing through my mind. I needed ice-for my racing pulse, and more urgently, for the stinging pain on my cheek. Just as I forced myself up to head to the kitchen, my phone rang, shrill and sharp. One glance at the screen made my whole body go cold. Mom. I couldn't ignore the call. If I did, she would destroy my career without hesitation. She was absolutely capable of it. The moment I picked up, her voice sliced through the air-cold and merciless. "Mira, you must be insane! How dare you do something so disgraceful to Rhys! You apologize to him right now, or you're no longer our daughter!" I opened my mouth to explain, stunned-but she hung up before I could get a single word out. I gripped my phone tightly. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their love? And Catherine-she never had to do anything, yet she was their perfect, precious jewel. Enough. I thought if I worked hard enough, my family, my fiancé-they would love me. But that's never going to happen. I have to reclaim the self-respect I lost long ago. I have to break off this engagement with Rhys-no matter the consequences. Chapter 2 Plan B For the next forty-eight hours, I became one with my bed. No calls. No outside world. Just me, a pile of blankets, and the crushing weight of humiliation. That s**p from Rhys wasn't just a blow to the face. In so many ways, it was a s**p across my entire life-one steeped in desperation, delusion, and pathetic longing. It forced me awake. It made me look back on everything I'd ever done to make him notice me, everything I'd done for a fantasy called "us" that had never truly existed. God, where do I even begin? Like the time he casually mentioned he liked girls with smooth, silky hair. That night, I ordered three bottles of the shampoo he'd once praised. My scalp broke out in hives. I smiled through the pain and said, "It's fine-some allergic reactions are worth it." Or when he told me he was too busy with work to grab dinner, so I stayed up learning how to bake and brought him a box of pastries in the rain. He didn't even open the door-just had the receptionist tell me, "Don't bother next time. I don't like sweets." Then there was that night at his friend's dinner party. I forced down oysters-my most hated food-just to seem "graceful and agreeable." I spent the entire night crouched over a toilet, writhing in pain until 3 a.m. He didn't ask if I was okay. He laughed and said, "Can't even handle seafood? That's just dramatic." But the worst? That time he quoted a line from The Godfather he liked. I stayed up all night reading film essays just to casually drop the quote at a party. I got it wrong. He corrected me in front of everyone, sneering, "Don't pretend to like things you clearly don't understand." And I laughed. I laughed and said, "You've got such a good memory." What a joke. I never realized I was never the person he wanted. He never really saw me. To him, I was nothing more than a low-rent version of the "perfect and untouchable" Catherine. A cheap stand-in. I wasn't her, but I could offer him the faint illusion of having her again. That was all I was good for. I buried my face in the pillow and laughed until I shook. Not because it was funny-but because the pain had gone too deep for tears. Thankfully, after my parents delivered their final ultimatum two days ago, they hadn't contacted me again. A small part of me wondered-did Rhys intervene? Did he finally realize what he'd done? Suddenly, the doorbell rang. And it didn't stop ringing. For a full five minutes. I gr**ned into my pillow. Oh god. Social interaction. Dragging my exhausted body to the door, I opened it. Yvaine Carlisle-my best friend and the only person who had the legal right to yell at me-stood on the other side, hands on hips. Then her eyes landed on my face. Her expression froze. The light in her eyes dimmed. "What the h**l happened to you?" "I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. She wasn't buying it. She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her jaw clenched. Then-silence. Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that comes right before something explodes. "Who hit you?" "Come inside," I muttered quickly, trying not to draw the neighbors' attention. That would be mortifying. Yvaine didn't move. She gripped my arm and spoke through gritted teeth. "Mira. Who. Hit. You?" As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed into her arms. My face buried in her sweater, and within seconds, the fabric was soaked. She didn't flinch. She just held me, her hand moving in calm, soothing circles across my back. I didn't know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn and my nose to turn bright red like Rudolph. Eventually, I managed to force out a single word. "Rhys." Yvaine didn't move. Everyone in Skyline City knew that name. Rhys Granger wasn't the kind of man who needed to throw punches to destroy someone. One phone call to the right person, and your life would be over. Reputation, money, status-he had it all. Every move he made was deliberate, timed to perfection-like the ticking of a Rolex. When he chose to go to war, he was a nobleman wielding cruelty like fine art, probably with a glass of aged Sc**ch in hand. People called him arrogant. No one ever called him vi**ent. That's why, when Yvaine processed what I'd just said, I could practically hear the gears in her brain screaming in protest. "No way," she muttered under her breath, as if denying it out loud might somehow make it untrue. "Rhys? Your Rhys? He couldn't have..." I got it. I really did. Rhys was supposed to be the gentleman. The golden boy. The flawless, elegant, untouchable good guy. "It was him," I said quietly. She exhaled sharply, then started rubbing my back again, this time slower. "Tell me what happened." I swallowed. "I was at his place. I, uh... accidentally broke a mug." Her entire body tensed. "Just a mug?" I nodded. Silence. Then she clenched her jaw and said, "I swear to God, if you tell me it was some priceless, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind family heirloom-" "It was Catherine's mug." Yvaine's hand froze mid-pat. Everything shifted. One second, she was my concerned best friend. The next, she was a woman plotting mu**er. I grabbed her wrist before she could get ahold of something worse. "It's over between Rhys and me." "Really?" "Really. Even if the earth split in two and Skyline City sank into the ocean, I wouldn't marry him." That stopped her from storming out to commit ho**cide. "Catherine. That venomous snake-" Yvaine spat the name like it physically hurt her. "She's not even here anymore and she's still managing to wreck your life! And your parents? They just stand there watching! I swear, they could watch her light your house on fire and they'd hand her the matches. It's unbelievable!" I felt like a balloon someone had just popped-deflated, exhausted. That all-too-familiar ache settled deep in my ch**t. I knew some parents would always love their firstborn more. And there was nothing I could do about it. "I'm sorry, Mira." Yvaine sat down beside me and gave my head a firm push toward her shoulder. I pulled away and managed a weak smile. "Actually, I think it's a good thing. At least I found out what kind of man he is before we got married. Better now than after the vows, right?" She let out a long sigh, her eyes softening. "Mira, you know no matter what happens, I've got your back." Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the moment. Loudly. Like a magician, Yvaine reached behind her and pulled out a takeout bag, giving me a look that practically screamed: I knew you'd be like this. I wanted to hug her, but I was too busy eating like a ravenous little goblin. After dinner, she pushed me into the bedroom and went off to clean up. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, drained and overwhelmed. What now? Through the half-open door, I heard her on the phone. I didn't catch every word, but the ones I did hear... were iconic. "A pile of s**t." "Total f**king psycho." "Oh, you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you what this vi**ent ba**ard actually did-" She was probably talking to Zane Hasterton. And unlike Rhys, Zane would never raise a hand to her. The way Yvaine so instantly, so fiercely chose me-without hesitation, without question-made my throat tighten. She believed me. No one else did. But she did. This wasn't something she did lightly. Rhys's family sat at the very top of the food chain-untouchable. And I had no doubt her parents wouldn't be thrilled to see her go up against them. I curled deeper under the blanket and let out a slow breath. Why couldn't my parents love me like that? Ever since their favorite daughter Houdini'd her way out of their master plan, I became Plan B. But that didn't mean they forgave my existence. Let's be honest: the only reason they'd stopped actively berating me was because I got engaged to Rhys. That little arrangement somehow elevated me from "irreparable family di**race" to "potential saving grace." Part of the reason I agreed to the engagement-and I know how pathetic this sounds-was because I thought maybe I could finally get something Catherine had: a sliver of parental affection. A crumb of approval. But now that the engagement was off? I was disposable again. Last I heard, they were boxing up my things, ready to ship me off to some remote jungle where I'd spend the rest of my life befriending anacondas and repenting for my sins. They were absolutely capable of that. I gr**ned into my pillow. What the h**l do I do now? Unless... I married someone more powerful than Rhys. The idea was so ridiculous I snorted. Right. Because billionaires are just wandering around Skyline City hoping to marry a 23-year-old orphan with no patience for their bullshit. And yet- A face flashed in my mind. Three days ago. My new neighbor. I remembered, quite inappropriately, thinking I wouldn't mind being alone with him in his apartment where he could do all sorts of rated-R things to me. I shook my head, quickly banishing the thought. I didn't even know his name. Just that he had the kind of aura that could slice a person in half. No. Way too dangerous. I gr**ned again. If I hadn't broken that st**id mug, everything might've been okay. But it wasn't. And it's not. And there's no going back. F**k! Why am I the one trying to fix this when I wasn't even the one who messed it up?! I sat up-and bam, the door burst open. Yvaine marched in. "Sl**p is just going to make you feel worse. We're getting up, and we're going to find a d**k worth loving-one that's better than Rhys's." WHAT?! While I gaped, she had already changed me into a new outfit. Just like that, we were off to Skyline City's most exclusive club-members only. Chapter 3 Rebound Night "Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt. I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my un**rwear would be on full display. "Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?" Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear. "But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta. I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp. Yvaine let out a dramatic gr**an. "Mira, come on. We're going to a b*r, not an Arctic expedition." "I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now. I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine. She had zero plans to follow the rules. With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard ch**t like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini. Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in. Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant. And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne. The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of ch**pagne. I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine. She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this. I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap. Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels. If I hadn't known each co**tail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off. "Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just in**lted my entire bloodline. Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me." I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude. Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get. Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry. It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power. We found a table near the b*r and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us. Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms. He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign. Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect. "Two 75s, French br**dy," Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the ba**ender. "Make it strong." And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between s**y and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt." The ba**ender reached effortlessly for the g*n, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?" "More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon." I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast." She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks." Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch. In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor. "Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream s**y without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card." I shook my head. "Nope." Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sl**p like a baby." "Pass." She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad." I gr**ned into my hands. "Yvaine, please." She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds." Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system. Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?" I narrowed my eyes. "No?" "...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels. Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits. Then I followed her gaze. A half-private booth. Rhys. He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless. I didn't need more details. That face-I would never forget it. Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances. I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys. And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so in**mate. I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on. Until I heard what came next. "Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug." Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just k**led someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body. She gently swirled the w**e in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile. "Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?" She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration. "Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene." "She's so st**id-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your af**ir." Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it." Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his ch**t. "Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth." Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a bl**e. "But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless." Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside." Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are." A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum. Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything st**id-but I didn't hear a word. I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore. I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab." The ba**ender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water. With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose. The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from h**l-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender. I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene. I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength. Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of bl**d beginning to drip down between his brows. Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!" She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-" Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake." Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bl**ding. We have to get to the hospital." Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore. She raised her hand, ready to s**p Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bi**h-!" I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently." I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand tr**h." Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond. Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly es**rt these two walking health code violations off the premises." Chapter 4 Key Guy As soon as they were gone, Yvaine dragged me out of the club. D**n it. I hated that Catherine had predicted every single thought running through my mind. Yes, I was still considering salvaging my relationship with Rhys. But now? The truth was right there, unmistakable and r*w-they'd been sl**ping together behind my back all along. And me? I was just the fo**ish, unnecessary third wheel in their twisted little story. What I couldn't figure out was-why had Catherine faked her disappearance four years ago? What exactly had she been hiding? And why come back now? My eyes stung. I tilted my head toward the sky, forcing the tears back. Fine. Catherine's back. Perfect. Now they could all reunite like a happy little four-piece family?, and I... I was finally free. "Mira... I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Catherine was back." Yvaine's eyes were full of regret. I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head. "Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear-they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way." "Those godd**n as**oles!" Yvaine hissed through clenched teeth. "You should tell your parents. Let them know Catherine's not the perfect angel they think she is. What about Rhys's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this. I was quiet for a moment. Yvaine had a point-Rhys's parents were the only people who had supported me. But he was their son. They wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end. And my parents? I let out a breath, heavy and tired. "You know better than anyone-they only care about Catherine. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her." Yvaine grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?" "Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over." Suddenly, Yvaine's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration. "Mira, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot-I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?" I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back." After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me. "No, wait," I said quickly. "Take me to a b*r. Any bar. Just... far away from Roxanne." The driver didn't blink-clearly used to the erratic demands of Skyline City's broken-hearted. We eventually pulled up outside some unfamiliar ni**tclub. Velvet ropes. A crowd of influencer-types wielding selfie sticks. I didn't bother checking the name. I handed the bouncer some bills and strode inside. Straight to the b*r. "Wh**key sour. Large. Keep them coming." "Ma'am, maybe you should slow down," the ba**ender said gently, concern in his voice. I slammed my empty glass on the counter and shoved my card across. "Did I stutter? Top me off." The ba**ender sighed but obliged. "That guy's right," a smooth, magnetic voice murmured beside me. "Too much al**hol can impair cognitive function and judgment. Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's b*d tonight-" I turned, irritated-then froze. It was him. The man from last night. My new neighbor. The one who'd handed me my keys with all the casual elegance of a Renaissance statue. "Well, well. You again." I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "You really can't resist other people's business, huh?" He chuckled softly, completely unfazed. "Think of it as a well-developed instinct for being helpful." I gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're a hero, truly. But I don't need saving, Mr. Key Man." "I know," he said calmly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. His eyes were clear and sharp. "But you do seem in desperate need of clarity." I frowned. "Is this how you treat all your neighbors? First their keys, then their dignity?" He laughed-a low, rich sound. "Only when the neighbor looks like she's on the verge of self-destruction." "...But I am always self-destructing," I muttered, suddenly quieter. "Doesn't it seem kind of pathetic? Like my whole life is just one mess after another?" He didn't laugh. He didn't rush to reassure me, either. He didn't even deny what I'd just said. He just looked at me. Calm. Quiet. Like he was watching a slow-motion disaster unfold-but had no intention of stopping it. "You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice low and steady. "You are pretty good at making a mess of things. Like right now-you can't even stand properly and you're still demanding more al**hol." I froze, frowning instinctively. But he went on, his tone unhurried-like he was flipping through a book and had landed on a sentence he already knew by heart: "But strangely, you always seem to meet someone who refuses to walk away... right before everything falls apart." I stared at him, half in shock, half in suspicion. "Are you... fl**ting with me?" He gave me a slow smile, his eyes lazily curving with just the right amount of mischief. His voice came out smooth and provocative, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Does it make you feel any better?" His voice was low and warm, like wh**key being poured into a glass at midnight-just a little dizzying, just a little dangerous. He looked at me with an intensity that felt nearly uncontrollable, like he might lean in close and whisper things in the dark, on a b*d, asking if his to**h was hard enough. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed instantly. My fingertips tightened against the edge of the b*r. I had to look at him properly. Really see him. That face-it wasn't just handsome. It had the kind of quiet, devastating maturity that no amount of cologne and hair gel could fake. Not the kind you'd find among the over-groomed boys who danced to house music like they were owed the world. A wild, uninvited thought flashed through my mind. If I let him walk away tonight, maybe I was rejecting one of those rare, merciful moments when fate offered a second chance. Before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped around the sleeve of his suit jacket. I rose from the barstool, heart pounding. "So, Mr. Keys," I said, my voice hoarse but firm, "since you're so committed to helping... why not help all the way?" He clearly hadn't expected that. His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face-but he didn't step back. He didn't laugh. He simply said, calm and steady: "Of course. As long as this is something you won't deny when you're sober." "I'm sure." I answered without hesitation. Gripping his wrist tighter, I pulled him through the crowd and out of the b*r. The night wind struck us like a cleansing slap, city lights flickering above. I didn't let myself pause. No time to think, no space for regret. We crossed the street. Entered the nearest ho**l lobby. Because tonight, I needed to know if I had the courage to accept what fate had placed in front of me. It must have been one h**l of a night, because when I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and the red LED numbers of the digital clock blinked 10:07 AM at me with the judgmental smugness of a nun catching you sneaking out of the church. The sh**ts still carried his scent-bergamot and sin-and my body buzzed from the lingering aftershocks of what we'd done. I stared at the ceiling and thought: That was absolutely phenomenal s*x. I ached everywhere-in the best, most regrettable way. But my head... my head was a battlefield. It felt like a hundred tiny jackhammers were drilling through my skull. The al**hol from last night had declared mutiny, and my brain was paying the price, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker through my temple. I had no idea how much I drank-definitely more than I should've. The details had vanished into a fog thicker than a London morning. Gr**ning, I rolled out of bed. Gr**ned again. Began gathering the scattered pieces of my clothing. The plan was simple: Get dressed. Sneak out. Pretend this never happened. I had just picked up my skirt when a voice stopped me. "Leaving so soon?" S**it. I turned-very slowly, thanks to the hangover and the shame-and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his h**s. I stared. Unashamed. Images from the night before surged back into my brain. I suddenly felt... very, very thirsty. "We need to talk," he said. He looked at me again, then-unhurriedly-said: "Will you marry me?" ... What?! ...... What happens next? 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She finally got engaged to her longtime crush. He blamed her for her sister's departure and slapped her for accidentally breaking a cup her sister gave him. Heartbroken, she refused to be a substitute any longer, slapped him back, and ended things decisively. She didn't know this was just the start of her nightmare. ===== Crack! My fiancé hit me. Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug. Then, Rhys sl**ped me across the face-hard. My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire. Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together. "Are you f**king insane?" I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw. Rhys's lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute. "It was just a mug with Catherine's face on it," he said, as if my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done. "You have got to be f**king kidding me." I stared at him in disbelief, my ch**t heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode. For half a second-just half-something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury. "No, you're the insane one!" he roared. "I already agreed to marry you-what more do you want? Catherine's gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!" His voice trembled with anger. "She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won't rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?" The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the s**p. My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bl**ding. But nothing hurt more than my heart. I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. "It wasn't me. I never asked her to leave." Technically speaking, I understood why someone might say that. Catherine had left behind a letter. In it, she said she'd seen my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to "let go," to "let him be yours." I don't think she ever understood that a diary meant privacy. I never meant for anyone to read it, but not only did she read it-she told everyone. No one cared about the pain I felt when my secret was exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, forced to pay for her so-called noble sacrifice. To my family, it was like I'd been bumped up to the starting lineup out of nowhere, replacing the golden girl-I should've been grateful. Even if Rhys had st**bed me in the gut, they'd still find a way to excuse it. It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much better I did than Catherine, they always saw me as bitter, as someone who couldn't protect her fragile pride. The searing pain on my cheek intensified. My fingers clenched tightly around the engagement ring. A wave of heat-anger, humiliation, resentment-rose in my throat. Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked fast, wiping them away before they could fall. I would not cry. I would never show weakness in front of him. I took a heavy step toward the door, struggling to move. I had to get out of there, or I would completely fall apart. Whatever shred of dignity I had left-I couldn't let it be destroyed in front of this man. Rhys suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. "Clean it up." I looked up at him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right. "You broke the mug. You clean up the pieces." His voice was icy, absolute. He had to be insane. "No." I lifted my chin and spat the word without an ounce of compromise. His face tightened, jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this?" "Yes. I said no." My eyes were red, but they blazed with defiance as I stared him down without flinching. If love meant I had to grind my self-respect into the dirt, then it was worthless to me. The air between us was taut enough to snap. I could almost hear it crackling. The fury in his eyes was an uncontrollable blaze, threatening to consume me. And beneath that fire, I saw something else-disbelief. The once docile little lamb had bared her fangs. He took a step closer, menace radiating from him. "Last chance. If you don't obey me, then we-" "-are over," I finished for him, cold and final. Shock froze his face. For a moment, the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it. While he was caught in that moment of confusion, I wrenched my arm free from his grip. The taste of freedom hadn't yet bloomed in my ch**t when he snapped back to life, grabbing my arm again with brutal force. Now. I spun around without hesitation and raised my hand-sm**k! A resounding s**p landed hard across Rhys's handsome, arrogant face. The air froze again, thick with silence. My palm tingled slightly, but it brought a rush of fierce, unprecedented satisfaction. Rhys staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief-not from the pain, but from a world turned upside down. He never thought I would dare. After all, I had once loved him so deeply. I lowered my hand, lifted my chin, and looked calmly at his stunned expression. I gave him a faint smile. "Now we're even." Without waiting another moment, I dragged my feet away from that suffocating h**l. If I stayed even one more second, I would break down. I'd rather choke on my own tears than let him see them fall. Then-thud-I fell. High heels and emotional chaos are a terrible match. Pain shot through my palms and knees as they scraped against the hard marble. Bl**d surged out instantly, but I barely felt it. I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking. Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him. Like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime, I burst out of the building-only to slam into a wall of mu**le and the in**xicating scent of expensive cologne. I looked up-and saw sharp, sculpted features with an aura so commanding it could silence a room. He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn't just ruin your life-he'd erase your entire existence. Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive. For a second, I wished he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to his lair-my face flushed red instantly. I snapped myself back to reality. "Sorry," I mumbled and rushed into the elevator of my apartment building. Back upstairs, I rummaged through my bag. My heart sank. No keys. Of course. The universe had clearly declared today The End of Mira Day. Frustration and helplessness surged in my ch**t. I kicked off my heels and shook the doorknob violently. It didn't help-but I needed to let it out. Why did everyone always choose Catherine?! Hadn't I done enough? I collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor as sobs tore from my throat. The tears came in a flood, impossible to stop. Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a voice-low, smooth, like black velvet-cut through the air behind me. "Your key." Fury sparked in my veins. Why did someone always interrupt me just when I was about to get it all out? Annoyed, I turned, ready to glare-only to freeze. Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him again. The man I had bumped into downstairs-the one who looked like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting. "Your key fell," he said, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the scattered contents of my purse. "That's probably why you couldn't find it." I stared at the key resting in his elegant hand, my face flushing so hot it could've lit a match. I snatched it from him and fumbled to unlock the door, stumbling inside without a word. It wasn't until my back hit the door that I realized-I hadn't even thanked him. Great job, Mira. You absolute id**t. Hesitating, I crept toward the peephole. Through that tiny lens, I saw him calmly turn, unlock the door directly across the hall, and stroll inside. He lived across from me? He must have just moved in. With a face like that-and that aura-there's no way I wouldn't have noticed before. Wait, Mira. What are you doing? You're seriously letting a hot new neighbor make you forget the h**l Rhys just put you through? No. Absolutely not. All men are tr**h. Always. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heartbeat, reminding myself not to be so st**id again. But no matter how hard I tried, that sculpted face kept flashing through my mind. I needed ice-for my racing pulse, and more urgently, for the stinging pain on my cheek. Just as I forced myself up to head to the kitchen, my phone rang, shrill and sharp. One glance at the screen made my whole body go cold. Mom. I couldn't ignore the call. If I did, she would destroy my career without hesitation. She was absolutely capable of it. The moment I picked up, her voice sliced through the air-cold and merciless. "Mira, you must be insane! How dare you do something so disgraceful to Rhys! You apologize to him right now, or you're no longer our daughter!" I opened my mouth to explain, stunned-but she hung up before I could get a single word out. I gripped my phone tightly. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their love? And Catherine-she never had to do anything, yet she was their perfect, precious jewel. Enough. I thought if I worked hard enough, my family, my fiancé-they would love me. But that's never going to happen. I have to reclaim the self-respect I lost long ago. I have to break off this engagement with Rhys-no matter the consequences. Chapter 2 Plan B For the next forty-eight hours, I became one with my bed. No calls. No outside world. Just me, a pile of blankets, and the crushing weight of humiliation. That s**p from Rhys wasn't just a blow to the face. In so many ways, it was a s**p across my entire life-one steeped in desperation, delusion, and pathetic longing. It forced me awake. It made me look back on everything I'd ever done to make him notice me, everything I'd done for a fantasy called "us" that had never truly existed. God, where do I even begin? Like the time he casually mentioned he liked girls with smooth, silky hair. That night, I ordered three bottles of the shampoo he'd once praised. My scalp broke out in hives. I smiled through the pain and said, "It's fine-some allergic reactions are worth it." Or when he told me he was too busy with work to grab dinner, so I stayed up learning how to bake and brought him a box of pastries in the rain. He didn't even open the door-just had the receptionist tell me, "Don't bother next time. I don't like sweets." Then there was that night at his friend's dinner party. I forced down oysters-my most hated food-just to seem "graceful and agreeable." I spent the entire night crouched over a toilet, writhing in pain until 3 a.m. He didn't ask if I was okay. He laughed and said, "Can't even handle seafood? That's just dramatic." But the worst? That time he quoted a line from The Godfather he liked. I stayed up all night reading film essays just to casually drop the quote at a party. I got it wrong. He corrected me in front of everyone, sneering, "Don't pretend to like things you clearly don't understand." And I laughed. I laughed and said, "You've got such a good memory." What a joke. I never realized I was never the person he wanted. He never really saw me. To him, I was nothing more than a low-rent version of the "perfect and untouchable" Catherine. A cheap stand-in. I wasn't her, but I could offer him the faint illusion of having her again. That was all I was good for. I buried my face in the pillow and laughed until I shook. Not because it was funny-but because the pain had gone too deep for tears. Thankfully, after my parents delivered their final ultimatum two days ago, they hadn't contacted me again. A small part of me wondered-did Rhys intervene? Did he finally realize what he'd done? Suddenly, the doorbell rang. And it didn't stop ringing. For a full five minutes. I gr**ned into my pillow. Oh god. Social interaction. Dragging my exhausted body to the door, I opened it. Yvaine Carlisle-my best friend and the only person who had the legal right to yell at me-stood on the other side, hands on hips. Then her eyes landed on my face. Her expression froze. The light in her eyes dimmed. "What the h**l happened to you?" "I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. She wasn't buying it. She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her jaw clenched. Then-silence. Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that comes right before something explodes. "Who hit you?" "Come inside," I muttered quickly, trying not to draw the neighbors' attention. That would be mortifying. Yvaine didn't move. She gripped my arm and spoke through gritted teeth. "Mira. Who. Hit. You?" As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed into her arms. My face buried in her sweater, and within seconds, the fabric was soaked. She didn't flinch. She just held me, her hand moving in calm, soothing circles across my back. I didn't know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn and my nose to turn bright red like Rudolph. Eventually, I managed to force out a single word. "Rhys." Yvaine didn't move. Everyone in Skyline City knew that name. Rhys Granger wasn't the kind of man who needed to throw punches to destroy someone. One phone call to the right person, and your life would be over. Reputation, money, status-he had it all. Every move he made was deliberate, timed to perfection-like the ticking of a Rolex. When he chose to go to war, he was a nobleman wielding cruelty like fine art, probably with a glass of aged Sc**ch in hand. People called him arrogant. No one ever called him vi**ent. That's why, when Yvaine processed what I'd just said, I could practically hear the gears in her brain screaming in protest. "No way," she muttered under her breath, as if denying it out loud might somehow make it untrue. "Rhys? Your Rhys? He couldn't have..." I got it. I really did. Rhys was supposed to be the gentleman. The golden boy. The flawless, elegant, untouchable good guy. "It was him," I said quietly. She exhaled sharply, then started rubbing my back again, this time slower. "Tell me what happened." I swallowed. "I was at his place. I, uh... accidentally broke a mug." Her entire body tensed. "Just a mug?" I nodded. Silence. Then she clenched her jaw and said, "I swear to God, if you tell me it was some priceless, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind family heirloom-" "It was Catherine's mug." Yvaine's hand froze mid-pat. Everything shifted. One second, she was my concerned best friend. The next, she was a woman plotting mu**er. I grabbed her wrist before she could get ahold of something worse. "It's over between Rhys and me." "Really?" "Really. Even if the earth split in two and Skyline City sank into the ocean, I wouldn't marry him." That stopped her from storming out to commit ho**cide. "Catherine. That venomous snake-" Yvaine spat the name like it physically hurt her. "She's not even here anymore and she's still managing to wreck your life! And your parents? They just stand there watching! I swear, they could watch her light your house on fire and they'd hand her the matches. It's unbelievable!" I felt like a balloon someone had just popped-deflated, exhausted. That all-too-familiar ache settled deep in my ch**t. I knew some parents would always love their firstborn more. And there was nothing I could do about it. "I'm sorry, Mira." Yvaine sat down beside me and gave my head a firm push toward her shoulder. I pulled away and managed a weak smile. "Actually, I think it's a good thing. At least I found out what kind of man he is before we got married. Better now than after the vows, right?" She let out a long sigh, her eyes softening. "Mira, you know no matter what happens, I've got your back." Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the moment. Loudly. Like a magician, Yvaine reached behind her and pulled out a takeout bag, giving me a look that practically screamed: I knew you'd be like this. I wanted to hug her, but I was too busy eating like a ravenous little goblin. After dinner, she pushed me into the bedroom and went off to clean up. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, drained and overwhelmed. What now? Through the half-open door, I heard her on the phone. I didn't catch every word, but the ones I did hear... were iconic. "A pile of s**t." "Total f**king psycho." "Oh, you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you what this vi**ent ba**ard actually did-" She was probably talking to Zane Hasterton. And unlike Rhys, Zane would never raise a hand to her. The way Yvaine so instantly, so fiercely chose me-without hesitation, without question-made my throat tighten. She believed me. No one else did. But she did. This wasn't something she did lightly. Rhys's family sat at the very top of the food chain-untouchable. And I had no doubt her parents wouldn't be thrilled to see her go up against them. I curled deeper under the blanket and let out a slow breath. Why couldn't my parents love me like that? Ever since their favorite daughter Houdini'd her way out of their master plan, I became Plan B. But that didn't mean they forgave my existence. Let's be honest: the only reason they'd stopped actively berating me was because I got engaged to Rhys. That little arrangement somehow elevated me from "irreparable family di**race" to "potential saving grace." Part of the reason I agreed to the engagement-and I know how pathetic this sounds-was because I thought maybe I could finally get something Catherine had: a sliver of parental affection. A crumb of approval. But now that the engagement was off? I was disposable again. Last I heard, they were boxing up my things, ready to ship me off to some remote jungle where I'd spend the rest of my life befriending anacondas and repenting for my sins. They were absolutely capable of that. I gr**ned into my pillow. What the h**l do I do now? Unless... I married someone more powerful than Rhys. The idea was so ridiculous I snorted. Right. Because billionaires are just wandering around Skyline City hoping to marry a 23-year-old orphan with no patience for their bullshit. And yet- A face flashed in my mind. Three days ago. My new neighbor. I remembered, quite inappropriately, thinking I wouldn't mind being alone with him in his apartment where he could do all sorts of rated-R things to me. I shook my head, quickly banishing the thought. I didn't even know his name. Just that he had the kind of aura that could slice a person in half. No. Way too dangerous. I gr**ned again. If I hadn't broken that st**id mug, everything might've been okay. But it wasn't. And it's not. And there's no going back. F**k! Why am I the one trying to fix this when I wasn't even the one who messed it up?! I sat up-and bam, the door burst open. Yvaine marched in. "Sl**p is just going to make you feel worse. We're getting up, and we're going to find a d**k worth loving-one that's better than Rhys's." WHAT?! While I gaped, she had already changed me into a new outfit. Just like that, we were off to Skyline City's most exclusive club-members only. Chapter 3 Rebound Night "Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt. I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my un**rwear would be on full display. "Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?" Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear. "But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta. I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp. Yvaine let out a dramatic gr**an. "Mira, come on. We're going to a b*r, not an Arctic expedition." "I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now. I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine. She had zero plans to follow the rules. With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard ch**t like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini. Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in. Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant. And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne. The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of ch**pagne. I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine. She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this. I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap. Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels. If I hadn't known each co**tail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off. "Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just in**lted my entire bloodline. Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me." I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude. Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get. Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry. It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power. We found a table near the b*r and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us. Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms. He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign. Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect. "Two 75s, French br**dy," Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the ba**ender. "Make it strong." And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between s**y and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt." The ba**ender reached effortlessly for the g*n, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?" "More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon." I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast." She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks." Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch. In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor. "Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream s**y without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card." I shook my head. "Nope." Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sl**p like a baby." "Pass." She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad." I gr**ned into my hands. "Yvaine, please." She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds." Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system. Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?" I narrowed my eyes. "No?" "...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels. Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits. Then I followed her gaze. A half-private booth. Rhys. He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless. I didn't need more details. That face-I would never forget it. Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances. I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys. And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so in**mate. I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on. Until I heard what came next. "Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug." Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just k**led someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body. She gently swirled the w**e in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile. "Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?" She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration. "Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene." "She's so st**id-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your af**ir." Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it." Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his ch**t. "Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth." Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a bl**e. "But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless." Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside." Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are." A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum. Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything st**id-but I didn't hear a word. I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore. I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab." The ba**ender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water. With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose. The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from h**l-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender. I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene. I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength. Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of bl**d beginning to drip down between his brows. Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!" She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-" Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake." Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bl**ding. We have to get to the hospital." Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore. She raised her hand, ready to s**p Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bi**h-!" I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently." I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand tr**h." Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond. Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly es**rt these two walking health code violations off the premises." Chapter 4 Key Guy As soon as they were gone, Yvaine dragged me out of the club. D**n it. I hated that Catherine had predicted every single thought running through my mind. Yes, I was still considering salvaging my relationship with Rhys. But now? The truth was right there, unmistakable and r*w-they'd been sl**ping together behind my back all along. And me? I was just the fo**ish, unnecessary third wheel in their twisted little story. What I couldn't figure out was-why had Catherine faked her disappearance four years ago? What exactly had she been hiding? And why come back now? My eyes stung. I tilted my head toward the sky, forcing the tears back. Fine. Catherine's back. Perfect. Now they could all reunite like a happy little four-piece family?, and I... I was finally free. "Mira... I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Catherine was back." Yvaine's eyes were full of regret. I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head. "Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear-they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way." "Those godd**n as**oles!" Yvaine hissed through clenched teeth. "You should tell your parents. Let them know Catherine's not the perfect angel they think she is. What about Rhys's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this. I was quiet for a moment. Yvaine had a point-Rhys's parents were the only people who had supported me. But he was their son. They wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end. And my parents? I let out a breath, heavy and tired. "You know better than anyone-they only care about Catherine. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her." Yvaine grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?" "Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over." Suddenly, Yvaine's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration. "Mira, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot-I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?" I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back." After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me. "No, wait," I said quickly. "Take me to a b*r. Any bar. Just... far away from Roxanne." The driver didn't blink-clearly used to the erratic demands of Skyline City's broken-hearted. We eventually pulled up outside some unfamiliar ni**tclub. Velvet ropes. A crowd of influencer-types wielding selfie sticks. I didn't bother checking the name. I handed the bouncer some bills and strode inside. Straight to the b*r. "Wh**key sour. Large. Keep them coming." "Ma'am, maybe you should slow down," the ba**ender said gently, concern in his voice. I slammed my empty glass on the counter and shoved my card across. "Did I stutter? Top me off." The ba**ender sighed but obliged. "That guy's right," a smooth, magnetic voice murmured beside me. "Too much al**hol can impair cognitive function and judgment. Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's b*d tonight-" I turned, irritated-then froze. It was him. The man from last night. My new neighbor. The one who'd handed me my keys with all the casual elegance of a Renaissance statue. "Well, well. You again." I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "You really can't resist other people's business, huh?" He chuckled softly, completely unfazed. "Think of it as a well-developed instinct for being helpful." I gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're a hero, truly. But I don't need saving, Mr. Key Man." "I know," he said calmly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. His eyes were clear and sharp. "But you do seem in desperate need of clarity." I frowned. "Is this how you treat all your neighbors? First their keys, then their dignity?" He laughed-a low, rich sound. "Only when the neighbor looks like she's on the verge of self-destruction." "...But I am always self-destructing," I muttered, suddenly quieter. "Doesn't it seem kind of pathetic? Like my whole life is just one mess after another?" He didn't laugh. He didn't rush to reassure me, either. He didn't even deny what I'd just said. He just looked at me. Calm. Quiet. Like he was watching a slow-motion disaster unfold-but had no intention of stopping it. "You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice low and steady. "You are pretty good at making a mess of things. Like right now-you can't even stand properly and you're still demanding more al**hol." I froze, frowning instinctively. But he went on, his tone unhurried-like he was flipping through a book and had landed on a sentence he already knew by heart: "But strangely, you always seem to meet someone who refuses to walk away... right before everything falls apart." I stared at him, half in shock, half in suspicion. "Are you... fl**ting with me?" He gave me a slow smile, his eyes lazily curving with just the right amount of mischief. His voice came out smooth and provocative, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Does it make you feel any better?" His voice was low and warm, like wh**key being poured into a glass at midnight-just a little dizzying, just a little dangerous. He looked at me with an intensity that felt nearly uncontrollable, like he might lean in close and whisper things in the dark, on a b*d, asking if his to**h was hard enough. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed instantly. My fingertips tightened against the edge of the b*r. I had to look at him properly. Really see him. That face-it wasn't just handsome. It had the kind of quiet, devastating maturity that no amount of cologne and hair gel could fake. Not the kind you'd find among the over-groomed boys who danced to house music like they were owed the world. A wild, uninvited thought flashed through my mind. If I let him walk away tonight, maybe I was rejecting one of those rare, merciful moments when fate offered a second chance. Before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped around the sleeve of his suit jacket. I rose from the barstool, heart pounding. "So, Mr. Keys," I said, my voice hoarse but firm, "since you're so committed to helping... why not help all the way?" He clearly hadn't expected that. His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face-but he didn't step back. He didn't laugh. He simply said, calm and steady: "Of course. As long as this is something you won't deny when you're sober." "I'm sure." I answered without hesitation. Gripping his wrist tighter, I pulled him through the crowd and out of the b*r. The night wind struck us like a cleansing slap, city lights flickering above. I didn't let myself pause. No time to think, no space for regret. We crossed the street. Entered the nearest ho**l lobby. Because tonight, I needed to know if I had the courage to accept what fate had placed in front of me. It must have been one h**l of a night, because when I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and the red LED numbers of the digital clock blinked 10:07 AM at me with the judgmental smugness of a nun catching you sneaking out of the church. The sh**ts still carried his scent-bergamot and sin-and my body buzzed from the lingering aftershocks of what we'd done. I stared at the ceiling and thought: That was absolutely phenomenal s*x. I ached everywhere-in the best, most regrettable way. But my head... my head was a battlefield. It felt like a hundred tiny jackhammers were drilling through my skull. The al**hol from last night had declared mutiny, and my brain was paying the price, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker through my temple. I had no idea how much I drank-definitely more than I should've. The details had vanished into a fog thicker than a London morning. Gr**ning, I rolled out of bed. Gr**ned again. Began gathering the scattered pieces of my clothing. The plan was simple: Get dressed. Sneak out. Pretend this never happened. I had just picked up my skirt when a voice stopped me. "Leaving so soon?" S**it. I turned-very slowly, thanks to the hangover and the shame-and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his h**s. I stared. Unashamed. Images from the night before surged back into my brain. I suddenly felt... very, very thirsty. "We need to talk," he said. He looked at me again, then-unhurriedly-said: "Will you marry me?" ... What?! ...... What happens next? 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She finally got engaged to her longtime crush. He blamed her for her sister's departure and slapped her for accidentally breaking a cup her sister gave him. Heartbroken, she refused to be a substitute any longer, slapped him back, and ended things decisively. She didn't know this was just the start of her nightmare. ===== Crack! My fiancé hit me. Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug. Then, Rhys sl**ped me across the face-hard. My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire. Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together. "Are you f**king insane?" I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw. Rhys's lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute. "It was just a mug with Catherine's face on it," he said, as if my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done. "You have got to be f**king kidding me." I stared at him in disbelief, my ch**t heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode. For half a second-just half-something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury. "No, you're the insane one!" he roared. "I already agreed to marry you-what more do you want? Catherine's gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!" His voice trembled with anger. "She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won't rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?" The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the s**p. My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bl**ding. But nothing hurt more than my heart. I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. "It wasn't me. I never asked her to leave." Technically speaking, I understood why someone might say that. Catherine had left behind a letter. In it, she said she'd seen my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to "let go," to "let him be yours." I don't think she ever understood that a diary meant privacy. I never meant for anyone to read it, but not only did she read it-she told everyone. No one cared about the pain I felt when my secret was exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, forced to pay for her so-called noble sacrifice. To my family, it was like I'd been bumped up to the starting lineup out of nowhere, replacing the golden girl-I should've been grateful. Even if Rhys had st**bed me in the gut, they'd still find a way to excuse it. It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much better I did than Catherine, they always saw me as bitter, as someone who couldn't protect her fragile pride. The searing pain on my cheek intensified. My fingers clenched tightly around the engagement ring. A wave of heat-anger, humiliation, resentment-rose in my throat. Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked fast, wiping them away before they could fall. I would not cry. I would never show weakness in front of him. I took a heavy step toward the door, struggling to move. I had to get out of there, or I would completely fall apart. Whatever shred of dignity I had left-I couldn't let it be destroyed in front of this man. Rhys suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. "Clean it up." I looked up at him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right. "You broke the mug. You clean up the pieces." His voice was icy, absolute. He had to be insane. "No." I lifted my chin and spat the word without an ounce of compromise. His face tightened, jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this?" "Yes. I said no." My eyes were red, but they blazed with defiance as I stared him down without flinching. If love meant I had to grind my self-respect into the dirt, then it was worthless to me. The air between us was taut enough to snap. I could almost hear it crackling. The fury in his eyes was an uncontrollable blaze, threatening to consume me. And beneath that fire, I saw something else-disbelief. The once docile little lamb had bared her fangs. He took a step closer, menace radiating from him. "Last chance. If you don't obey me, then we-" "-are over," I finished for him, cold and final. Shock froze his face. For a moment, the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it. While he was caught in that moment of confusion, I wrenched my arm free from his grip. The taste of freedom hadn't yet bloomed in my ch**t when he snapped back to life, grabbing my arm again with brutal force. Now. I spun around without hesitation and raised my hand-sm**k! A resounding s**p landed hard across Rhys's handsome, arrogant face. The air froze again, thick with silence. My palm tingled slightly, but it brought a rush of fierce, unprecedented satisfaction. Rhys staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief-not from the pain, but from a world turned upside down. He never thought I would dare. After all, I had once loved him so deeply. I lowered my hand, lifted my chin, and looked calmly at his stunned expression. I gave him a faint smile. "Now we're even." Without waiting another moment, I dragged my feet away from that suffocating h**l. If I stayed even one more second, I would break down. I'd rather choke on my own tears than let him see them fall. Then-thud-I fell. High heels and emotional chaos are a terrible match. Pain shot through my palms and knees as they scraped against the hard marble. Bl**d surged out instantly, but I barely felt it. I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking. Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him. Like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime, I burst out of the building-only to slam into a wall of mu**le and the in**xicating scent of expensive cologne. I looked up-and saw sharp, sculpted features with an aura so commanding it could silence a room. He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn't just ruin your life-he'd erase your entire existence. Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive. For a second, I wished he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to his lair-my face flushed red instantly. I snapped myself back to reality. "Sorry," I mumbled and rushed into the elevator of my apartment building. Back upstairs, I rummaged through my bag. My heart sank. No keys. Of course. The universe had clearly declared today The End of Mira Day. Frustration and helplessness surged in my ch**t. I kicked off my heels and shook the doorknob violently. It didn't help-but I needed to let it out. Why did everyone always choose Catherine?! Hadn't I done enough? I collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor as sobs tore from my throat. The tears came in a flood, impossible to stop. Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a voice-low, smooth, like black velvet-cut through the air behind me. "Your key." Fury sparked in my veins. Why did someone always interrupt me just when I was about to get it all out? Annoyed, I turned, ready to glare-only to freeze. Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him again. The man I had bumped into downstairs-the one who looked like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting. "Your key fell," he said, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the scattered contents of my purse. "That's probably why you couldn't find it." I stared at the key resting in his elegant hand, my face flushing so hot it could've lit a match. I snatched it from him and fumbled to unlock the door, stumbling inside without a word. It wasn't until my back hit the door that I realized-I hadn't even thanked him. Great job, Mira. You absolute id**t. Hesitating, I crept toward the peephole. Through that tiny lens, I saw him calmly turn, unlock the door directly across the hall, and stroll inside. He lived across from me? He must have just moved in. With a face like that-and that aura-there's no way I wouldn't have noticed before. Wait, Mira. What are you doing? You're seriously letting a hot new neighbor make you forget the h**l Rhys just put you through? No. Absolutely not. All men are tr**h. Always. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heartbeat, reminding myself not to be so st**id again. But no matter how hard I tried, that sculpted face kept flashing through my mind. I needed ice-for my racing pulse, and more urgently, for the stinging pain on my cheek. Just as I forced myself up to head to the kitchen, my phone rang, shrill and sharp. One glance at the screen made my whole body go cold. Mom. I couldn't ignore the call. If I did, she would destroy my career without hesitation. She was absolutely capable of it. The moment I picked up, her voice sliced through the air-cold and merciless. "Mira, you must be insane! How dare you do something so disgraceful to Rhys! You apologize to him right now, or you're no longer our daughter!" I opened my mouth to explain, stunned-but she hung up before I could get a single word out. I gripped my phone tightly. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their love? And Catherine-she never had to do anything, yet she was their perfect, precious jewel. Enough. I thought if I worked hard enough, my family, my fiancé-they would love me. But that's never going to happen. I have to reclaim the self-respect I lost long ago. I have to break off this engagement with Rhys-no matter the consequences. Chapter 2 Plan B For the next forty-eight hours, I became one with my bed. No calls. No outside world. Just me, a pile of blankets, and the crushing weight of humiliation. That s**p from Rhys wasn't just a blow to the face. In so many ways, it was a s**p across my entire life-one steeped in desperation, delusion, and pathetic longing. It forced me awake. It made me look back on everything I'd ever done to make him notice me, everything I'd done for a fantasy called "us" that had never truly existed. God, where do I even begin? Like the time he casually mentioned he liked girls with smooth, silky hair. That night, I ordered three bottles of the shampoo he'd once praised. My scalp broke out in hives. I smiled through the pain and said, "It's fine-some allergic reactions are worth it." Or when he told me he was too busy with work to grab dinner, so I stayed up learning how to bake and brought him a box of pastries in the rain. He didn't even open the door-just had the receptionist tell me, "Don't bother next time. I don't like sweets." Then there was that night at his friend's dinner party. I forced down oysters-my most hated food-just to seem "graceful and agreeable." I spent the entire night crouched over a toilet, writhing in pain until 3 a.m. He didn't ask if I was okay. He laughed and said, "Can't even handle seafood? That's just dramatic." But the worst? That time he quoted a line from The Godfather he liked. I stayed up all night reading film essays just to casually drop the quote at a party. I got it wrong. He corrected me in front of everyone, sneering, "Don't pretend to like things you clearly don't understand." And I laughed. I laughed and said, "You've got such a good memory." What a joke. I never realized I was never the person he wanted. He never really saw me. To him, I was nothing more than a low-rent version of the "perfect and untouchable" Catherine. A cheap stand-in. I wasn't her, but I could offer him the faint illusion of having her again. That was all I was good for. I buried my face in the pillow and laughed until I shook. Not because it was funny-but because the pain had gone too deep for tears. Thankfully, after my parents delivered their final ultimatum two days ago, they hadn't contacted me again. A small part of me wondered-did Rhys intervene? Did he finally realize what he'd done? Suddenly, the doorbell rang. And it didn't stop ringing. For a full five minutes. I gr**ned into my pillow. Oh god. Social interaction. Dragging my exhausted body to the door, I opened it. Yvaine Carlisle-my best friend and the only person who had the legal right to yell at me-stood on the other side, hands on hips. Then her eyes landed on my face. Her expression froze. The light in her eyes dimmed. "What the h**l happened to you?" "I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. She wasn't buying it. She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her jaw clenched. Then-silence. Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that comes right before something explodes. "Who hit you?" "Come inside," I muttered quickly, trying not to draw the neighbors' attention. That would be mortifying. Yvaine didn't move. She gripped my arm and spoke through gritted teeth. "Mira. Who. Hit. You?" As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed into her arms. My face buried in her sweater, and within seconds, the fabric was soaked. She didn't flinch. She just held me, her hand moving in calm, soothing circles across my back. I didn't know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn and my nose to turn bright red like Rudolph. Eventually, I managed to force out a single word. "Rhys." Yvaine didn't move. Everyone in Skyline City knew that name. Rhys Granger wasn't the kind of man who needed to throw punches to destroy someone. One phone call to the right person, and your life would be over. Reputation, money, status-he had it all. Every move he made was deliberate, timed to perfection-like the ticking of a Rolex. When he chose to go to war, he was a nobleman wielding cruelty like fine art, probably with a glass of aged Sc**ch in hand. People called him arrogant. No one ever called him vi**ent. That's why, when Yvaine processed what I'd just said, I could practically hear the gears in her brain screaming in protest. "No way," she muttered under her breath, as if denying it out loud might somehow make it untrue. "Rhys? Your Rhys? He couldn't have..." I got it. I really did. Rhys was supposed to be the gentleman. The golden boy. The flawless, elegant, untouchable good guy. "It was him," I said quietly. She exhaled sharply, then started rubbing my back again, this time slower. "Tell me what happened." I swallowed. "I was at his place. I, uh... accidentally broke a mug." Her entire body tensed. "Just a mug?" I nodded. Silence. Then she clenched her jaw and said, "I swear to God, if you tell me it was some priceless, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind family heirloom-" "It was Catherine's mug." Yvaine's hand froze mid-pat. Everything shifted. One second, she was my concerned best friend. The next, she was a woman plotting mu**er. I grabbed her wrist before she could get ahold of something worse. "It's over between Rhys and me." "Really?" "Really. Even if the earth split in two and Skyline City sank into the ocean, I wouldn't marry him." That stopped her from storming out to commit ho**cide. "Catherine. That venomous snake-" Yvaine spat the name like it physically hurt her. "She's not even here anymore and she's still managing to wreck your life! And your parents? They just stand there watching! I swear, they could watch her light your house on fire and they'd hand her the matches. It's unbelievable!" I felt like a balloon someone had just popped-deflated, exhausted. That all-too-familiar ache settled deep in my ch**t. I knew some parents would always love their firstborn more. And there was nothing I could do about it. "I'm sorry, Mira." Yvaine sat down beside me and gave my head a firm push toward her shoulder. I pulled away and managed a weak smile. "Actually, I think it's a good thing. At least I found out what kind of man he is before we got married. Better now than after the vows, right?" She let out a long sigh, her eyes softening. "Mira, you know no matter what happens, I've got your back." Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the moment. Loudly. Like a magician, Yvaine reached behind her and pulled out a takeout bag, giving me a look that practically screamed: I knew you'd be like this. I wanted to hug her, but I was too busy eating like a ravenous little goblin. After dinner, she pushed me into the bedroom and went off to clean up. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, drained and overwhelmed. What now? Through the half-open door, I heard her on the phone. I didn't catch every word, but the ones I did hear... were iconic. "A pile of s**t." "Total f**king psycho." "Oh, you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you what this vi**ent ba**ard actually did-" She was probably talking to Zane Hasterton. And unlike Rhys, Zane would never raise a hand to her. The way Yvaine so instantly, so fiercely chose me-without hesitation, without question-made my throat tighten. She believed me. No one else did. But she did. This wasn't something she did lightly. Rhys's family sat at the very top of the food chain-untouchable. And I had no doubt her parents wouldn't be thrilled to see her go up against them. I curled deeper under the blanket and let out a slow breath. Why couldn't my parents love me like that? Ever since their favorite daughter Houdini'd her way out of their master plan, I became Plan B. But that didn't mean they forgave my existence. Let's be honest: the only reason they'd stopped actively berating me was because I got engaged to Rhys. That little arrangement somehow elevated me from "irreparable family di**race" to "potential saving grace." Part of the reason I agreed to the engagement-and I know how pathetic this sounds-was because I thought maybe I could finally get something Catherine had: a sliver of parental affection. A crumb of approval. But now that the engagement was off? I was disposable again. Last I heard, they were boxing up my things, ready to ship me off to some remote jungle where I'd spend the rest of my life befriending anacondas and repenting for my sins. They were absolutely capable of that. I gr**ned into my pillow. What the h**l do I do now? Unless... I married someone more powerful than Rhys. The idea was so ridiculous I snorted. Right. Because billionaires are just wandering around Skyline City hoping to marry a 23-year-old orphan with no patience for their bullshit. And yet- A face flashed in my mind. Three days ago. My new neighbor. I remembered, quite inappropriately, thinking I wouldn't mind being alone with him in his apartment where he could do all sorts of rated-R things to me. I shook my head, quickly banishing the thought. I didn't even know his name. Just that he had the kind of aura that could slice a person in half. No. Way too dangerous. I gr**ned again. If I hadn't broken that st**id mug, everything might've been okay. But it wasn't. And it's not. And there's no going back. F**k! Why am I the one trying to fix this when I wasn't even the one who messed it up?! I sat up-and bam, the door burst open. Yvaine marched in. "Sl**p is just going to make you feel worse. We're getting up, and we're going to find a d**k worth loving-one that's better than Rhys's." WHAT?! While I gaped, she had already changed me into a new outfit. Just like that, we were off to Skyline City's most exclusive club-members only. Chapter 3 Rebound Night "Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt. I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my un**rwear would be on full display. "Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?" Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear. "But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta. I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp. Yvaine let out a dramatic gr**an. "Mira, come on. We're going to a b*r, not an Arctic expedition." "I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now. I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine. She had zero plans to follow the rules. With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard ch**t like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini. Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in. Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant. And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne. The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of ch**pagne. I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine. She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this. I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap. Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels. If I hadn't known each co**tail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off. "Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just in**lted my entire bloodline. Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me." I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude. Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get. Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry. It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power. We found a table near the b*r and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us. Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms. He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign. Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect. "Two 75s, French br**dy," Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the ba**ender. "Make it strong." And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between s**y and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt." The ba**ender reached effortlessly for the g*n, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?" "More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon." I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast." She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks." Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch. In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor. "Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream s**y without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card." I shook my head. "Nope." Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sl**p like a baby." "Pass." She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad." I gr**ned into my hands. "Yvaine, please." She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds." Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system. Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?" I narrowed my eyes. "No?" "...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels. Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits. Then I followed her gaze. A half-private booth. Rhys. He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless. I didn't need more details. That face-I would never forget it. Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances. I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys. And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so in**mate. I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on. Until I heard what came next. "Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug." Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just k**led someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body. She gently swirled the w**e in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile. "Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?" She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration. "Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene." "She's so st**id-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your af**ir." Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it." Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his ch**t. "Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth." Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a bl**e. "But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless." Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside." Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are." A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum. Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything st**id-but I didn't hear a word. I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore. I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab." The ba**ender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water. With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose. The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from h**l-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender. I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene. I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength. Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of bl**d beginning to drip down between his brows. Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!" She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-" Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake." Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bl**ding. We have to get to the hospital." Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore. She raised her hand, ready to s**p Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bi**h-!" I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently." I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand tr**h." Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond. Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly es**rt these two walking health code violations off the premises." Chapter 4 Key Guy As soon as they were gone, Yvaine dragged me out of the club. D**n it. I hated that Catherine had predicted every single thought running through my mind. Yes, I was still considering salvaging my relationship with Rhys. But now? The truth was right there, unmistakable and r*w-they'd been sl**ping together behind my back all along. And me? I was just the fo**ish, unnecessary third wheel in their twisted little story. What I couldn't figure out was-why had Catherine faked her disappearance four years ago? What exactly had she been hiding? And why come back now? My eyes stung. I tilted my head toward the sky, forcing the tears back. Fine. Catherine's back. Perfect. Now they could all reunite like a happy little four-piece family?, and I... I was finally free. "Mira... I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Catherine was back." Yvaine's eyes were full of regret. I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head. "Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear-they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way." "Those godd**n as**oles!" Yvaine hissed through clenched teeth. "You should tell your parents. Let them know Catherine's not the perfect angel they think she is. What about Rhys's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this. I was quiet for a moment. Yvaine had a point-Rhys's parents were the only people who had supported me. But he was their son. They wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end. And my parents? I let out a breath, heavy and tired. "You know better than anyone-they only care about Catherine. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her." Yvaine grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?" "Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over." Suddenly, Yvaine's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration. "Mira, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot-I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?" I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back." After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me. "No, wait," I said quickly. "Take me to a b*r. Any bar. Just... far away from Roxanne." The driver didn't blink-clearly used to the erratic demands of Skyline City's broken-hearted. We eventually pulled up outside some unfamiliar ni**tclub. Velvet ropes. A crowd of influencer-types wielding selfie sticks. I didn't bother checking the name. I handed the bouncer some bills and strode inside. Straight to the b*r. "Wh**key sour. Large. Keep them coming." "Ma'am, maybe you should slow down," the ba**ender said gently, concern in his voice. I slammed my empty glass on the counter and shoved my card across. "Did I stutter? Top me off." The ba**ender sighed but obliged. "That guy's right," a smooth, magnetic voice murmured beside me. "Too much al**hol can impair cognitive function and judgment. Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's b*d tonight-" I turned, irritated-then froze. It was him. The man from last night. My new neighbor. The one who'd handed me my keys with all the casual elegance of a Renaissance statue. "Well, well. You again." I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "You really can't resist other people's business, huh?" He chuckled softly, completely unfazed. "Think of it as a well-developed instinct for being helpful." I gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're a hero, truly. But I don't need saving, Mr. Key Man." "I know," he said calmly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. His eyes were clear and sharp. "But you do seem in desperate need of clarity." I frowned. "Is this how you treat all your neighbors? First their keys, then their dignity?" He laughed-a low, rich sound. "Only when the neighbor looks like she's on the verge of self-destruction." "...But I am always self-destructing," I muttered, suddenly quieter. "Doesn't it seem kind of pathetic? Like my whole life is just one mess after another?" He didn't laugh. He didn't rush to reassure me, either. He didn't even deny what I'd just said. He just looked at me. Calm. Quiet. Like he was watching a slow-motion disaster unfold-but had no intention of stopping it. "You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice low and steady. "You are pretty good at making a mess of things. Like right now-you can't even stand properly and you're still demanding more al**hol." I froze, frowning instinctively. But he went on, his tone unhurried-like he was flipping through a book and had landed on a sentence he already knew by heart: "But strangely, you always seem to meet someone who refuses to walk away... right before everything falls apart." I stared at him, half in shock, half in suspicion. "Are you... fl**ting with me?" He gave me a slow smile, his eyes lazily curving with just the right amount of mischief. His voice came out smooth and provocative, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Does it make you feel any better?" His voice was low and warm, like wh**key being poured into a glass at midnight-just a little dizzying, just a little dangerous. He looked at me with an intensity that felt nearly uncontrollable, like he might lean in close and whisper things in the dark, on a b*d, asking if his to**h was hard enough. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed instantly. My fingertips tightened against the edge of the b*r. I had to look at him properly. Really see him. That face-it wasn't just handsome. It had the kind of quiet, devastating maturity that no amount of cologne and hair gel could fake. Not the kind you'd find among the over-groomed boys who danced to house music like they were owed the world. A wild, uninvited thought flashed through my mind. If I let him walk away tonight, maybe I was rejecting one of those rare, merciful moments when fate offered a second chance. Before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped around the sleeve of his suit jacket. I rose from the barstool, heart pounding. "So, Mr. Keys," I said, my voice hoarse but firm, "since you're so committed to helping... why not help all the way?" He clearly hadn't expected that. His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face-but he didn't step back. He didn't laugh. He simply said, calm and steady: "Of course. As long as this is something you won't deny when you're sober." "I'm sure." I answered without hesitation. Gripping his wrist tighter, I pulled him through the crowd and out of the b*r. The night wind struck us like a cleansing slap, city lights flickering above. I didn't let myself pause. No time to think, no space for regret. We crossed the street. Entered the nearest ho**l lobby. Because tonight, I needed to know if I had the courage to accept what fate had placed in front of me. It must have been one h**l of a night, because when I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and the red LED numbers of the digital clock blinked 10:07 AM at me with the judgmental smugness of a nun catching you sneaking out of the church. The sh**ts still carried his scent-bergamot and sin-and my body buzzed from the lingering aftershocks of what we'd done. I stared at the ceiling and thought: That was absolutely phenomenal s*x. I ached everywhere-in the best, most regrettable way. But my head... my head was a battlefield. It felt like a hundred tiny jackhammers were drilling through my skull. The al**hol from last night had declared mutiny, and my brain was paying the price, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker through my temple. I had no idea how much I drank-definitely more than I should've. The details had vanished into a fog thicker than a London morning. Gr**ning, I rolled out of bed. Gr**ned again. Began gathering the scattered pieces of my clothing. The plan was simple: Get dressed. Sneak out. Pretend this never happened. I had just picked up my skirt when a voice stopped me. "Leaving so soon?" S**it. I turned-very slowly, thanks to the hangover and the shame-and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his h**s. I stared. Unashamed. Images from the night before surged back into my brain. I suddenly felt... very, very thirsty. "We need to talk," he said. He looked at me again, then-unhurriedly-said: "Will you marry me?" ... What?! ...... What happens next? 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