I didn't sleep that night.
Not even for a second. My eyes burned, my head pounded, but my body wouldn't let me rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Them. My fiancé's hands gripping my sister's hips. Her smug little smile when she saw me. My parents' cold dismissal like I was nothing but a failure.
By sunrise, something inside me had hardened.
I wasn't going to beg them to see me. I wasn't going to prove my worth by crying at their feet. If they wanted me to marry power? Then I'd marry it. I'll show them i can beat them at their own game.
And on my terms.
I dragged myself out of bed, my legs stiff, my ankle raw where glass had cut into it. I didn't even bandage it last night. The blood had crusted against my skin, ugly and brown, but I kind of liked it. It made me feel alive. Reminded me that pain pains was real, and that I wasn't imagining any of this.
Coffee tastedd like ashes, but I forced it down. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at my phone. One name glowed on the screen.
His.
The last man on earth my family would want for me. The last man they thought I'd go to.
The same man I humiliated in high school.
The one I told could never be good enough for me.
God, I could still see his face the day he asked me out. He wasn't polished back then, wasn't rich, wasn't powerful. Just a boy with sharp eyes and stubborn pride. I had laughed. Right in his face. And then, when my parents made their opinion known, I cut deeper. Told him he didn't belong anywhere near me.
And he hadn't forgiven me, not that I know of.
He dated my best friend after that. I hated him for it, I hated her more. But I pushed it all down, convinced myself it didn't matter.
But it did did.
And now??
Now he wasn't that boy anymore.
He'd built himself from nothing. Ruthless, feared, rich enough to make my father grit his teeth when his name came up in business meetings.
If anyone could help me win, it was him.
But would he?
Would he even look at me without laughing? Without reminding me what I did to him?
I stared at my phone until my thumb ached from gripping it too tight. My pulse pounded in my ears. My throat was dry.
Finally, I typed the message, praying and hoping he used the same number he did before and that he hadn't blocked or deleted my number.
We need to talk. Meet me out tonight.
I didn't sign it. I didn't have to. He would know, hopefully.
My thumb hovered over send. For a second, the weight of my pride pressed down on me, screaming at me not to do it. Not to hand him this kind of power over me.
But pride hadn't saved me yesterday. Pride had left me shattered in my fiancé's apartment, bleeding into the marble.
I hit send.
And then I sat there, just waiting.
The day stretched out like ppunishment. My parents called once. I didn't pick up. I couldn't stomach their voices, not after last night
Every hour that passed, my anxiety grew. What if he didn't answer? What if he laughed at the message, deleted it, told his friends about the pathetic little heiress crawling back?
I was halfway to deleting it from my phone, pretending I'd never sent it, and this whole incident didn't happen, when it buzzed.
One new message.
His name lit up the screen.
Where?
Ome word. That was it. No warmth. No curiosity. Just cold efficiency.
My stomach flipped. I typed an address. Neutral ground. A bar on the edge of the city dark, discreet, not the kind of place my family would ever set foot in.
He didn't respond. But I knew he'd come. He always came when it mattered.
By the time night fell, I was a wreck. My hands wouldn't stop trembling as I applied my lipstick. Red. The color of blood, of battle. My dress was black, sharp lines, clean and merciless. If I was going to crawl, I'd crawl looking like a fucking queen.
The bar smelled of smoke and whiskey, dim lights cutting shadows across cracked leather booths. My heels echoed as I walked inside, drawing stares.
And then I saw him.
He was already there, I rolled my eyes in my headd, Of course he was.
He sat at the far end, back straight, one arm draped over the booth like he owned the place. He'd grown into his bones. The boy I once mocked was gone. In his place was a man with sharp edges and eyes that burned even across the room. His suit looked expensive, but it wasn't the clothes it was the way he wore them. Like nothing could touch him.
His gaze found me instantly. He didn't smile. Didn't stand. Just watched as I crossed the room, every step a battle against the way my knees wanted to buckle.
I slid into the booth across from him. My perfume curled in the air between us, but he didn't react.
"Hello," I whispered, my voice lower than I meant.
He leaned back, his eyes dragging over me slowly, deliberately. Finally, his lips curved, into….. don't know what to call it, it wasn't really a smile, something more wicked.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth, dangerous. "Look who finally remembers I exist."