Hazel's POV
I shrug out of my coat and hang it on the waiting hanger, my knee-high boots clicking a sharp, steady rhythm against the impossibly polished floor of the exquisite restaurant. The air smells like money and old wine.
"Mr. Kentucky is waiting for you, Madame," a waitress says in a hushed tone, stepping aside with a small bow to let me enter the privately reserved suite. The one Dalton, my boyfriend, booked just for us. My eyes immediately catch on the bed inside, the one adorned with a careful spill of rose petals, a massive bouquet of red roses resting neatly on top of the duvet.
Up on the rooftop, Dalton is already at the table, checking his wristwatch with a slight frown, his fingers drumming a light, impatient rhythm on the linen tablecloth. Every single time I see him, it's like a punch to the gut, and I fall in love all over again. The top buttons of his crisp white collared shirt are undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his slightly muscular torso. His short beard is neatly trimmed, his moustache just a dark shadow above his lip.
Our eyes meet across the space, and his lips curl into that warm, inviting smile that always sends heat rushing straight to my cheeks. I can't help but smile back, a little goofy, a lot in love.
He rises smoothly to pull out a chair for me, his arm snaking around my waist in a possessive move I've come to know well. He plants a firm kiss on my cheek, and I feel a tiny, secret pang of disappointment that it didn't land on my lips. Still, I keep smiling and take my seat.
"You look stunning, as always, dearest," Dalton says, his blue eyes gleaming with open admiration.
"Thank you," I grin, feeling a little breathless. "You don't look so bad yourself." And he never has. His stupidly good looks were the very first thing that caught my attention... way back before I somehow managed to catch his.
Our whole relationship started like some kind of secret office affair. He'd touched my waist once, a casual, burning brush of his fingers as I was packing up his files after a long meeting. When I didn't pull away or resist, he just kissed me, right there in the empty, echoing boardroom. I was just in college then, just an intern journalist who'd come to interview his team.
The very next day, he asked me out properly—on a real date—and two years later, here we are. I've watched him grow, supported his company with everything I had to give as a sports journalist. Our relationship has always been private—hidden from the public and even from our coworkers. But sometimes, it feels like they all know anyway, giving us these knowing little looks.
I don't really mind. I love our privacy, the stolen intimacy of moments like this one. I haven't met his family yet, though he's met my cousin, Kyra and my mother whom he funded her beauty studio. All I really know is his parents are divorced and he was raised solely by his mom—that alone always told me not to dig too deep into his family matters. Some doors are better left closed.
But tonight… tonight feels different. Dalton went seriously out of his way with these arrangements. The private suite, the roses, the petal-strewn bed. Kyra had even hinted, with a knowing smirk, that he might finally propose.
It wouldn't be far-fetched at all. He'd always said he'd propose once he won the Grey Cup championship, and he did. He got a massive deal with another agency and rocketed into the top ten list of hockey players to watch. He'd done everything he said he would.
That was more than enough for me. I've always wanted to get married young; twenty-two seemed like a solid, perfect age. We could be engaged for a year while planning the wedding and just figure the rest of our lives out as we went.
I try hard not to get my hopes up, but I can't help the fizzy bubble of expectation rising in my chest. I'm still young, yeah, but the idea of starting a family with the love of my life doesn't sound bad at all. It sounds like everything.
After taking our orders, the waiters finally leave us completely alone. Dalton reaches for my hand across the table, his thumb gently stroking my palm as we wait for our food. It's a simple touch that sends a jolt right through me.
I'm suddenly at a total loss for words, so when he clears his throat, I silently thank God that he'll be doing the talking tonight.
"I can't forget when I first saw you, Hazel," he says, a soft grin playing on his lips. "At that interview, I literally threw my f-cking coffee because of how beautiful you are. That memory's been stuck with me ever since."
This is it. Kyra was absolutely right. I've done enough bridal makeup at my studio years back to recognize all the signs—he always starts reminiscing right before a big, romantic moment.
"I had the same reaction," I reply, smiling and subtly preparing my finger for the ring. "Not that I spilled coffee or anything—I was just completely stunned. Couldn't think straight."
He laughs lightly, a rich, warm sound. "It's okay. I love you, Hazel. I really do. I just want to keep loving you forever."
"Me too." I squeeze his hand tightly, my heart hammering against my ribs. He lifts my hand, kissing my palm softly before rising to his feet and walking around the table to me.
This is the moment. After two amazing years, we're finally taking that next step.
Dalton leans down and kisses me, deep and slow, right on the lips. Maybe he wants a little foreplay before the big question. I'm more than willing. Desire stirs hot and urgent in my chest as his tongue slides into my mouth. I kiss him back with everything I have until we're both breathless, and then he pulls away slowly, sweeping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing.
He carries me to the bedroom in a heavy silence. My words are completely caught in my throat. He lays me down gently on the soft bed, the petals crinkling beneath me, and he kisses me again before I can even think to speak. My legs wrap around his waist entirely on instinct. I don't quite know how we went from a romantic dinner to this so fast, but I don't stop it. I don't want to stop it.
I can taste the rich red wine and the sharp dressing from the salad on his lips. My body aches for more of him, but my mind, my stupid, traitorous mind, suddenly betrays me. His fingers find the zipper of my dress. He unzips it slowly and begins pulling it down with his mouth, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses over my skin.
Then, in a sickening flash, everything changes.
His face morphs, twists right in front of my eyes into a masked figure—the one that haunts me, the one that lives in my darkest memories.
No. Not now. Please, not now. Not when I'm so close to being his wife, to having everything I've ever wanted. I try to block it out, I force out a low moan when he touches my core through the thin fabric of my underwear. I'm not aroused, not even a little, but he doesn't seem to care, as always. His fingers work through me for a brief moment before he finally undresses us both completely, his mouth still claiming mine.
When he enters me, it's painful and sharp. I grab fistfuls of the sheets, just letting him get on with it. I don't say a word. I don't moan. I can't. I just bite back the winces and the cries of pain, my eyes squeezed shut and then flying open to stare at the ceiling.
"Look at me," he grunts, his voice strained, and I obey, turning my head just as I feel the hot spill of his release inside me.
He collapses next to me, panting, as I immediately slide out of the bed. I grab my bag, my hands shaking, and pull out a small contraceptive pill. I stroll to the table on unsteady legs to grab a half-full cup of water before swallowing the pill down.
When I turn back around, his eyes are locked on me, dark and unsettling. Maybe I shouldn't have done that right in front of him. But then I follow his gaze and see it's not the pill he's staring at—it's me. It's between my thighs, which are already smeared and coated with blood.
My whole body stiffens into ice. He senses it immediately. I'm usually so careful to hide this from him. What the hell got into me today?
Shame. Hot, blistering shame.
Dalton lets out a low groan and grabs his briefs, yanking them on. He moves to the plush sofa, sitting down heavily with a deep frown already etched into his handsome face. His brows knit together as his eyes stay fixed on me—on my naked body, covered only in boob tape. I bite down hard on my lip, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears I refuse to shed.
It's been ten damn years... but I still can't get past that one horrible moment. I want to give myself to him completely—I really, truly do—but my body just won't let me. I just can't.
"It's not like you're even a virgin, Hazel," he snaps, his voice cold and sharp. "What the f-ck is wrong with you?"
"How could you say that to me, Dal?" My voice comes out in a tremble, barely a whisper.
"It happened years ago. Your father is dead. You can't keep letting him control your life, control this… control us." He says it like it's so simple, like I can just decide to forget.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again, the words pathetic and small.
"You don't even pretend to enjoy it," he accuses, his voice dripping with a frustration I've heard too many times before.
"I do enjoy it, I really do—" I try to lie, to fix this.
"It feels like I'm f-cking a corpse," he cuts me off, pure disgust curling his lip.
I can't find anything else to say. There's nothing left. I just stand there, hoping he doesn't mean it, that he won't take this seriously, praying I'll find a way to improve, to fix myself if I have to.
A thick, heavy silence wraps around us, cold and unyielding.
Then he says it. The words slice through the air—and straight through my heart.
"We should break up."