Every word wrapped tighter around my chest like a noose. I needed air. I needed to erase him from my thoughts. My phone buzzed in my lap, his name flashing on the screen—Marcus. Again.
I ignored it. But the buzzing kept going—call after call. Then message after message filled my screen in rapid bursts.
Where are you?
Come back. Now.
I’m not playing around, Annette. Answer me.
If some guy touches you, he’s dead. No one else gets to. Just me.
I stared at that last message, a weight pressing against my chest. Then, I laughed. The sound was sharp and empty. What a joke. He wanted to own me while pledging himself to someone else? What a bastard.
The cab stopped in front of a neon-lit bar, bathed in glowing red. I paid the fare, stepped out, and walked straight into the thrum of music and late-night noise. The beat pulsed through the air, syncing with my heartbeat, momentarily drowning out the chaos inside me.
The bar was packed, full of people whose faces meant nothing. I moved through the crowd, grateful for the anonymity.
That’s when I spotted him.
Ryan.
There he was, at the far end of the bar. His dark hair was a little messy, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, that same cocky half-smile playing on his lips. Marcus' ex-best friend, now bitter enemy. The man he despised more than anyone else in the world.
A dangerous idea bloomed in my mind.
I didn’t have to approach him—not yet. I didn’t even need to speak to him.
I pulled out my phone, framed the shot just right, and snapped a photo of Ryan looking relaxed and unaware. Perfect.
No hesitation this time—I typed the message to Marcus:
Meet my date.
I hit send. The screen glowed for a moment before confirming delivery.
