3

"What a fucking asshole," Romilly snarled, snatching one of the neon vodka shots from the table and throwing it back like a pro.

I didn’t have the energy to fuel her fury anymore.

We were huddled around the small kitchen table in her apartment, a dozen or so colorful shot glasses lined up like soldiers ready for battle our attempt at emotional triage, though it was probably the unhealthiest coping mechanism we could’ve chosen. I traced the rim of my own glass with a finger, staring into the clear liquid as if it held answers. I wished it could fix everything, or at least numb the chaos storming through my head. But it didn’t. Even after six shots, I wasn’t buzzed, let alone drunk. Just... stubbornly sober.

We had taken the CEO’s challenge head-on hell, we’d put our hearts into it. But the result? Failure. Catastrophic and humiliating failure. Deep down, I think we knew we were being set up from the beginning. He had never meant to give us a real shot. It was just a power play.

Romilly slammed another glass down. “Smug, arrogant prick.”

“Who’s got you two this worked up?” Osric’s voice cut through the air as he strolled into the kitchen and leaned casually against the counter, one brow quirked in curiosity.

“Theron Lockhart,” we answered in unison.

Romilly clarified, “The new CEO of Lockhart Digital Entertainment. The bastard who fired us.”

“Should I want to meet him?” Osric smirked, flashing a row of obnoxiously perfect teeth. When we both shot him matching death glares, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. But now I’m curious. C’mon, spill. He hot? Bad boy vibes?”

I gave him a dry look. “He’s exactly that.”

Romilly giggled into her glass. “Wait… have you seen his ass?”

Osric’s eyes lit up with devilish amusement. “And how *bad* are we talking? Mildly naughty? Or chains-and-a-secret-sex-dungeon kind of bad?”

Romilly and Osric. Twins cut from the same chaotic cloth.

“Could you two maybe try acting like normal human beings for a change?” My cheeks were practically glowing at this point. “I’ve known him before. Back in high school. He... tormented me.”

Romilly’s smile dimmed. Osric’s playful smirk faded.

“He was the guy every girl wanted,” I said, my voice tight with memory. “I had a crush on him too, once… until I walked in on him having sex with one of the popular girls. In the classroom.”

Osric blinked, lashes fluttering theatrically. “And lemme guess — micro-penis?”

I should’ve laughed. I wanted to. But the weight of that memory choked any humor out of it. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe he was embarrassed I saw him. But it was like flipping a switch after that, he made it his mission to make my life hell.”

Osric’s tone turned sharp. “Did you tell anyone? About what you saw?”

I gave a bitter laugh. “Why would I? I was mortified.”

Romilly frowned. “Still doesn’t explain it. If you kept it to yourself, why would he turn on you?”

“I think the girl got paranoid,” I said with a sigh. “Afraid I’d ruin her reputation or something. She transferred schools soon after, and not long after that... Theron Lockhart decided I was his personal punching bag.”

Osric crossed his arms. “And now he’s the one who fired you. Think he recognized you?”

I hesitated, remembering the way he’d looked at me in that office like he *knew*. A cold ripple traveled down my spine. “I’m not sure.”

“What if he did?” Romilly asked, reaching for another shot. “What if he got rid of all of us because of *you*?”

Her words landed like a sucker punch. I wanted to believe that wasn’t true. But what if…

Romilly slipped her hand into mine, her expression softening. “Well, if there’s a silver lining to all of this, at least you don’t have to work under that asshole anymore.”

I looked down, bitterness pooling in my gut. “There’s nothing good about losing our jobs, Romilly. You know I have zero savings. I don’t even know how I’m paying next month’s rent.”

“Then don’t,” she said simply.

I blinked at her. “What?”

“Move in here. With us,” she said, her face brightening like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

Tears threatened to spill as I stared at her, speechless.

“She’s right,” Osric said, stepping closer to me. “This place is too damn big for just the two of us. And I could use someone sane around to balance out my sister’s drama.”

I swallowed hard, that knot in my throat thickening. I knew this place had belonged to their grandmother a lucky lottery winner with a sharp mind for investments. The apartment was huge, no question. But asking for help... accepting it? That was something I wasn’t used to.

“I can’t. I’d be”

“If you say the word *burden,* I swear to God, I will throw this vodka at your head,” Osric snapped. “You’re family. You know it, and we know it. So stop acting like a guest and just say yes.”

That broke me.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Before I could wipe them away, Osric swept me into a hug. Romilly joined in a second later, wrapping me in warmth I didn’t know I needed.

---

I couldn’t believe this was my first official act after getting fired attending my ex’s wedding.

I should’ve been at home, buried in job listings and praying someone would take pity on me. Sure, Romilly and Osric had given me a place to crash, but that didn’t make my life any less of a trainwreck.

My heels clicked angrily against the wooden pier five inches of blister-inducing torture. I caught up to Romilly and her boyfriend, Boaz, with a grimace.

“Remind me why I agreed to wear these medieval foot traps?” I muttered.

Romilly snorted. “Because it’s therapy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How exactly is this therapy?”

“You need a win,” she said simply, folding her arms. “And I have a feeling tonight is your win. Plus, you look *stunning*.”

“And sexy,” Boaz added with a wink.

“Thanks,” I murmured, managing a tight smile. I exhaled slowly, trying to push down the nerves coiling in my gut. My gaze flicked behind me. No sign of Osric.

“He’ll be here,” Romilly said, reading me like a book.

I nodded, though something in my gut twisted. We were already near the yacht now a monstrous luxury vessel where Ansel and Dovie’s guests were boarding in their designer gowns. I glanced down at the red fitted dress Romilly had lent me. It was probably the most beautiful thing I’d worn in years, but I still felt like Cinderella caught without her fairy godmother.

My phone buzzed. I jumped.

A text from Osric.

*We had an accident at the bakery. Everyone’s okay, but we have to remake 300 muffins. I’m so sorry. I can’t make it to the wedding.*

My stomach dropped.

I turned to Romilly, forcing a shaky smile. “Osric’s not coming. Something happened at the bakery.”

She took one look at my face and scowled. “Don’t even *think* about it,” she warned. “You’re getting on that yacht, Amaris Kennerly. Even if I have to drag you up the damn ramp.”

Knowing her, she would. So I straightened, slipped my phone back into my purse, and plastered on the best smile I could manage.

“All right. Let’s do this.”

Romilly gave a satisfied nod, and the three of us made our way onboard. A waiter greeted us with glasses of champagne. I took one gratefully and let the sparkling liquid work its magic. Sip by sip, I relaxed.

Until I turned.

And saw *him.*

Theron Lockhart.

My chest clenched as I spotted him across the deck, one elbow propped against the railing, eyes scanning the crowd. Even now, in that black tux and slicked-back hair, he looked every inch the arrogant heartbreaker. And then... he saw me.

Our eyes locked.

A slow, smug smile curled across his lips, and he started walking toward me with calculated ease.

Panic surged. I whipped around, searching for Romilly.

Gone. So was Boaz.

Shit.

“You know,” a familiar voice murmured behind me, “it’s dangerous for a woman like you to be standing here all alone.”

I turned, heart pounding.

Theron Lockhart was right there, so close I could smell his cologne.

“A woman... like me?” I echoed, already bracing for the verbal hit.

But instead, he said, “If I were here with a woman like you, I wouldn’t leave her side. I’d be afraid someone might steal her away.”

I stared, stunned. Was this a joke? A setup?

He wasn’t looking at me like the guy who had fired me or the teenager who’d mocked me. In his eyes now, I wasn’t an annoyance or a threat.

I was a *woman.*

What the actual hell? Was he face-blind?