Chapter 2

Tears burned my eyes as I stumbled back, gripping the door handle with trembling fingers. My throat tightened, suffocating the sob that fought to escape.

I slammed the door shut, hard enough to rattle the frame. For a fleeting second, I wished the whole damn building would collapse on them.

Then, I ran.

The bar’s pounding music and the stench of alcohol and sweat surrounded me, but I barely noticed. My heart pounded as I shoved past people, their laughter and cheers a cruel contrast to the agony twisting inside me.

I needed air.

I needed to breathe.

I needed to get the hell out of here.

By the time I reached the parking lot, my face was wet with tears. I wiped at them furiously, but they wouldn’t stop. My vision blurred, and I nearly missed my car. But before I could reach it—

Someone stepped in front of me.

The stranger from earlier.

Leaning against my car, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers, he smirked. His messy hair and unshaven face made him look even more intoxicated than before.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, squinting at me. “Didn’t think you were the type to cry. Let me guess… caught your husband screwing someone else?”

My stomach clenched.

He was right, and he knew it.

“Get out of my way,” I snapped, my voice sharp despite the lump in my throat.

He chuckled, unfazed. “Aww, don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

“I said, move.”

Instead of listening, he took a step closer, the stink of alcohol rolling off him.

I backed away, my pulse quickening.

His fingers closed around my wrist. Not hard, not painful—but firm enough that I knew he wasn’t letting go easily.

“What’s the rush?” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. “Let’s talk.”

Panic flared in my chest.

I had to lose him.

Without thinking, I yanked my arm free and slammed my knee into his groin.

He grunted—but barely flinched. Instead, he let out a raspy laugh.

“Oof, that was a good one,” he muttered, rubbing his chin like I had hit him there instead. “Y’know, a lot of girls have tried that. I think I’m getting immune.”

A chill crawled up my spine. What kind of psycho was this?

I turned, ready to run—

Then, I heard her voice.

“Oh, Adaline, there you are.”

Ice filled my veins.

I turned slowly.

Evelyn.

She strode toward me, her face flushed with sweat and satisfaction. Her dress was slightly wrinkled. Her eyes sparkled with something smug and cruel.

“I see you left without enjoying the party,” she said, voice dripping with mock concern.

My hands curled into fists.

No words. No words would be enough.

The stranger still had his eyes on me, his grip hovering near my wrist. He tilted his head toward Evelyn. “You know her?”

Evelyn smirked. “Oh, we’re old friends.”

Something in me snapped.

I grabbed the nearest glass from a passing waiter and hurled it at the stranger’s head.

“Shit!” He dodged just in time. The glass shattered against the pavement.

He cursed, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping away. “Damn, sweetheart. You’re crazy.”

“Stay the hell away from me,” I spat.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender before stumbling off, muttering under his breath.

Now, it was just me and Evelyn.

She crossed her arms, her smirk widening. Like she had won something.

I hated her.

I had never hated anyone more in my life.

“You… you're happy aren't you? You ruined everything" I yelled with a shaky yet firm voice

“Oh, Adaline,” she sighed, I felt like ruining that smirk on her face, "you're being dramatic" this was the peak of it, I snapped.

“You slept with my husband!” I attacked, hands shaking. She laughed, she was laughing to my face.

“Well,” she said, flipping her hair, “I was just helping him, you know. Surrogacy for free.”

I felt sick.

“You’re disgusting,” I whispered.

Evelyn leaned in, her smirk turning razor-sharp.

“And you’re barren.”

Red.

That’s all I saw.

My hand flew before I could stop it.

SLAP!

Her head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly flushing red.

For a second, she just stood there, stunned. Like she's trying to process what happens, but slowly, she grinned. "Oh, honey,” she whispered, rubbing her face. “You’re gonna regret that.”

I stepped back, trembling.

I couldn’t be here anymore.

“You’ll pay for this,” I hissed, my voice raw with fury, like a caged animal finally baring its teeth, I took this s my cue, I couldn't stand her presence.

I turned and ran. Straight to my car, straight away from her, from this nightmare.

Tears blurred my vision as I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white. The road ahead was nothing but moving streaks of light and darkness, but I barely saw it. My chest ached. My breaths were uneven.

My best friend. My husband.

The betrayal was a knife lodged so deep, I wasn’t sure I’d ever pull it out.

I had suspected something was off—his late nights, the distance between us—but Evelyn?

I let out a bitter laugh, swiping at my face with the back of my hand.

I had defended her. Trusted her. Told her everything.

I pressed harder on the gas. I needed to leave. Go home. Pack my things. Get out of this hell.

But where would I go?

My mother’s house?

I hesitated.

I already knew what she would say. She had always wanted me married—not for love, but for security.

To her, marriage was a transaction.

"He’s a good man, Adaline. Rich. Stable. What more could you want?"

I had cried. Begged. Pleaded with my father. But he had been too weak, too sick, too tired to fight.

"Just do as your mother says," he had whispered one night, his eyes sunken, his body frail. "It’s for the best."

He had died not long after, leaving me with a mother who saw me as a ticket out of poverty.

I had barely escaped that arranged marriage.

And now… I had ended up in another one, a different man but the same heartbreak, I pulled into the driveway, slammed the car door, and rushed inside.

My hands shook as I yanked open the closet, throwing everything into my suitcase. Shirts, pants, shoes—I didn’t care. I just needed out.

Halfway through, my phone buzzed.

I ignored it. Then it buzzed again.

And again.

I hesitated, wiping my eyes before picking it up.

A message from Evelyn.

My stomach twisted.

I clicked on it—and froze.

A picture.

Me.

With that stranger from the bar.

In the photo, he was too close, his hand gripping my wrist. It had been edited, manipulated—made to look intimate.

Like I wanted it.

Below it, a message:

“How would it feel for your husband to see this?”

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.

She was blackmailing me.