Chapter One

Danielle POV

I watch as people move around the restaurant, their movements a blur of purpose and noise. They don’t seem to notice me standing here in the corner, and for that, I’m grateful. I gather the plates and glasses left behind, then disappear behind the door that shields me from the rest of the world.

If I could survive without work, I wouldn’t leave the house at all. After placing the items into the sink, I turn to the manager. He gives me a nod.

“Off you go, girly. See you tomorrow,” he says.

I nod in return, then walk out into the night and rush home. When I step inside, the apartment is quiet. I glance around, but Sam isn’t here. Grabbing a glass of water, I sit down on the couch, and feel my phone vibrate.

His name flashes across the screen.

We should eat out. Come meet me.

Eat out? Is he serious right now?

I’m not coming out, Sam.

I hit send, set the phone down, and curl into the cushions. Somehow, despite how early it still is, I doze off. The next thing I hear is the door slamming.

I jump up with a startled breath as he walks in, suitcase in hand. His eyes land on me, unreadable, and he tosses his bag aside before sitting down heavily across the room.

“I offer for us to go out, and you refuse?” His voice is cold, cutting through the silence.

I shrug, trying not to shrink under his gaze. It’s not that easy. I don’t go out anymore. The thought of being in crowded spaces when I don’t have to be makes my chest tighten until I can hardly breathe.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

“Are you serious right now? Goddamn it, Danielle, I’m getting fed up with this shit.”

His voice rises, and I flinch. I glance up at him, mouth opening, but no words come out. I shut it again and look away.

“This whole act of ‘poor me, I’m scared to be around people’ is really beginning to piss me off,” he shouts.

At least he’s not the one who has to live with it. “You didn’t help it,” I whisper.

His head snaps around so fast that I freeze.

“You’re going to blame me because you’re scared to live?”

My head shakes quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, but—”

“No. Don’t start. Ten years. That’s how long we’ve dated, Danielle. We used to go out all the time, and now you don’t.”

Wiping my eyes, I turn my face away. “If I could, I would,” I say softly.

“You can. You go to work. So you can come out and be normal with me.”

I wrap my arms tightly around my body, trying to find some sense of calm, but it doesn’t work.

He lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. “I can’t believe you tried to blame me. You’re the reason your friends stopped calling and caring, not me.”

“That’s not true. They stopped coming around because you were always there. They didn’t like it,” I snap.

“No. That’s what they said to be polite. They stopped seeing you because you never leave the house.”

“Does it matter?” I ask, voice shaking.

“Clearly not,” he mutters.

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. He watches me for a long time before he speaks again.

“Look, I’ve tried. You don’t care. You don’t want to listen. Whatever I do, you refuse. So maybe we need to change things.”

My heart drops. I sit up straighter, eyes wide. “Change what?” I ask.

“Us,” he says flatly. “I think we open our relationship.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Because that’s going to fix my mental health issues,” I snap.

“I’m not trying to fix you, am I? But maybe if it’s open, it’ll entice you to go out and do things. I won’t be here every night. I won’t be around your friends, either.”

“This is a joke,” I whisper.

“No. It’s not. I’m bored, Danielle. You want to sit inside and do nothing, then go ahead. But don’t expect me to.”

He stands up and turns away from me, leaving the weight of his words hanging in the air like a closing door.

“Do you really want to start seeing other people?” I ask, my voice quiet but steady.

“Why not? Maybe that’s what it’ll take for you to finally realise I’m right here. I’m trying every damn day, and you just shut me down.”

“Shouting at me isn’t trying,” I say, trying to reason with him, though I know by now it rarely works.

“I don’t shout,” he snaps, even louder than before. “Goddamn it, Danielle, maybe this open relationship will help. Maybe you’ll meet someone you do want to go out with.”

I scoff, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “How? I don’t even leave the house, and you expect me to find someone?”

“That’s not my issue. I’ve tried everything and nothing works. You don’t want my help, so I won’t give it. And I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for your mental health to sort itself out.”

I nod slowly, the tightness in my chest spreading like fire. “Then fine. Open relationship it is, Sam,” I say, each word careful and deliberate. “If you really want us to date other people, let’s do it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is exactly what I need to remind myself I’m still wanted.”

He laughs, cruel and hollow. “That’s what started all this, wasn’t it? Someone wanting you too much. So you should be relieved that I don’t.”

I stare at him, my hands curling into fists. “You know what? Fine. Let’s do it,” I snap, then storm into the bedroom.

Fuck him. If his goal was to motivate me to leave the house, then congratulations. He’s succeeded.

I fling open the wardrobe doors, sliding the hangers roughly to the side until I spot the dresses I haven’t touched in years. My fingers close around a short, tight red one that still smells faintly of perfume and memory. I lay it across the bed and head for the bathroom.

The shower is quick. My movements are focused, mechanical, like I’m building armor instead of getting dressed. I blow out my hair, sweep makeup across my face with practiced precision, and finally step into the dress. It clings to me like a second skin.

All right. A bar. There has to be one nearby.

Opening G****e, I type the word and hit search. The first name to pop up is The Fallen Gods.

Fine. That’s where I’m going.

I toss my phone into a small black bag and step out of the room. Sam is still in the living room, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his tone laced with disbelief.

“I’m going out. Open relationship, remember?” I shoot back, already halfway to the door.

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head like I’ve just made a fool of myself. “You’re fucking stupid if you honestly think I’m going to believe that. At most, you’ll walk to the shop and come back.” He grabs his own phone without even looking at me. “Don’t wait up,” he mutters, and then he walks out.

So that’s what he really thinks. That I’m incapable. That I won’t do it.

Well, he’s dead wrong.

I’m doing it.