Chapter 2

Back at the crappy rental we'd shared for three years, I packed in a daze.

My hands shook as I opened the closet—stretched-out tees, grease-stained and straight from the dollar bin.

His so-called "gifts" sat on the nightstand: plastic clips and chipped bracelets, all cheap junk.

I used to think he was just broke. Thought he was trying.

God, I was pathetic.

I cracked open a drawer. Our photos stared back—me grinning like an idiot, him barely faking interest.

The "home" I'd poured my heart into? Just a kennel he threw me in.

The clothes I bought him, the late-night meals I made—just punchlines for his dumb bar stories.

I shut the door one last time, and that greasy fryer smell in the stairwell hit me like a slap. My burn scars started to sting.

All that love I gave? Might as well have tossed it to a stray.

By the time I dragged myself back to the skewer joint, night had already fallen.

I shoved the door open.

Some guy lounged in the corner, legs crossed, that smug look already crawling across his face.

"Boss finally shows," he drawled, eyes greasy as they raked over me. "Thought I'd rot waiting."

One word and I knew—it was Jack's buddy. The one who laughed at me.

Swallowing the disgust, I tied on my apron. "What do you want?"

"Twenty spicy sausage skewers," he said, licking his lips. "You know what they say—spicy food's great for stamina. Real helpful for... nighttime cardio."

The fryer sizzled as I flipped the sausages, numb.

He leaned in, breath hot against my cheek. "Wanna guess why I picked sausage?"

I clenched the tongs, jaw tight.

He dropped his voice, grinning like a creep. "Nights like these take endurance... and I've got plans."

"Your spicy sausage is ready. Want it to-go?" I said, voice cool.

"What's the rush?" He reached for my face. "Heard you've got great hands. Came to taste something... else."

I grabbed his filthy hand and plunged it straight into the boiling oil.

"Aaagh—!!" He screamed like a stuck pig, yanking back, blisters already bubbling.

"You psycho?!" he roared, lunging at me.

The door flew open.

Jack stormed in, face like thunder. "Bella, what the heck are you doing?"

"He touched me first," I said, ice-cold.

Jack sneered, looming over me. "He was just joking, and you pull this crap?"

"Joking?" I locked eyes with him. "Want me to repeat what your buddy actually said?"

His face darkened. "Apologize."

I bit my lip, silent.

He grabbed my arm, fingers digging in. "I said get on your knees and apologize."

Then he kicked my leg out—sent me crashing to the floor.

But I looked up, calm. Smiling. "Can I just pay for it?"