Chapter 4: Reality Check

Samantha's POV 

"He did what?"

Chloe nearly choked on her wine, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. She leaned so far over my kitchen island I thought she might tumble right over the marble countertop.

"Lower your voice," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. The morning light was pouring ruthlessly through my apartment windows, making my headache pound a little harder. "And yes. He pulled back. He told me he didn't want to take advantage of me because I was vulnerable."

"Oh my God." Chloe set her glass down with a definitive clink. "Samantha, the man is a certified bad boy. He looks like he could snap a man in half with his bare hands, he runs the most successful lounge downtown, and he chose last night to play the gentleman?"

"I know," I muttered, staring at the cold cup of coffee between my hands.

After the lights had come back on in Rick's office, the thick, intoxicating bubble we’d been trapped in completely shattered. The drive home in the dying storm had been quiet, filled with a suffocating awkwardness. He had driven me back himself, making sure I walked safely into my building before disappearing into the night.

I should have been thinking about Marcus. I should have been furious that my boyfriend of two years had stood me up on our anniversary. But instead, all I could feel on my skin was the phantom warmth of Rick's big hands outlining my waist.

"So, what's the plan?" Chloe asked, her tone shifting from shocked to fiercely protective. She reached over, squeezing my wrist. "Are we officially dropping the Marcus dead weight? Because standing you up on a two-year anniversary is a felony in the girlfriend handbook. But Rick..." She smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Rick is a whole different chapter."

"Rick is twenty-four, Chloe," I reminded her, though the argument felt weaker than it ever had before. "You know younger guys aren't my spec. I want something stable. I date to marry."

"Honey, Marcus is twenty-nine and the only thing he's stable at is disappointing you," Chloe countered without missing a beat.

Before I could answer Chloe, the loud, aggressive buzzing of my apartment intercom cut through the kitchen.

We both blinked, startled. Chloe frowned, looking at her watch. "Are you expecting a package?"

"No," I murmured, walking over to the wall monitor. I pressed the screen, and my breath hitched. Standing in the lobby downstairs, looking slightly disheveled but holding a massive, obnoxious bouquet of red roses, was Marcus.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Chloe hissed, peering over my shoulder. "The audacity to show up with apology flora."

My heart, which had been heavy with guilt over Rick all morning, suddenly swelled with a pathetic wave of relief. See? He cares. He came. Without thinking, I buzzed him up.

Less than two minutes later, a soft knock sounded at the door. The moment I opened it, Marcus stepped inside. He looked tired, his expensive button-down shirt slightly wrinkled. Before I could say a word, he thrust the roses into my arms and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Babe, I am so, so sorry about last night," he breathed into my hair, sounding entirely breathless. "My phone completely died in the storm, and I was stuck at the office until three in the morning dealing with a server crash. I felt like such a piece of shit leaving you at the restaurant."

"Marcus, it's fine..." I started, the anger I’d spent hours nursing instantly evaporating.

Behind him, Chloe crossed her arms, letting out a loud, theatrical cough.

Marcus pulled back, finally noticing her. His expression tightened slightly, but he forced a polite smile. "Hey, Chloe. Look, babe, I really want to make it up to you. I took the morning off so we could talk." He turned back to me, his eyes dropping to my face, searching. But then, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Though... I tried calling your car's Bluetooth last night around midnight when I finally got a charger. It said you were downtown."

My stomach did a violent flip.

"A buddy of mine who was driving home from his shift said he saw your car parked right outside The Foundry," Marcus continued, his tone shifting from apologetic to subtly sharp, his grip on my waist tightening. "What were you doing at a trashy bar like that so late in a brutal storm, Sammie? Alone?"

I froze. The massive bouquet of roses suddenly felt incredibly heavy in my arms. The guilt of almost shattering my principles for Rick rushed back, choking me. Marcus was apologizing, he brought me flowers, he was trying to be sweet—and here I was, keeping a secret about another man's hands on my waist.

"I... I was upset," I stammered, completely playing into his hands. "I just wanted a drink because you weren't there, Marcus. It was nothing."

Marcus stared at me for a long, calculating second before his face softened into a smug, forgiving smile. He kissed my forehead. "It's fine, babe. I get it. You were lonely. Let's just forget last night ever happened, okay?"

Over his shoulder, Chloe looked like she was about to physically vomit from the sheer manipulation.

Chloe scoffed, letting out a loud, mocking laugh that cut through the tense air of my living room. She stepped forward, getting right in Marcus's face.

"If you think you can just casually stroll in here with that cheap-ass bouquet and manipulate my friend into thinking she did something wrong, you've got another thing coming, you dimwitted condescending bastard," Chloe snapped, her eyes flashing with pure fury.

I gasped, my heart leaping into my throat. "Chloe... stoppp..."

Marcus's face tightened instantly. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched, his smug demeanor completely evaporating into a cold, ugly glare. He opened his mouth, no doubt ready to bark back at Chloe, but before a single word could leave his lips, my phone lit up on the kitchen island behind him.

A sharp, clear chime echoed through the silent apartment.

Because Marcus was standing right next to the counter, his eyes instinctively darted down to the screen. I lunged forward to grab it, but I was a second too late. The preview banner was wide open, illuminated in bright white against the marble countertop.

It was a text from an unknown number, but the initial at the end left zero room for doubt.

I can't get you off my mind, Sammie. Please grace me with the privilege of spending time with you. - R

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Marcus stared at the glowing screen, his eyes widening as he read the words. The sheer hypocrisy of his earlier interrogation hung heavy in the air, but now, the tables had completely turned. The guilty conscience I’d been nursing a second ago hardened into dread.

Slowly, Marcus lifted his head, his gaze shifting from the phone straight to me. The fake, apologetic boyfriend was entirely gone.

"Who the hell is R?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, venomous register.