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~*JUNE*~

If I say breaking up with Andrew didn't hurt, I’m lying.

Because this shit hurts like hell.

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to push the tears back in, but they won’t listen.

They keep falling, hot and relentless, carving dark tracks through the mascara running down my face.

I bite my lip so hard I taste copper, trying desperately to hold back my sobs but they spill out anyway.

I keep glancing at my phone every minute, my chest tightening with each look, hoping Andrew will text or call.

Hoping he’ll apologize, and we can clear things up—and maybe even get back together.

But he doesn’t.

That bastard didn’t even try to stop me when I walked out on him.

I guess I never really mattered to him at all.

I was nothing more than a tool he used.

And I’m sure he’s glad I’m out of his way now.

More tears spill down my cheeks, clouding my thoughts until I can’t see straight.

“You need to stop crying, June,” Tyler says for the umpteenth time tonight.

He slides onto the stool beside me, settling his hand on my back, rubbing slow circles.

“You should be happy you broke up with Andrew. At least now you're free from his manipulative games. This calls for a celebration, don't you think?” he continues.

I don’t answer, but his words hit home.

He’s right.

I should be happy.

But I’m not.

My stupid heart aches so much it feels like it might explode at any second.

Tyler sighs, but doesn't say anything again.

His hand keeps rubbing my back, but it does little to ease the ache in my chest.

It’s like trying to put a band-aid on a bullet wound.

“Hey.” A voice cuts through, not directed at me.

I glance up through my tears.

A handsome man with multiple face piercings leans close to Tyler, his eyes scanning him with obvious interest.

“Hey,” Tyler says, and I notice the faint blush creeping up his neck.

“You got a minute?” He smiles, easily and confidently.

Tyler glances at me, then back at the man. “Um... I don't think—"

I reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.

He turns to look at me.

“You should go,” I murmur.

He opens his mouth to protest. "But—"

"I'm fine." I lie, cutting him off. "Don't let me ruin your fun tonight. Go. I can handle myself."

He hesitates, searching my face. “Are you sure?”

I nod, biting my lip hard enough to hurt, holding back the sob rising in my throat.

Tyler lingers for a moment longer, then stands.

He follows the man with face piercings, and they disappear into the crowd.

I turn back to the bar, knowing the only way I’ll get through this insane night is by drowning myself in alcohol.

“Give me a glass,” I tell the bartender.

The bartender looks at me, his expression soft, something like pity in his eyes but he doesn’t say a word.

 He reaches for a glass, fills it with wine, and slides it toward me.

I gulp it down in one go.

The burn travels down my throat, hot and sharp, but it’s a good burn, one that drowns out everything else, just for a moment.

“Another.” I tell the bartender again.

He fills my glass, and I drink it again in one long swallow, savoring the sharp sting sliding down my throat.

By the fifth glass—or maybe the seventh?

Fuck it!

I’d lost track when the room began to tilt. The sting had melted into a low, insistent hum.

The ache in my chest has begun to dull, fading under the alcohol flowing through my veins.

I lift my glass. “A… another.”

The bartender shakes his head. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Anotherr!” I slur, wobbling on my stool. “I… I want another drink. Now!”

“I don’t want you passing out here.”

I frown, leaning forward and gripping the counter. “I said… another.”

He hesitates, eyes scanning me, then finally sighs and pours me another drink.

“Thank you.” My lips curve into a wide, drunken smile.

I lift the glass, ready to down it in one gulp—

A hand clamps around my wrist, stopping my glass halfway to my lips.

My chest lurches, and I tilt my head up, trying to see who had the nerve to grab my hand.

When I do, my breath catches.

In front of me stands the most handsome man in this club—no, the most handsome man on earth.

It should be a crime to be this handsome.

He’s tall, with his dark hair slicked back perfectly, not a strand out of place.

He looks to be in his mid-thirties.

His sharp jawline and defined cheekbones give his face a carved, statuesque quality, framed by a straight nose and intense eyes that complete his almost impossible kind of perfection.

A crisp corporate-blue suit set him apart from everyone else in the club.

He looks like he’d stepped out of a boardroom… or a fairytale.

If Prince Charming wore Armani, I’m sure he’d look like this.

Prince Charming—yes, Prince Charming—that is the name that fits him best.

His fingers remain wrapped around my wrist, firm but not painful.

With effortless grace, he plucks the glass from my hand.

“I daresay you’ve had quite enough for tonight,” he says, and his thick British accent hits me instantly, sending my heart doing backflips.

It’s deep, rich and velvety, the kind of voice you’d hear men speak with in a Bridgerton series.

My heart jumps in my chest, and my stomach flips as I stare at him like he’s an alien.

Maybe he is.

Maybe I'm finally cracking completely and conjuring him from my drunken imagination.

“Are you quite alright?” he asks.

Am I alright?

Clearly not.

Obviously not.

I’m sitting at a bar, crying over my cheating ex while a handsome stranger snatches my glass from my hand.

What’s alright about that?

I wipe at my eyes, making sure I’m not dreaming, but he’s still there—impossibly real.

Too real.

I shake my head, screaming at myself silently: Do not get involved with this man.

Getting involved will never bring anything good.

He’s too handsome, too polished, too… everything.

Men like him don’t exist for girls like me.

I reach for my glass in his hand. “Hey… give back my drink… and go away.”

He shifts the glass just out of reach.

“Hey, stop playing,” I slur, swaying slightly as I reach for it again.

“I’m not giving it back to you, love,” he says, pulling the glass behind him.

I let out a frustrated sigh.

Fed up with Prince Charming’s antics, I turn around and scan the crowd for Tyler, hoping to find him so we can leave.

But he’s nowhere to be seen.

The crowd swallows everything, faces and bodies merging, movement blurring into one.

He’s probably got his tongue down that guy’s throat by now.

Typical Tyler.

A small smile slips across lips.

At least one of us is enjoying tonight.

I grip the edge of the bar and push myself up.

The floor meets my feet, but the world tilts almost instantly, sliding out of place.

My knees give, and I close my eyes, bracing for the fall—

—but I don’t fall.

Strong arms catch me.

My breath hitches as the grip around my waist tightens, steadying me, pulling me close.

I open my eyes and find myself staring into metallic grey eyes that bore into my soul and make me feel like the only person in this crowded room.

And in that moment, everything freezes.

The music fades. The lights blur. Time stops, and I’m just… here. With him.

With prince charming.

His hands rest on my waist, my body pressed against his, his eyes holding mine hostage.

Then he smiles.

It’s small, barely there, but it changes his whole face, softening the sharp edges.

“Easy there,” he says.

Carefully, he guides me back to my stool and sets me down.

But the moment he lets me go, I’m standing again.

This time I don't fall, but I wobble, gripping the bar for support.

"Stay put," he says.

“And who exactly do you think you are, telling me to stay put, hmm? You’re not my dad, so stop telling me what to do,” I snap, glaring at him.

My words come out more confused than angry.

He smirks, and with slow, deliberate steps, he moves closer to me.

Instantly, my heart races.

I step back until my back hits the edge of the counter, the hard wood stopping me in my tracks.

He keeps moving, stopping just a few inches away from me.

Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face.

Then his cologne hits me—intense, expensive, intoxicating.

It wraps around my senses, muddling my already drunk brain until I can't think straight.

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“I could be your dad…” He trails his tongue along my ear. Every hair on my body stands on end. “…If you’d like me to.”

His words send shivers curling down my spine, plunging straight into my pussy.

Instinctively, my thighs squeeze together, trembling around the relentless throb.

He leans back, studying my face with those grey eyes, a slow smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue?” he teases.

“I… I have to go,” I stammer.

I really have to go now.

Before I do something stupid.

Before I throw myself at this stranger and destroy whatever’s left of my dignity.

I push past him, wobbling on unsteady legs.

I barely make it two steps before my gaze snags on a booth in the corner.

I see Andrew.

And Jessica.

She’s straddling him, moving against him, her mouth locked to his.

His hands grip her waist, dragging her closer, like he can’t get enough.

Like they’re the only two people in the world.

Like I never existed to him.

Like the last three years of us being together meant nothing.

Anger floods through me, burning away the sadness that had tightened my chest just seconds ago.

Andrew’s having fun.

He's moving on.

While I'm here, crying over him like a child...

Why should he be the only one having fun?

Why can't I?

Without thinking, I turn around.

Prince Charming is still there, standing a few feet away, his grey eyes fixed on me, waiting.

I close the distance between us in a heartbeat, grab the lapels of his expensive suit, and pull him down to me.

My lips crash into his.

For one terrifying second, nothing happens.

Then I feel it—his lips curve into a smile against mine.

His hand comes up, sliding into my hair, tilting my head back.

And he kisses me back.

It's not gentle. It's not soft.

It's deep and consuming and exactly what I need right now.

I cling to him, my fingers twisting in his suit, and I kiss him like he's the only thing keeping me from drowning.

When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping for air.

His grey eyes are darker now, burning straight into my entire being.

And as I stare into them, only one thought dominates my mind—a single reckless request I know I’ll regret in a few hours.

But I don’t care.

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear, and whisper,

“Please… fuck me, daddy.”