CHAPTER 1- RHEA'S POV

Out of all the men in the world, the one I had hooked up with twelve hours ago was sitting across the table from me—sipping my father’s wine while discussing his engagement to my sister.

Yes, My Sister!

My chest tightened, and I felt my stomach drop. The fork in my hand trembled.

I stole a quick glance at them. His fingers were entwined with hers, a half-smile resting on his lips. The same fingers that had left marks around my neck. The same lips that had swept across my whole body.

I moved my hand to the hickey behind my neck and rubbed it gently. Our eyes met, and a flicker of something passed through his, causing a knot to form in my stomach.

I quickly looked away and stabbed at the beef on my plate, startling my mother.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I wanted—so badly—to say no, I wasn’t. But my eyes caught his again, and I forced a bite, chewing slowly, feeling his gaze linger on me out of the corner of my eye.

Why wouldn’t he just fucking look away?

12 HOURS AGO

“FUCK!” I yelled, yanking the already burnt cake from the oven and dropping it onto the counter.

“What happened?” Lana asked, stepping into the kitchen now covered in smoke.

I groaned, dragging a hand over my face, disappointed in my nonexistent cooking skills.

“The cake’s burnt.” Obviously.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh at my failed attempt to bake for Lana’s twenty-first birthday. I pulled off the oven mitts and tossed them beside the burnt offering.

“Rhea, you did not!” Lana laughed, a snort escaping her as she examined the cake.

“This is how you appreciate my effort?” I popped the Coke can I grabbed from the fridge to calm my nerves.

Lana snapped her head in my direction as I gulped the Coke in one go. “In what world has Rhea Bennett ever baked a fucking cake?” Her laughter filled the kitchen again, and I rolled my eyes, crushing the can and tossing it at her.

I hated to admit she was right. Growing up, I had never felt the need to prepare my meals. The Bennetts—my family—thought it was unnecessary for us to learn how to. Vanessa and I never really thought much of it. We had staff who did everything for us—even tying our shoelaces. Now I couldn’t even make noodles without reading the instructions twice.

“It’s okay. It’s the thought that matters,” Lana shrugged, smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

Lana had been my best friend since fifth grade. We did everything together and were even called twins at some point, even though we looked nothing alike. She was the kind of pretty you only saw in magazines and on TV—blonde hair, blue eyes, and a figure that belonged on the front page of Vogue. Meanwhile, I was just a rich, average-looking girl.

Still, we bonded so much that we ended up applying to Columbia together—and sharing an apartment.

“At least you didn’t burn the house down.”

My smile faded instantly. I should’ve known it was sarcasm. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

“I know, darling. I know,” she said, hiding a grin. “So… what are we going to do with your chocolate cake?”

I pressed my lips into a thin line, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s not chocolate,” I muttered under my breath, avoiding her eyes.

Lana scoffed, her eyes widening in disbelief. I didn’t blame her—it did look like a chocolate cake, even though it was supposed to be vanilla cream.

She lifted her chin. “Rhea, baby, don’t ever bake again. Okay?”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

My phone rang, and I quickly pulled it out of my joggers pocket. The name flashed across the screen, and I hesitated for a second before answering.

“Rhea, hey! How are you?” Vanessa’s voice came through the line.

“I’m good.... is there a problem?”

Vanessa rarely called me. Even though we were biological sisters, we acted more like strangers. So yeah—this was definitely about something.

“Mom, Dad, and I wanted to know if you were still coming for dinner tomorrow?”

Shit. I had completely forgotten.

I had been distant from my parents my whole life, and it got worse after I started school. They never really bothered to reach out—except now, apparently.

“You know, Darnell—my fiancé? He’s coming into town today. We were wondering if you could make it.”

I rolled my eyes, and beside me, Lana almost let out a laugh.

Vanessa had gotten engaged last week to some guy I didn’t even know, and now they suddenly wanted me there to complete some perfect little family portrait.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, even though there was maybe a one-percent chance I would actually show up.

I could hear her chewing gum through the phone.

“Okay. See you.”

And just like that, she hung up.

I sighed, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “Family drama,” I muttered.

Lana laughed. “So…” she started, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’re going out.”

My brows furrowed as a hundred questions ran through my head. I wasn’t surprised—of course she wanted to party; it was her birthday. The problem was how, with the ankle monitor around her left leg.

“You know that’s not possible, right?”

“Who said it isn't?” she shrugged, completely unbothered—which only made my worry grow.

“It’s not!” I shot back, walking out of the kitchen, not willing to argue.

“Mike can override the system just for the night,” she called after me as I strolled into my room.

Lana was my best friend, but not calling her out when she was about to make a terrible decision made me a terrible friend. I had made that mistake once—I wasn’t doing it again.

“Come on, Rhea. It’s my birthday. I haven’t been out in weeks. I just want to celebrate!” She moved in front of me, blocking my path.

I stopped. Pity flooded my chest, and I knew we were about to make a terrible decision. “Lana… I don’t know.”

“Come on, Rhea, please.” She pouted, and I sighed, glancing around as if the walls could help me decide.

It had been exactly three weeks since I let her go out with her dumbass boyfriend, Mike. He let her get drunk as hell and then left her to drive—she hit a street sign. Thank God she survived, or I would’ve killed him myself.

“Just this once,” I finally agreed, and a wide smile spread across her face.

Fuck. I was a terrible friend.

“You’re the fucking best, you know that?” she said, wrapping me in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

“You can let me go now,” I wheezed.

“Oh shit.” She released me, and I sucked in a deep breath.

“We’re going on one condition,” I said, raising a finger.

She nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“We get back before two.”

“Deal!”

I exhaled slowly, already regretting it. “Okay then.”

“Wait—there’s one more thing,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“What?”

“Mike is coming too.”

My eyes squeezed shut as I tilted my head back, trying to keep my anger from spiraling out of control. I should’ve made it two conditions.

“Lana…” I warned quietly.

“He says he’s sorry. He’s made it up to me.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. You could’ve died!” I snapped.

“But I didn’t—and he’s sorry. Come on.”

Mike had been a pain in my ass since day one. He treated her like shit, but she stayed, blinded by love. Lana could have any guy she wanted, yet she kept going back to him.

“Okay,” I said finally, defeated.

A flicker of hope lit up her face. “Okay?”

I hated Mike, but I wasn’t going to let him ruin her birthday. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

Fuck Mike.

She beamed, and despite everything, the corner of my lips lifted too.

***

I hated parties—the noise, the smell of alcohol, and the people. Especially the people. I wasn’t an introvert, and I wasn’t exactly an extrovert either. I fell somewhere in between. As for Lana—who had been on the dance floor with Mike for the past two hours—I think she spoke for herself.

“You look beautiful, princesa,” a drunk Mexican man slurred, circling me.

“Thank you,” I replied, already uncomfortable. I stood about ten feet from Lana, keeping a close eye on her. God forbid I let anything happen to her again.

The man lingered, leaning in to sniff me, and I stepped back.

“I like your perfume. Do you want to dance?”

If I wanted to dance, I would’ve been on the dance floor.

“No,” I said bluntly, trying to block out the heavy tequila stench.

“You sure you don’t want to dance?” he pressed—

“She said no. Leave.”

Mike.

The man muttered something under his breath and stumbled away.

I turned to Mike with an irritated glare. “I didn’t ask for your help,” I snapped. Of all people to intervene, it had to be him.

“You need to chill out,” he said, grabbing a drink from the counter and downing it in one go.

“You don’t deserve her,” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest.

Mike chuckled, already on his third drink—and that was when it clicked. I turned sharply to where Lana had been just seconds ago.

She was gone.

“Where’s Lana?”