Old-Fashioned

Chapter 2

  

  Lyra

  

  Sitting at the bar, I glanced down at my drink—a rich, amber-colored Old Fashioned. Classy, potent, the kind of drink that wasn’t made to be sipped but savored. Or in my case, chugged, I thought dryly as I finished off the last of it, the burn of the whiskey trailing down my throat, warming everything but the cold ache in my chest.

  

  I’d come to New York for love, for something beautiful, something new, but the only thing I’d found here was heartbreak, sharp and raw. The ring. The Maldives. The stupid little dreams I’d been saving up for. My fingers drummed against the bar, wanting another drink to drown the bitterness that kept bubbling up. It was easier to let the alcohol numb me, easier to ignore the way my heart clenched every time I thought about Ethan and her.

  

  I caught the bartender’s eye, raising my empty glass. “Another,” I said, my voice low, trying to sound as unbroken as I could manage. He gave a small nod and went to make it without a word. Here, no one cared who I was or what my story was, and right now, that suited me just fine.

  

  The club was loud, pulsating with lights that cast everyone in shades of blue and red. Couples swayed and clung to each other on the dance floor, their faces blurred in the dim light. Some were kissing, others just lost in the music, in their own worlds, not a care in sight. It was almost laughable. Look at them, a wry smile tugging at my lips, though it felt hollow. Completely clueless. So wrapped up in their little worlds. I took a shaky breath, feeling the sting of tears, but I pushed them down. I didn’t come here to cry. I came here to forget.

  

  And yet, every now and then, my mind dragged me back to that sickening scene in Ethan’s office. His hands on Clarissa, her fingers in his hair, their mouths pressed together like they couldn’t get enough of each other. All while I was standing in the doorway, like the stupid, oblivious girlfriend coming to surprise him.

  

  “Ugh, fuck!” I cursed out loud, slamming my hand down on the bar. A few people glanced over, but I didn’t care. I raised my middle finger to the crowd, laughing bitterly at my own ridiculousness. Of course no one cared. No one in this place was paying attention to anyone but themselves. That was the beauty of it.

  

  The bartender slid another Old Fashioned my way, and I nodded, muttering, “Thanks.” I lifted the glass to my lips, savoring the first sip, letting it soothe the fire of my anger, even if only for a moment. It didn’t fix anything, but it was something.

  

  I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and I knew, without looking, that it was Ethan. He’d been calling nonstop since I’d left his office, and each time, I’d let it ring out. Good. Let him stew. I didn’t want to hear his pathetic excuses, didn’t want to listen to him try to explain away something so…obvious. The truth was clear, and no amount of begging or pleading would change what I saw.

  

  Finishing my drink, I glanced over at the bartender. “The bill,” I murmured, a little laugh escaping me as I thought about how much I’d probably racked up tonight. As if I haven’t already made enough terrible decisions for one day. The bartender nodded and handed me the receipt. I glanced down at the number, stifling a groan as I saw just how much I’d let my pain cost me tonight.

  

  I fumbled through my purse to pay the bartender, barely able to stop myself from laughing as I handed over the cash, the whiskey still warming my veins. Just as I turned to leave, he called after me.

  

  "Hey, don’t forget this," he said, holding up a small, worn black notepad. My notepad.

  

  “Oh, God, thanks,” I said, snatching it from him, my voice a bit louder than I’d intended. I laughed, a bit deliriously, as I looked at the little notebook. The couple's notebook. I'd bought a matching set for me and Ethan, complete with fancy pens and leather covers. The perfect gift for a "perfect" couple. How ironic.

  

  I flipped open the first page, smiling despite the anger simmering inside. My eyes fell on the list I’d written just hours before, in the haze of shock and fury after storming out of Ethan's office. In scrawled ink, I saw the title: How to Ruin a Cheater’s Life. A wicked smile spread across my face as I read over it again. Ten bullet points, three of them already filled in, with a few more ideas forming. I shoved the notebook deep into my coat pocket, thanked the bartender with a tipsy wink, and stepped out of the bar.

  

  The January air hit me like a slap to the face, sharp and cold, cutting right through my drunken haze. It brought a bit of clarity, like snapping awake after a nightmare, but I was still too intoxicated to care much about the sting in my cheeks or the way my breath fogged up in front of me. 9 p.m.—the night had barely started, but I already felt as if I’d lived a whole saga today.

  

  Hailing a cab, I slid into the back seat and leaned back, telling the driver the address of my hotel. As we pulled away, I looked out at the familiar New York streets passing by, memories seeping through the cracks in my armor.

  

  Four years. Four years of my life I’d spent in New York—our college days, walking hand-in-hand through these streets, making plans, dreaming of the future. This was supposed to be our city. Even after moving to D.C., this had still been our place. But now, the city felt like it had swallowed me up, chewed me through, and spat me out onto these frigid streets, empty and humiliated.

  

  He hadn’t just cheated; he’d betrayed every memory, every promise. Seven years, thrown away because he couldn't keep it together in the moment.

  

  The cab driver shot me a worried look in the mirror, probably picking up on my anger, my muttering, or the fact that I was openly cursing Ethan’s name under my breath.

  

  “Everything okay back there?” he asked cautiously.

  

  “Just peachy,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. And then, as if speaking it aloud made it feel more true, I said, “Actually… drop me somewhere else.” I gave him Ethan’s address.

  

  I wasn’t going to slink back to my hotel in defeat. Not yet. My phone buzzed again in my coat pocket—another call from Ethan that I ignored without hesitation. I wasn’t about to spend another sleepless night wrestling with his lies and fake apologies. No. I needed action, a little revenge to even the scales. And I had an idea.

  

  A dark thrill started to build in my chest as I thought about what lay ahead, about what I was going to do once I got there. People think revenge is messy, But really, it’s about precision. About making them feel every ounce of the betrayal they inflicted.

  .

  .

  .

  

  As the cab pulled up to Ethan’s place, I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I’d come here with a plan—a fierce, ruthless plan—but right now, my head was still spinning, and the whiskey was making everything seem a little blurred around the edges. Just get out of the car, Lyra. March up there and beat the shit out of him. 

  

  I reached for the door handle, but my eyes landed on a sight that stopped me in my tracks. It was Ethan, standing right outside his door, looking a complete mess. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled—like he’d spent the night tearing himself apart instead of savoring whatever victory he thought he’d won. And then I saw him. Anthony. The guy from the office, with that ever-present badge and an exasperated look I’d somehow missed in my earlier rage. He stood there, carrying a massive bouquet of flowers—this time easily twice the size of the last—and a basket overflowing with an absurd array of treats.

  

  Before I could think twice, the driver turned, his impatience practically written in all caps on his face. “Miss, are you getting out or—?”

  

  “Shh!” I waved him off, motioning for him to drive closer. He sighed, grumbling something under his breath, but he moved the car a little closer, and I leaned forward, ducking low so I could listen in without being seen. 

  

  “Just call her, man,” Anthony was saying, his voice laced with frustration. “Look, I have things to do. I need to get back, but I can’t until she gets these things. Boss’s orders.”

  

  Ethan let out a bitter laugh, rolling his eyes. “And I’m telling you, I don’t know where she is! I called her a dozen times. Do you think she’s picking up?” He ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. “She didn’t come here. I’ve no clue where she went, alright?”

  

  I felt a strange pang in my chest, a mix of anger and humiliation. So he wasn’t calling because he cared, I realized. He was calling because his coworker was forcing him to.

  

  I kept watching, almost hypnotized, as Anthony’s face hardened. “Give me the stuff, and I’ll make sure she gets it when she comes back,” Ethan said, reaching for the bouquet and basket as though it were the most logical solution.

  

  But Anthony jerked back, his gaze icy. “No can do. Mr. Lennox gave me this job personally. I’m supposed to deliver this to her, and I don’t leave until I do. That’s the deal.”

  

  I had to stifle a laugh. Well, well, looks like your little ego isn’t enough to push everyone around, Ethan. I leaned in closer, barely daring to breathe.

  

  “Relax, man,” Ethan scoffed. “Boss’s orders or not, she’s not even important. Just a nobody. You don’t have to take this so seriously.” I felt my stomach twist at his words. I wanted to storm out of the car and punch him, right then and there, for every single lie, every empty promise, every laugh we’d shared that he’d stomped into the ground without a second thought.

  

  The driver cleared his throat again, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Miss, look, are you gonna keep me hostage here? I have other rides, you know.”

  

  I shot him a glare, shoved a few bills into his hand, and told him to wait. “Just five minutes more, alright?” But the man only shook his head, taking my money with a shrug.

  

  “I’m out, lady. Good luck with whatever this is.” He sped off, leaving me alone, shivering as the night air bit into my flushed cheeks.

  

  Turning back toward the scene, I heard Anthony’s steely response. “Mr. Lennox’s orders are a command, and I take them seriously. Whether you think she’s important or not doesn’t matter.”

  

  Ethan rolled his eyes, his tone mocking. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a little soft spot for her yourself."

  

  Anthony didn’t flinch, though a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “Trust me, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he replied. “I just need to do my job, and if that means waiting until she’s here to accept this, I will. End of story.”

  

  Ethan’s face twisted with irritation, and he turned on his heel, clearly fed up. “Trouble in paradise?” Anthony called after him with a smirk, and Ethan shot him a nasty glare before slamming his door shut.

 

  I stepped out from the shadows, giving Anthony a long, appraising look as he stood there, bouquet and basket still clutched in his hands.