Chapter Two

After leaving the apartment, I drive around for a while before I find myself at the one place I knew I would inevitably come to.

I stand in front of a cute bungalow, my hand hovering over the doorbell.

I let out a slow breath and press it.

A few seconds pass.

Then footsteps.

The door swings open to reveal a woman with blonde hair packed into a messy bun at the top of her head. She’s wearing an oversized yellow shirt with what looks like a ketchup stain on the front. Her blue eyes find mine.

“Anna? When did you get back? I didn’t know you were…”

I don’t let her finish before I launch myself into her arms.

Her familiar warmth and scent envelop me.

She stiffens in surprise, then quickly pulls back, holding me at arm’s length as she scans my face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

I open my mouth to speak.

Nothing comes out.

And then it hits.

Hot tears stream down my face.

She doesn’t hesitate, just pulls me inside and wraps me in a tight hug.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m on her couch, a box of tissues in my lap, my face a mess.

“Girl… what happened?” she asks softly. “You? Crying like this?”

This is Emily Sanders.

My best friend of ten years.

And so I tell her everything.

By the time I’m done, she’s pacing.

“That snake, she did what?” she snaps. “I swear to God, I will pull out all her hair, her fake lashes and as for that buffoon? I will kill him. How could they?”

I can’t help it, I laugh.

“Calm down, Em. Such violent thoughts.”

“No, Anna. I will kill them.”

“You are such a mother hen.”

“Yes,” she shoots back, dropping beside me and pulling me into a hug, “and you are my chick.”

She rubs my back gently.

“How do you feel, baby?”

I sigh.

“You know she always does this, right? Take my things… and now she’s taken my man.”

Emily pulls back slightly. “That’s because she’s insecure. And a man cannot be taken if he’s yours.”

I swallow.

“He said men don’t like women like me. That I’m too… unreachable. What if he’s right?”

Her expression hardens instantly.

“That bastard,” she mutters. “No, Anna. You are just too much for him. He feels threatened. Real men don’t want their women to shrink.”

I nod slowly.

We sit in silence for a moment.

Then—

“Are you hungry? I made something.”

I turn to look at her.

“You? Cooking? No, thanks.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me? I made something and it’s… edible.”

“Em. Nothing you make is edible.”

She pouts. “Fine. I’ll order pizza.”

“Better. Let’s watch a movie. I need a distraction.”

Her eyes light up instantly.

“Speaking of distraction, I have the perfect one for you tonight.”

I groan. “What now?”

“There’s this club event I was invited to. Exclusive. Fancy. All the right people. And I need a plus one. I was supposed to go with James… but you’re coming with me.”

Emily is an actress. A popular one. She gets invited to things like this all the time.

“Club?” I raise a brow.

“Yes, baby. You need this.”

“What about James?”

“I’ll handle him.”

She’s already dialing his number.

I lean back and zone out.

“Done,” she says a moment later. “He agreed. Now let’s get you ready.”

I roll my eyes.

Emily loves playing dress-up.

“There’s one last problem,” I say.

“What?”

“I don’t have anywhere to stay. I’m not going back there.”

She freezes.

Then slowly turns to me.

“Anna… don’t piss me off.”

I blink.

“I have a two-bedroom bungalow. Where exactly do you think you’re staying?”

“I just don’t want to inconvenience you…”

“I didn’t know we do inconveniences in this friendship,” she cuts in. “Have I been inconveniencing you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean…”

“You can stay here for as long as you want,” she says firmly, taking my hands. “You don’t need my permission. You’re my best friend.”

My chest tightens.

“What would I do without you?”

“Die,” she says simply. “Now, where’s your box?”

“In the car.”

“Good. Let’s go get it. Then we remind you who you are.”

Four hours later, we are at the garage of the club, and I’m in the passenger seat of Emily’s car.

“You better get your ass out of my car, or I will drag it out,” Emily threatens.

“I don’t know how you convinced me to wear this out of the house,” I sulk, tugging at the hem of my extremely short, sparkling halter-neck green dress.

“Same way I’m going to convince you to wear it into the club. Girl, you are sexy, and you need to embrace it.”

Emily had gone all out. Her dress is a bold black mini with her back completely exposed, paired with red stilettos. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her smokey eyes and red lipstick making her look effortlessly dazzling.

She looks amazing.

As for me, Emily has curled my long brown hair into soft waves, kept my makeup simple—nude lips, gold eyeshadow, fluttering lashes—and paired the dress with gold strappy heels.

Emily is stunning—beautiful face, banging body.

I sigh and step out of the car, pulling at the ends of the dress in the hopes of making it longer.

“You’ll fray it,” Emily says, shutting the car door and taking my hand. “Come on.”

The music grows louder as we approach. A long line stretches along the entrance.

Emily doesn’t slow down.

She walks straight past the line, heels clicking against the pavement.

We meet a bouncer at the door. Emily’s name is on the list, and we are granted immediate access.

We step inside.

The music is louder, but refined.

Deep bass hums through the room, smooth and deliberate, like everything here was designed, not thrown together.

The bass vibrates through the floor, up my legs, settling somewhere in my chest. Purple, blue, and gold lights shimmer across the room, catching glasses, glittering dresses, and moving bodies. Exotic dancers move across the floor in fluid, practiced motion, while smaller groups mingle around the bar and private booths.

Emily picks up two glasses of champagne from a bartender and passes me one.

“Liquid courage,” she winks, and we both drink.

A man makes his way toward us. He looks like he is in his late twenties—tall and casually handsome, with short, neat hair and a warm, easy smile. Dressed in a crisp shirt and jeans, he looks like someone who belongs in the room without trying too hard.

Emily and he exchange pleasantries.

Then she introduces us.

“Jamal, this is my best friend, Anastasia Kingsley. Ana, Jamal, the owner of the club.”

“Nice to meet you, Anastasia,” he says, extending a hand.

“Likewise,” I reply, surprised when he presses a soft kiss to the back of my hand.

“So… what do you think?” he gestures around the club.

“It’s really nice. I like the ambiance,” I say, honestly.

“Yeah, Jamal, you did well,” Emily agrees.

He grins at us. “I’m glad you ladies like it. Come with me.”

He leads the way toward the private section, and we follow.

Dimmer. Velvet seating. Crystal glasses. Bottles already waiting. More exotic dancers.

Because it’s a private section, there are fewer people.

Emily makes her way toward a group of people. She does introductions—they are her colleagues.

She easily slips into conversation with them. She always has a way with people.

I don’t engage in much talk. Instead, I observe and take sips of my wine that had been offered to me.

“Careful, love, that’s your fourth glass,” Emily whispers to me after a while.

I give her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Em.”

She studies me. I smile again, and she hesitates before turning back to the conversation.

My mind wanders.

Why would they do that to me?

I remember our engagement party six months ago. Tristian smiling at me like I’m the only thing he sees.

Were they seeing each other then?

How long has their affair been going on?

Suddenly, the music feels too loud and the place too crowded. I need space. Quiet.

So I lean into Emily.

“Em, I want to use the restroom.”

“Let me come with you,” she says, already standing.

“No, love, I’m fine. I just want to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” I assure her.

“Okay. If I don’t see you in fifteen minutes, I’m coming.”

“Yes, mother,” I tell her with a roll of my eyes.

I get up, and that’s when I feel the effect of the wine. The floor beneath me seems unsteady, but I manage my way to the restroom.

The room is empty, and the hum of the music softens.

I lean over the sink, taking deep breaths, steadying the chaos inside me.

My eyes burn, so I tilt my chin up to prevent tears from falling.

The door to the restroom opens.

I have company.

I will myself to control my emotions, and once they are in check—

“Hey, girl, do you have a…”

My question dies in my throat when I notice that my company is a man.

A sexy, beautiful man.

Tall and impeccably built—not bulky, but the kind of physique that suggests both strength and effortless control. His hair is dark, slightly tousled, long enough to fall over his forehead.

His eyes… sharp, alert, and a shade of deep brown that seems to see more than you want at first glance. They hold an intensity that can make you cower.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked lazily into black dress pants, sleeves casually rolled, he exudes wealth, confidence and a bit of arrogance.

My eyes lock with his, his dancing with mischief.

“Pervert, what are you doing here? This is the ladies’ room,” I accuse.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, voice deep and velvety.

“It’s the men’s room."