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~Rylee~

I don’t know what disappointed me more—finding out that my boyfriend of three years played house with another woman in our home or the fact that I couldn’t even put a bullet between his other woman’s eyes because she was my sister.

Just minutes ago, I was grinning from ear to ear, dashed out of the cab straight from the airport.

Working twenty-four seven for Klaus Martinelli was damn exhausting. I craved the familiarity of my own place, the comfort of my own bed, and the arms of the man I hold dearly in my heart.

But the sight of my boyfriend tangled in my Egyptian cotton sheets with my sister made working for that infuriating Italian a sweet wonderland.

So I did what a rational human being would. I woke them up and threw them out of my place, but that’s when things went south. You’d think they’d have the decency to volunteer and leave on their own accord, but no.

“This is my house too!” claimed Mason. He didn’t bother covering up and started an argument with a pissed-off me in his birthday suit.

Honestly, this version of him came as a surprise. He was my sweet and caring Mason, the man I fell in love with. The one who made me believe that love truly exists. He was the guy who patiently waited a month for a yes to a coffee date. The guy who fainted on a five-mile marathon so he could impress me. The guy who practically filled this house with sweet little gifts since we started dating.

But now that he’s enumerating all the things he bought for this house and the work he exerted when he moved in and the share he had on the mortgage, I’m losing grip on my patience. But my eyes remained drilled into Kara. Like a lost puppy, she sat on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, the sheets pulled up to her chest.

“How much?” I hissed, eye hawking Kara.

There was no physical resemblance between us. She got our mother’s look. Dark hair, pretty blue eyes, full lips that women pay thousands of dollars to have, and fair skin. In comparison, I got the looks of my father. No wonder Mason fell for her beauty. She was the perfect poor princess, a damsel in distress; I know so because I had been a victim of that face and those eyes.

“What?” Mason asked, astounded by my question.

“How much do I owe you?” I pinched my eyes close, taking a few calming breaths.

“Owe me?” Mason asked, laughing crudely. “Well,” he glanced around, his mind calculating. “You owe me ten thousand dollars!”

I nearly choked at the absurd amount of his claim.

“Send me the bill, I’ll wire you the money. Just get out of my sight,” I said through gritted teeth, just needing this conversation over with. I was barely holding my anger in. If they’re not out of my sight in the next two seconds, I might end up doing something I will surely regret.

“Are you sure you can pay me in full?” jeered Mason. “No. I’m not leaving. This is my house, and I have the right to remain here as long as I want-“

The last strand of my patience snapped. I pulled out the Glock concealed in my waistband. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“What the fuck, Ry?!” Mason raised his hands, paling. His eyes widened like dinner plates, astounded at seeing this side of me.

‘God. Did he assume I would just roll over and cry in one corner?’ In his defense, that’s the Rylee he bumped into three years ago, a shy girl waiting tables in a biker’s bar in Florida. It was a coverup for a job. I thought I was lucky to snag a knight in shining armor like Mason, who stood up for me when a drunk biker groped my ass.

Well, fuck him. I’m not that shy girl, and apparently, he is not a knight in shining armor, but a nightmare I believed to be a dream.

“Yeah. What the fuck...” A humorless laugh tumbled past my lips. “That’s the same question I wanted to ask,” I said, glancing at him and Kara.

“Put the gun down.” It’s funny what meeting the other end of the gun did to his tough-guy act. He appeared so valiant; chest puffed out, determination searing in his brown eyes. I loved those eyes. Those golden hazel hues which saw me as the most beautiful woman in the world.

“D-do you even know how to use that?” stuttered Mason.

I loved this gun, a parting gift from Sir Markus Martinelli. Wasting a bullet in this fucker’s head is the last thing I wanted to do. But I released the safety, just to scare him. The spooked look on his face as his knees buckled was epic; I almost forgot why I had my gun pointed at his head.

“Don’t test me, Mason,” my eyes flitted to Kara. “Just get the fuck out and take ‘her’ with you.”

Inside this room, Mason was the only person oblivious to what I actually do for a living. Kara moved and got dressed in silence. Good. At least she was wise to keep her mouth shut, grabbed Mason’s hand and walked out of my house.

The slamming of the door cued my tears to fall. I flopped on the floor, pulled my knees to my chest, hugging myself.

Now that I am alone, I realize how pathetic I have been. I’ve seen how cruel this world can be, dealt with situations worse than a cheating lover, yet I still believed in happily ever after. That maybe there was one person in this world meant to be my better half—someone who would give me the family and love I longed to have.

But all I learned from this experience is that love is pain; love is cruel. I swore never to let love rule my world again.