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 on
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