DRUSCILLA

“Oh my goodness, Druscilla! You look absolutely breathtaking in this dress!” Avery’s voice bubbles with excitement as she clasps her hands dramatically.

I can’t help the blush spreading across my cheeks. My gaze lingers on the mirror, drinking in the reflection that hardly feels like mine. The gown is everything I have ever dreamed of—white as fresh snow, the sweetheart neckline glittering with delicate diamonds cascading down to the waistline.

It cinches my waist so perfectly I can barely believe it, and the slit climbing up my thigh reveals just enough of my legs to feel daring without being scandalous.

It is the kind of gown little girls dream about when they clutch pillowcase veils and pretend to marry their dolls. My heart swells.

“Kaila, you outdid yourself,” I say as I turn to my cousin, who is beaming like an artist admiring her finest masterpiece. Kaila isn’t just family; she is one of the most talented designers I know, and years ago, I swore she would be the one to create my wedding gown when I finally marry my college sweetheart.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she replies warmly, her fingers nimble as she helps me ease out of the dress.

“Please, Cilia,” Avery suddenly begs, her hazel eyes widening, her lips pushing into a pout I know too well. “Can I try it on? Just once?”

I arch a brow. My wedding dress? Really?

“I only want to see how I’d look in it,” she adds quickly, tilting her head and giving me the puppy-dog face she perfects back in kindergarten.

Avery is my best friend, my other half. People often mistake us for sisters because we are so inseparable.

I sigh, the corner of my lips tugging upward. “Alright. But only because you look like you’ll burst if I say no.”

“Yay! Thank you, Cilia!” Avery squeals, reaching out eagerly.

Before she can touch it, Kaila snatches the gown from my hands with a sharp shake of her head.

“No way. You can’t wear it,” Kaila says firmly, her designer instincts bristling. “It’s bad luck for the bride. Don’t tempt fate.”

I almost laugh. “Oh, come on, Kaila. I don’t believe in those old superstitions. Avery means no harm—she’s like a sister to me.”

“Yes, Kaila,” Avery adds, batting her lashes. “I promise I’ll be careful. I just want to feel it on me.”

Kaila groans, but I finally press the gown into Avery’s arms.

“Thank you, bestie!” Avery gasps dramatically, clutching the dress as though it is a sacred relic.

Kaila and I exchange a look as Avery wriggles into it, the fabric pulling a little tighter over her figure. She spins before the mirror with all the glee of a child at Christmas.

“Oh la la! This dress looks divine on me!” she twirls, nearly tripping over the hem. “Can’t you see, girls? It is made for me.”

I chuckle softly while Kaila rolls her eyes so hard I think they might stay that way.

Avery presses her hands dreamily over her chest. “I can already imagine myself walking down the aisle, all eyes on me…”

“Stop fantasising, Cinderella,” Kaila cuts her off sharply, folding her arms. “Get out of that gown before you ruin it.”

Avery scoffs, wrinkling her nose. “Yes, Mum.”

“I ain’t your mother, spoiled brat,” Kaila fires back.

Their bickering is constant—like fire and gasoline—but it always makes me laugh. Sometimes I wonder how I survive being the bridge between these two. One is my cousin, the other my best friend, and both are hell-bent on disagreeing about everything.

Avery finally peels off the gown and hands it back to me with a grin.

That is when I notice Avery’s pendant. It is exactly like the one I am wearing—a heart-shaped pendant. The very type Isaac gifted me, with a customised keyhole inside it.

“Where did you get that?” I ask, unable to pull my eyes away from it.

Avery smiles, touching the necklace tenderly. “Oh… I—I got it from uuhm… my boyfriend,” she stutters. “After seeing it on you, I asked my boyfriend to get me one.”

“Interesting,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are we twins now?” I add with a chuckle.

“Kinda,” Avery replies.

But I can’t let it go. Why does she always get whatever she sees on me? I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it feels like too much.

Ever since high school, Avery always copies my style. Maybe because we are best friends. But one day, she goes too far. During our final year, she dyed her hair red like mine and wore blue contacts. Our classmates were stunned. Most of them said she was jealous of me.

Is she truly jealous of me?

“Alright, girls, stop the questions already,” Kaila’s voice breaks into my thoughts. She pulls me closer. “Come, babe. I have a surprise for you,” she announces, her eyes glowing with a mischievous wink.

“What surprise?” I ask, my curiosity instantly piqued.

Her lips curve slyly. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. You’ll just have to walk into it.”

I narrow my eyes, amused. “Fine. I’ll play along.”

She reaches into her oversized handbag and pulls out three glossy cards, her eyes sparkling.

“Girls!” she calls, flashing the cards. “We are going to Mi Amor Casa for a proper bachelorette party.”

My jaw drops. “Oh my gosh!”

Avery practically leaps. “Yes! Let’s go shake this city up!”

~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, the three of us step into the largest club in town.

Mi Amor Casa is alive. Music throbs from every speaker, neon lights spin across the dance floor, and laughter mingles with the bass shaking the ground beneath us.

I freeze for a moment, stunned. This is my first time in a club. I am not a party girl—never have been. I prefer quieter joys: books, tea, long walks in the garden. But Kaila and Avery? They are the wild ones, the sparks that set any night aflame.

“This skirt is so short,” I mutter, tugging self-consciously at the hem of the black leather mini they forced me into. The matching butterfly blouse hugs me in ways I am not used to, and the knee-high boots give me a gothic vibe I never dare to explore.

“Stop fussing,” Avery shouts over the music, strutting ahead in a scandalously tight bodycon dress barely containing her curves. “You look hot!”

Kaila is all glitter and glamour in a shimmering red gown, her hips swaying as she leads the way.

We squeeze through writhing bodies until we reach the VIP section and collapse onto plush couches

.

“Wow,” I breathe, wide-eyed, taking in the flashing lights, the pulsing rhythm, the sheer energy of the place. My body instinctively sways to the beat.

Kaila signals for drinks, and soon trays of shots are set before us.

“Tonight, we drink till we drop!” Avery hollers, lifting her glass.

“To Druscilla!” they both cry, clinking their glasses against mine.

“To me,” I echo with a laugh, tapping my glass before downing the shot.

The liquid burns like fire as it sears my throat. I cough violently, fanning my mouth. “Holy hell! People drink this for fun?”

“Easy, girl,” Avery laughs, rubbing my back.

Kaila, already four shots in, stumbles toward the stage and snatches a microphone from the DJ.

“Yoo, y’all!” she bellows, her voice blasting through the speakers.

I cringe, covering my ears. Trust Kaila to make a scene.

The music stops. The crowd freezes. All eyes turn to her.

“I’ve got a very special announcement,” she declares, grinning wildly.

My arms fold over my chest as I watch, torn between dread and affection.

“Tonight, we are celebrating my amazing cousin’s bachelorette party!”

The crowd erupts in cheers. My chest tightens. Tears prick my eyes. This is one of my ten last nights as a single woman.

“But that’s not all,” Kaila adds. “Today also happens to be her birthday!”

My mouth falls open. My birthday. I forgot. Wedding plans consumed me so completely that the date slipped past my mind.

“Druscilla!” Kaila calls, extending her hand. “Come up here!”

Panic spikes in my chest. I am not made for stages or spotlights. My feet root to the floor.

“Go, Druscilla! Go!” the crowd chants.

I swallow hard as my vision blurs with tears. I have never received this much attention in my life.

“Go on,” Avery nudges me gently.

With shaky legs, I climb onto the stage. Kaila wraps me in a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, cousin,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” I murmur as tears spill freely. Call me a crybaby—I don’t care. I always wear my heart on my sleeves.

The fact that Kaila remembers touches me more than words can say. Isaac did not even call today. Maybe he is just too busy with wedding preparations, I tell myself. Still, it stings.

Just then, men in crisp white shirts carry a towering cake onto the stage.

“Wow! You even got me a cake?” I gasp.

Kaila frowns. “That’s not from me.”

“Then it must be Isaac,” I say quickly, hope blooming in my chest. “He must have arranged it.”

“Of course,” Kaila smiles knowingly. “He is such a sweet fiance”.

Warmth spreads through me. Maybe Isaac did not forget after all.

The crowd sings as my name glows in icing:

Happy Birthday, Druscilla. Welcome to Chapter 22 on Earth.

Kaila hands me the knife. “Cut it on the last letter of your name.”

The crowd spells it out—D-R-U-S-C-I-L-L-A—and I slice into the cake.

Cheers erupt. But as I pull the knife free, something catches my eye.

Buried inside the layers of cake is a brown envelope.

My brows knit together. Why would Isaac hide an envelope inside a cake? My pulse quickens as I tug it free, frosting smearing my fingers.

“What’s that?” Kaila asks curiously.

“I don’t know… maybe Isaac left me a surprise,” I whisper, my chest fluttering with nervous excitement.

“Wow, that’s thoughtful,” Kaila smiles.

My hands tremble as I tear open the envelope.

My eyes land on its contents.

My stomach drops.

The cheers fade into a dull roar. My palms turn clammy. I can’t breathe.

What I see inside makes my world spin.

Sweat forms on my forehead as I stare at the picture in my hand. Isaac rides a woman reverse cowgirl. I can't believe it. My own Isaac? My own fiancé? Tears blind my eyes instantly. I can't see the woman's face; whoever took the picture focused only on Isaac.

Tears threaten to spill. It's not real. Maybe it's just a photoshopped image, I tell myself. Whoever sent this just wants to destroy our happy relationship.

Is our relationship really happy? I wonder.

No, it isn't something I can describe as happiness. But it's normal. We're both very busy adults.

"What's it, Cilla?" Kaila's voice cuts through my thoughts. "What's that?" She leans forward, stretching her neck to see. "Is it a love letter?" Her brows lift playfully.

"No," I say curtly, squeezing the picture. My eyes dart around, searching for the men in white who brought the cake to the stage. They clearly aren't Isaac's. Isaac wouldn't sabotage our relationship. So who could it be?

"Cilla? You don't look right," Avery says, concerned. "Did-"

Gunshots explode in the air, cutting her off. Everyone scatters. Avery jumps down from the stage. I can't see where Kaila runs as I duck under the table holding the cake.

My hands tremble as I grab my phone from my bag and dial Isaac. It rings and rings. He doesn't answer.

Gunfire continues. I peek from under the table and see two groups of armed men shooting. Like this is some kind of battlefield?

One man almost catches me. I duck my head and pray they don't see me.

This is it. This is what happens when you defy the law in my family. My parents warned all of us-my siblings and me-never to go to clubs. One of the many strict rules they set for the Hayes girls.

I can already picture my mother's face if she saw the mess I'm in.

Bullets fly everywhere. I'm about to pee on myself. But I try calling Isaac again. This time, he picks up on the second ring.

"Isaac, please come get me out of here," I whisper, voice hushed and careful. I can't risk being caught by these killers.

They might think I'm calling the cops. God, I'm too young to die. I haven't even done half the things on my bucket list.

"Where are you, Druscilla?" he asks.

"What's all that noise?"

"I'm in a club," I whisper.

"What the hell are you doing in a club?" His tone is sharp, judgmental.

"Please come pick me up. This is not the time for judgment-" The phone nearly slips from my hand as a strong grip seizes me by the waist.

I shut my eyes tight. God, is this how I die? My mother will spit on my corpse if the police find me. And I probably won't even see heaven-that's what the pastor always says to rebellious youths.

My feet leave the ground as a body, solid as steel, lifts me into his arms. My heart somersaults when I see him.

Two eyes that don't match-one icy blue, one burning amber. His face is smooth as jade, jawline sharp and perfect.

Jet-black hair frames his face, yet a scar on his brow gives him a dangerously wild edge.

Is the devil this handsome?

I remember our Sunday school teacher saying the devil isn't always ugly. I never believed her-until now.

"Stay down," he commands, low and steady.

I obey instantly. He leads me to a door behind the stage, using his body as a shield from the bullets.

Finally, we are outside the club. I see Isaac opening a car door. When did he get here? I want to run to him, but Avery jumps into the backseat. Isaac climbs in immediately, and the car speeds away.

What the...? He didn't even check on me?

I want to chase his car, scream my lungs out, but Handsome Devil tugs me into his car. Well, he only tugs-but I'm distracted and land on my butt.

"Sit tight," he says, speeding into the night.

My heart races as he drives the opposite way from my destination.

Am I being kidnapped? Why is he taking me?

"Please let me go," I cry, tears streaming.

"What?" He raises a brow, glancing at me through the mirror.

"Please... I'll give you anything. Anything you want," I plead. "I don't want to die. I'm just an innocent girl."

"I don't get you," he mutters, confused.

"I don't know who offended you and your men... maybe it's my family or-" My voice falters. "I just don't want to die."

The car stops on a dark road.

He turns to me. I cringe.

"First, those men weren't my men."

Oh! My heart stilled. He belongs to another gang

"Second, I'm not kidnapping you."

"What?" My mouth drops.

"I saw you hiding under the table. It was too dangerous. You could've been hit by a stray bullet. So I came to rescue you."

Huh? My eyes nearly pop out. He saved me?

I slap my forehead. I've been crying like a fool when he hasn't even hurt me.

Through the tinted window, the street is dark and quiet. No cars, just dim streetlights.

"So, where are we going?" I ask, mouth dry.

"My hotel room," he says casually.

"What?" I gasp. "I can't follow you to your hotel!"

"Then step out and find your way back," he says calmly, as if we weren't on a lonely highway in the middle of the night.

"No. I'll follow you." What am I saying? Follow a man who looks this dangerous? What if he kills me? What if he's a serial killer lying about saving me?

He starts the engine and continue driving.

I glance at a bottle of rum. Perfect.

The only thing that might dull my fear. If I'm drunk when he shoots or stabs me, at least I won't feel the pain.

I reach for it.

"What are you doing?" He smirks, eyes on me and the road.

"I want to drink," I grunt.

He chuckles. "I wouldn't, if I were you. The alcohol content is too high for your tiny frame."

"Better." I gulp. The liquid burns, and I cough violently, shivering.

Handsome Devil frowns and snatches the bottle.

My eyelids feel heavy. "That's right." I smile, tipsy. "It's working."

"You're unbelievable," he mutters.

The car stops atop a hill.

He climbs out and opens the door.

I stumble out, legs wobbling like a newborn lamb.

"Let's go in," he says.

I try to follow, legs shaky.

"What's wrong with your legs?" He looks amused.

"They're... not cooperating," I stammer.

"You're drunk," he grumbles.

"I'm not drunk. My feet are just being disobedient."

He smirks. "That's what drunk people say."

"Let me help you, beautiful." He scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the receptionist.

A key card exchanges hands, and we enter a cozy suite.

"Put me down," I groan.

He sets me gently, standing still, eyes devouring me.

He cups my face, fingers brushing my hair. I shut my eyes, expecting a snap, but he tucks stray strands behind my ear. Warm hands on my neck.

"Beautiful hair," he says.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He steps back, sits on the bed. I stay by the door, curious.

"Why are you staring at me?" His arrogant smile appears.

"Why did you save me?" I ask.

"Because you're beautiful," he says.

I frown. "So if I weren't, you wouldn't?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

A psycho?

"Stop standing there," he says. "Come sit down."

I stay silent. Throat burning, stomach tight.

"I don't bite." He rises, unbuttons his black shirt, tossing it aside.

Tattoos crawl across his skin-dragons, serpents, burning skulls. My eyes widen.

Who is this man? Mafia? Criminal? Mobster?

Run! My instincts scream.

But I can't. I'm rooted, captivated.

"Wanna touch?" he asks.

"Yes-No!" I stammer.

"Why the contradiction, sweetheart?" He smirks, a dimple flashing.

I avert my gaze.

My eyes catch something black, shiny, with a nozzle. I freeze.

Those damn pictures and gifts haunted me the whole drive to work, like ghosts I couldn't shake. My eyes stung, threatening tears for what felt like the fifth time that morning. I blinked hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Isaac wouldn't do that. Not him. He couldn't cheat on me. Could he? The doubt gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Those photos had to be some kind of mix-up, a cruel joke.

I pulled up in front of the venue, the grand hall I'd booked for my client's blowout birthday bash. I killed the engine and stepped out into the biting winter air. Inside, the decorators were already buzzing around, hanging streamers and arranging tables.

I made my rounds, eyes scanning every detail: the corners, the setup, even the back storage room. Funny thing, I thought, weaving through the clutter. Here I am, orchestrating these perfect events for strangers, but when it came to my own wedding, I handed it off to another planner on Patricia's advice. Saved me the headache, sure, but it stung a little.

I was poking at some stacked chairs in the storage room when the door clicked shut behind me. My heart jumped. "Hey! I'm in here! Somebody's locked in!" I rushed over, twisting the knob frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked tight. Shit. How the hell was I getting out? I had a client meeting lined up, and now this?

I yanked my phone from my pocket, fingers fumbling. My boss? No, she was out of town for the weekend. Damn. The cold from the AC mixed with the winter storm outside, seeping through the walls, chilling me to the bone. Isaac. Yeah, call Isaac. I dialed him, my hands shaking, teeth chattering.

"Hey, Dru... I'm busy right now," he answered, voice clipped.

"Please, I need your help right now," I said, my words tumbling out, grinding my teeth against the shiver.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting. I'll call you back," he groaned.

"Isaac, I'm..." The line went dead. He hung up without letting me finish. Just like that.

My legs wobbled beneath me. What now? I'd freeze in here, and no one would find me till tomorrow morning. My mind raced to dark places: curled up, forgotten, gone. No, God, please no. I sank to the floor, bones feeling like jelly, eyelids heavy.

Call him, a voice whispered in my head. Call Ivan.

My weird, crazy-hot stepbrother.

I snatched my phone again, scrolling through contacts. Did I even still have his number? There it was. But was he using the same one? It'd been ages since we talked on the phone. Ivan had cut ties with everyone when he left home, no explanation, just gone.

I hit call without a second thought, praying it'd ring. It did.

Ring.

Ring.

"Druscilla?" His voice came through, low and steady, filling the speaker.

He still had my number? Wow.

"Dru...?"

"Hi, Ivan... Please, I need your help right now," I whimpered, teeth clenching hard.

"Where are you?"

"I'm locked up in a cold storage room. I'm trapped," I whimpered again, voice breaking.

"I'm on my way," he said, and just like that, he hung up. To my shock. How would he even know where? I hadn't told him the address.

Exhaustion hit me then. I must've dozed off on the cold counter, body numb.

A loud crack jolted me awake. The door frame splintered, wood groaning as it gave way. The whole thing crashed down in a heap. And there he stood. Ivan. Looking scorching hot even in this freezing winter mess, blood trickling from his hands.

He rushed over, cupping my face with those bloody palms, his chest heaving. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, eyes searching mine.

Late? I'd called him maybe ten minutes ago. How'd he get here so fast?

He scooped me up, hands firm around my waist, not seeming to care about the blood. Carried me like I weighed nothing.

"Let's get you warmed up," he murmured.

Out in the main hall, he set me down gently. Then he shrugged off his winter jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Warmth flooded me instantly, along with his scent: coffee, chocolate, whiskey. It wrapped around me like his arms had, pulling me in.

How he'd gotten through the front doors with all those security locks?

Ivan was full of mysteries.

"How did you get here so fast?" I asked.

"Tracked your call," he replied casually, rising to his feet.

A very good girl

I know what that black thing is.

A gun.

In an instant, the faint tipsiness swirling in my veins vanishes. My eyes dart to him-Handsome Devil-just as he catches my stare and quickly tucks the weapon beneath his bed.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, his tone awkward, like he just spilled coffee and not revealed something dangerous.

I blink, unsure how to respond. Who apologizes for being seen with a firearm?

This man baffles me.

A yawn escapes me, and I rub at my face. My stomach twists in protest-hunger clawing at my insides. I haven't eaten anything since that miserable piece of toast and lemon tea in the morning. My knees tremble beneath me.

"Are you planning to stand there all night?" he asks, a teasing curl lifting the corner of his lips. "Come sit." He pats the space beside him on the bed.

I shake my head immediately. "No, I'll stay here."

His brows lift. "Why?"

"Because..." My chest heaves. "Because I don't trust a man like you."

He chuckles, low and amused, as if I just told him a secret. "I never asked you to."

"Yes, but I can't," I murmur, eyes flicking over the tattoos etched across his chest. "You look like trouble."

"Dangerous, you mean?" he smirks. "Sweetheart, I just saved your life."

"That doesn't make you harmless," I say before I could hold back my tongue.

He rises from the bed, and I instinctively press my back against the wall. Every step he takes toward me is unhurried, deliberate-his gaze steady, unreadable.

When he stops in front of me, the air thickens. He lifts his arms, placing both hands against the wall above my head, trapping me there without touching me.

His scent-coffee, cedarwood, and something darkly masculine-wraps around me like smoke.

God, he smells divine.

His breath brushes my ear when he speaks. "You're right," he whispers, voice husky. "I'm a bad man. And I'm about to do very bad things to you, little bird... if you let me."

He tilts my chin up with a single finger, his touch featherlight but commanding. My pulse leaps. His gaze traces the curve of my neck, then returns to meet my eyes.

"Stop," I breathe, though my voice trembles with uncertainty rather than fear. "Don't go further."

He stops.

"I'm not the kind of girl you can just touch the way that pleases you," I say, my voice shaking slightly, but I hold his gaze.

He leans back and chuckles, low and deep. "Really?"

"Yes," I shoot back, though my heartbeat drums against my ribs. I don't even know what this man is up to, or why his voice feels like silk against my skin.

"I'm a good girl," the words slip out before I can stop them.

His lips curve into a smirk that could melt ice. "Good girls don't go to clubs or wear this kind of dress, darling," he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery and sin.

Wait-this gangster is seriously judging me?

"I was there because we were celebrating my bachelorette," I say quickly, defensive, like I need him to believe me for reasons I can't explain.

"Interesting." His smile deepens, and I catch it again-that wickedly perfect dimple cutting into his cheek. His left eye, the amber one, glows a little brighter under the dim light.

"Since it's your bachelorette night, why don't you have fun instead of punishing yourself by standing here?"

My brow arches. "I was having fun-with my best friend and my cousin. At least until the shootout."

He chuckles, low and husky. "That's not the kind of fun I'm talking about, sweetheart."

Before I can react, his hand slides to my waist. My back leaves the cold wall, and suddenly there's barely a breath between us.

My pulse jumps. "What kind of fun are you talking about?" I whisper, trembling with curiosity I don't want to admit.

His mismatched eyes travel down to my mouth. The blue isn't cold anymore; it softens, warms, burns with something unspoken.

And the way he looks at me... God. I feel like I'm his favorite dessert-something dark, forbidden, and meant to be devoured.

He stills, the tension in his arms softening. He strokes my arm. "I want to teach you what real fun is, little bird."

Shivers run down my spine. Not from fear. But from excitement. From curiosity.

"You should have a memorable night, something good enough to blur the memory of that shootout," he trails his fingers to my neck.

I feel his pulse against my neck. I've never been touched like this before. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his hand on my skin.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says.

"I don't want to stop," I confess softly.

He smiles-slow, wicked, beautiful. "That's all I needed to hear."

When his lips brush my skin, I gasp. His kiss is gentle at first, a whisper of heat against my throat. My eyes flutter shut as his mouth moves lower, tasting me like something he's craved for far too long. Every breath I take seems to dissolve in the air between us.

My hands, unsure at first, lift to his bare chest. His skin is warm, his heartbeat fierce beneath my palms. He catches my wrists and guides them to stay there, pressed against him, as if he wants me to feel what he's feeling-every wild thud, every restrained urge.

"Do you trust me now?" he whispers against my neck.

"I don't know," I breathe. "But I don't want you to stop."

He draws back slightly, studying my face as though searching for hesitation. Finding none, he kisses me-slowly, deeply. It's not rushed; it's not desperate. It's the kind of kiss that leaves me trembling from the inside out, like I'm being unmade and remade in his arms.

He tastes of chocolate and coffee, dark and addictive.

The world blurs. The air conditioner hums somewhere in the background, but all I feel is his warmth, his breath, the rough edge of his voice when he moans.

Every motion, every sigh, feels like a confession.

When he finally pulls away, I can barely breathe. He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling against my own.

"You should tell me to stop now," he says softly, though his tone carries a thread of longing.

But I can't. My voice is gone, lost to the storm he's set loose inside me.

I'm not afraid anymore. Not of him. Not of what I feel.

Because for the first time in a very long time, I don't feel empty-I feel alive.