Chapter 2

Lyra's heels clicked down the hallway, leaving me alone with the weight of her words crushing my chest. I gripped the marble counter, my knuckles white against the stone. The bathroom's soft lighting cast shadows across my face in the mirror - I barely recognized the woman staring back.

Seven years. Seven years of memories in that bed. The first time he'd pulled me close, whispered that he loved me. Countless Sunday mornings tangled in those silk sheets, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin.

Bile rose in my throat. Tuesday. While I'd been learning about aperture settings and shutter speeds, dreaming of capturing our future together, he'd been...

My stomach heaved. I lurched for the toilet, but nothing came up. Just dry, silent retches that shook my whole body.

The counter felt cool against my forehead as I pressed it there, fighting back tears. I wouldn't cry. Not here. Not where they could see the mascara tracks on my cheeks and know they'd won.

The same bed. Our bed. The sheets I'd spent a month's salary on because he'd mentioned loving silk against his skin. He'd taken her there deliberately, tainted every memory we'd built in that space.

My reflection trembled in the mirror.

I smoothed my hands down my dress, adjusted my hair. Forced my breathing to steady. The tears burned behind my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. Not yet. Not until I was alone, away from their cruel smiles and knowing glances.

Seven years of memories, destroyed in one afternoon on silk sheets.

I walked back, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like lead. Garrett and Lyra sat across from each other at a pristine white tablecloth, their soup bowls steaming between them. The picture-perfect couple. My stomach twisted.

I slid into the empty chair beside Garrett. His jaw clenched, shoulders tensing as I settled in. The air felt thick enough to choke on.

Lyra's red lips curled into that knowing smirk, but the moment Garrett glanced her way, her expression crumpled. Those perfectly lined eyes went wide and wounded, like a kicked puppy. My fingers itched to slap that fake look off her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Garrett's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade.

"What?" I stared at him, thrown by the venom in his tone.

He slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware rattle. "Don't play innocent. How dare you speak to Lyra that way about her mother? Her mother just passed away, and you have the nerve to make cruel comments?"

My mouth fell open. The room spun slightly. "I... what? I never said anything about-"

"Stop lying," he snarled. "Lyra told me everything about your little bathroom chat. I knew you could be jealous, but this is low, even for you."

I gaped between them, my mind reeling. Lyra dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, the picture of grief, while Garrett glared at me like I was something scraped off his shoe.

The same man who'd held me last night, kissed my forehead, promised forever - now he believed this stranger's lies without a second thought. Seven years meant nothing in the face of her tears.

The other guests turned to stare, forks frozen halfway to their mouths. Heat crept up my neck as whispers rippled through the room. My humiliation burned deeper with each passing second.

Lyra pressed her perfectly manicured fingers to her chest. "No, Garrett, it's fine. I understand she's... going through things." Her voice wavered as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "We shouldn't make a scene."

The syrupy sweetness in her voice made my skin crawl. Every sob, every trembling lip - a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Shut up!" The words burst from my throat before I could stop them. "Just shut up with your fake crying!"

The crack of Garrett's palm across my face echoed through the silent room. My cheek stung, but the betrayal in that strike cut deeper than any physical pain. I touched my fingers to the spot, still burning from his hand.

Lyra gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror. "Oh God, I can't... I need some air." She pushed back from the table, dabbing at her eyes as she rushed toward the exit.

"Lyra, wait!" Garrett jumped up, knocking his chair backward in his haste to follow her. He didn't spare me a single glance as he chased after her, leaving me alone at the table with dozens of judgmental stares boring into me.

…

I stumbled out of Lyra's penthouse, my legs shaking beneath me. The night air hit my face, cooling the spot where Garrett's hand had struck. A yellow cab crawled past and I waved it down, sliding into the leather backseat.

"Where to, miss?"

I rattled off my address, then slumped against the window. The city lights blurred through my tears, streaking across my vision like shooting stars. Each sob ripped through my chest, but I couldn't hold them back anymore.

Nine years ago, I'd fled from fists and cruel words, leaving everything behind. Now here I was, crying in the back of a cab because I'd let another man hurt me.

No more.

I wiped my eyes roughly with the back of my hand. I was done letting men like Garrett Wolfe destroy me. Done being the weak little girl who ran away.

My phone felt heavy in my purse. I pulled it out, scrolling through my contacts until I found his name. Theron. My finger hovered over the number - the same one he'd had nine years ago when I left. I'd never deleted it, though guilt had stopped me from calling all these years.

My brother. The only person who'd tried to protect me back then. Who'd taken the hits meant for me until I couldn't bear to watch anymore.

The screen blurred as fresh tears welled up. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed call.

One ring. Two rings.

The line clicked. Silence stretched between us, heavy with nine years of unspoken words.

Then, his voice. Deep, familiar despite the years between us.

"Thalia?"

Chapter 3

"Theron?" My voice cracked. The familiarity of his name on my tongue brought back a flood of memories.

"How... how are you?"

"I'm fine, Thalia." A pause. "Are you okay? You sound sad."

My breath caught. After all these years, he could still read me like a book. "I'm..." The lie died on my lips. "No. No, I'm not okay."

"What happened?"

I gripped the phone tighter, watching the city lights blur past the cab window. "Life here... it's not what I thought it would be. I thought I could make it work, but..." A tear slid down my cheek. "I want to come back, Theron."

"Come home." No hesitation. No questions. Just two words that wrapped around me like a warm embrace. "I'll send you an address. Stay there until we figure things out."

Two hours later, I sat perched on the edge of a pristine hotel bed, staring at the door. My hands twisted in my lap as footsteps approached from the hallway.

The knock made me jump. My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the door. Part of me expected - dreaded - to see Garrett standing there.

But when I opened it, I found myself face-to-face with a stranger. Tall, with tousled dark hair and striking green eyes that seemed to look right through me. A leather jacket hung from his broad shoulders, and the shadow of stubble darkened his jaw.

"Thalia?" His voice was deep, with a hint of roughness. "I'm Zephyr. Theron sent me to check on you."

I hesitated in the doorway, studying him. There was something about the way he carried himself - confident but not threatening. His eyes were kind, despite their intensity.

"May I come in?"

I stepped aside, letting him enter. The room felt smaller with his presence, though he moved with a casual grace that didn't seem imposing.

"How are you holding up?" His eyes scanned the room, lingering on my hastily packed bag.

"I'm okay." I crossed my arms, fighting the urge to fidget. "Just... processing everything."

"That's understandable." He leaned against the wall, hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

"So... how long have you known my brother?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "A while."

"That's vague."

"I'm a vague person." His response came with a hint of humor, but offered no real insight.

I tried again. "What do you do?"

"Work with Theron." He checked his watch. "The limo will be here in ten minutes. We'll stop by your place first, grab what you need, then head straight to the airport."

"Limo?" I blinked. "That's... excessive."

"Standard procedure."

"Standard for what?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

He just smiled, that same mysterious half-smile that revealed nothing. "Your brother likes to take care of things properly."

The casual mention of a limo, the expensive hotel room, this man who looked like he'd stepped out of an action movie - none of it aligned with the brother I remembered. Theron had always been ambitious, but this level of luxury? Who had he become in these nine years?

"You seem surprised," Zephyr observed.

"I just... didn't expect all this. The hotel, the limo..." I gestured vaguely. "Who exactly are you, Zephyr?"

"Just someone your brother trusts." He straightened up as his phone buzzed. "Limo's early. Ready to go?"

I stepped into the limo, my fingers trailing over the buttery leather seats. The interior gleamed with polished wood and chrome accents.

"This is..." I shook my head, sinking into the plush seat.

Zephyr slid in beside me, his presence filling the space. "Not what you expected?"

"No. I mean, Garrett has money, but this..." I gestured at our surroundings. "This is different."

"Different how?"

"More... refined? Expensive?" I traced the leather stitching. "I don't know how to explain it."

The drive to my apartment passed in a blur of city lights and questions I couldn't voice. Zephyr remained quiet, but I felt his eyes on me more than once.

The limo pulled up to my building. "I'll wait here," Zephyr said. "Just grab what you need."

I nodded and headed inside, my keys jingling in my trembling hands. The elevator ride felt endless. My mind raced with thoughts of what to pack, what to leave behind.

The apartment door opened silently, and as I stepped inside, my world shattered.