Cruel Hero (Forbidden Fruit #2)

Chapter 1

Olivia

T he night our parents died, I didn’t shed a tear.

I sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, clutching Tiffany’s small hand. She was just a child, her wide blue eyes filled with confusion and fear, while I, at sixteen, knew our lives were about to change forever. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the pale walls and the cold plastic chairs.

I remember the doctor’s somber face as he approached us, his words slow and deliberate, as if he thought softening the blow might make it hurt less.

It didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We did everything we could.”

Tiffany’s grip on my hand tightened, her tiny fingers trembling. She looked up at me, searching for answers I didn’t have. I didn’t cry—not then, not when the police came to ask questions, and not when Uncle Dean took us home. I couldn’t. Someone had to be strong for Tiffany. Someone had to hold the pieces together.

But that night, when I finally lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I made a silent promise to our deceased parents. I vowed to keep Tiffany safe, to shield her from the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of our lives. I would be her protector, her guiding light, no matter the cost. Even if it meant burying my grief and fear deep within me.

Little did I know that this promise would lead me years later to reach for my soon-to-be husband’s hand, readying myself for a reunion dinner that would test the very limits of my acting skills.

Alexander Hawthorne, my fiancé, casts a sidelong glance in my direction as our car glides to a smooth stop in front of After Hours, a popular bar in the heart of Empire Heights owned by his family. The neon lights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk, illuminating the faces of the people waiting in line. I smooth down my little black dress, feeling the weight of my mother’s pearl necklace against my collarbone.

We bypass the line, nodding to the bouncer, who immediately steps aside. Inside, the bar thrums with energy. The low lighting and sultry jazz music create an atmosphere of intimacy, despite the crowd.

It’s a perfect place for my sister to meet my new fiancé—the man she doesn’t know was promised to her—for the first time.

“Are you ready?” Alexander’s voice is low, meant only for me.

I nod, though my stomach churns with unease. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

His expression softens, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my cheek as he leans in to press a tender kiss to my forehead.

“It’s going to be fine,” he murmurs against my skin. “We’re in this together.”

I allow myself a moment to pretend this is real, that Alexander’s tenderness is born from genuine affection rather than our carefully orchestrated arrangement. He makes it easy—his hand skates down my side, his touch sending shivers through my body. He brings his face closer; his breath is warm against my skin, his lips tantalizingly close to mine.

“Your sister is looking at us.” Alexander’s lips graze mine as he nods subtly toward the VIP section where Tiffany sits.

I follow his gaze, and there she is—my little sister. Her heart-shaped face, messy blond curls, and big blue eyes are as familiar to me as my own reflection. But even from across the room, I can tell she’s not her usual bright self. Her posture is tense, her fingers nervously twisting the stem of her wine glass.

It’s been two weeks since Tiffany came back from her business trip, and she’s been a different person ever since. Moody, short-tempered, and emotionally distant. I gave her space, thinking she needed time to recover from her travels and process my sudden engagement. But every time I try to broach the subject, she changes the topic or makes an excuse. It’s unlike her, and it gnaws at me, adding to the pit of unease in my stomach.

“Are you still worried about her?” Alexander asks.

I nod. “She’s been off lately. I can’t shake the feeling that something happened on that trip.”

His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer. To anyone watching, we look like a couple deeply in love. “We’ll figure it out. For now, let’s focus on getting through this dinner.”

We make our way to the VIP section, weaving through the crowd. As we approach, Tiffany pastes on a bright smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and rises from her seat, her movements stiff and deliberate, like she’s forcing herself to go through the motions.

“Tiffany, hi.” I lean to kiss her cheek. “You look pretty tonight.” I wrap one of her curls around my finger. “Just like an angel.”

She stiffens at my words, her smile faltering. “Thanks, Liv. You look beautiful as always.” Her gaze lingers on Alexander. “And you must be the famous fiancé.”

Alexander steps forward, his charm on full display as he takes Tiffany’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Alexander Hawthorne. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Tiffany. Olivia has told me so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” he says, gesturing to the plush booth. “Shall we?”

We slide into the seats, Tiffany across from us, her fingers drumming lightly against the table as she glances between Alexander and me.

“So,” she begins, the dim light catches the shadows under her eyes, “how did you two meet? Olivia’s told me a lot about you, but she didn’t elaborate on how you roped her into settling down within two weeks of you meeting each other.”

Alexander leans back in his seat, his arm casually draped over the back of the booth behind me. “We met at a gala. Our eyes locked across the room, and I knew I had to meet her. It was... magnetic. Your sister makes it impossible for anyone to look away.”

“Did you sweep her off her feet, or did she have to chase you?”

“Oh, I did the chasing. Olivia is far too composed to be the one running after anyone.” His hand finds mine on the table, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that feels both possessive and protective. “But once I caught her, I knew I’d never let go.”

The words should sound rehearsed, part of the script we agree to play out for the world. But there is something in his voice—a sincerity that makes my chest tighten. I glance at him, but he remains focused on Tiffany, his expression unreadable save for the faint curve of his lips.

Tiffany leans back in her seat, her gaze darting between us like she is trying to piece together a puzzle. “That’s... romantic,” she says slowly, though her tone suggests she isn’t entirely convinced. “I just didn’t expect you to move so fast.”

Alexander’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, a small, reassuring gesture that feels more intimate than it should. “When you know, you know. Olivia and I… we didn’t want to waste time pretending otherwise.”

Tiffany’s fingers tighten around her wine glass. She takes another sip, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until she finally exhales and sets the glass down with a soft clink.

“I’m glad you’re happy. There’s nothing more important than that.”

There’s something in her tone that makes my heart clench.

“We should raise a toast to finding happiness where we least expect it. I’ll get us some champagne,” Alexander suggests, giving me a loaded look. “And you two can catch up.” He rises and his hand brushes the small of my back before he disappears into the crowd, leaving Tiffany and me alone.

I study my sister for a moment, the way her shoulders are hunched slightly, her gaze fixed on the table as she traces the rim of her wine glass with her fingertip. She’s always been so open, so easy to read, but now there’s a wall between us, one I don’t know how to scale.

I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. “Tiff, is everything okay? You know you can talk to me, right?”

For a moment, it seems like she might open up. Her lips part, and I see a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes—a crack in the armor she’s been wearing since her return. But then she shakes her head, pulling her hand away and forcing another smile. “I’m fine,” she says quickly, too quickly. “Just tired from the trip and still adjusting to... all of this.” She gestures vaguely between Alexander and me.

“What do you think about Alexander?” I ask, instead of pushing for a real answer.

“Alexander seems nice. Charming, funny, handsome... The way you look at each other speaks volumes, Liv. It’s like there’s an unspoken connection between the two of you. It’s like you found your missing piece.”

I try not to frown. My sister has always been intuitive, but this time, her observation couldn’t be further from the truth. My happiness with Alexander is a farce, a carefully constructed lie that we’ve convinced everyone to believe in, and seeing Tiffany’s hopeful expression, her eyes filled with relief and genuine joy for me, makes my heart ache with guilt. I should come clean, tell her the truth about Alexander and me. But the fear of losing her and breaking her trust in me holds me back.

So I smile back at Tiffany and say, “Your approval means the world to me. Alexander makes me happy, more than I thought possible.”

“I’m happy for you. I really am. But I’m also jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of how in love you are.” Tiffany’s smile fades. “I want what you have. I want someone to care for me the way Alexander does for you. I want to feel that unspoken connection, that sense of completeness you have found with him.”

“You will find that, love. You’re gorgeous, sweet, and kind.” I cup her face. “Don’t rush it. The right person will come along when the time is right. And they will be just as lucky to have you in their life as I am to have you in mine.”

My sister’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and she leans to hug me, resting her cheek on my shoulder as we sit there in a tight embrace. I feel her silent sobs against my shoulder.

“I want it now, Liv,” she whispers, her voice filled with a raw honesty that pierces my heart. “I need it now.”

Rubbing her back, I wonder where this strange desperation is coming from. It’s not like her to be this emotional, especially not over something like dating. But she’s hurting, and whatever is wrong, I must fix it.

“We’ll find you someone,” I promise, running my fingers through her hair. “I can set you up with one of my new artists. He’s very good-looking and very charming. He’ll have you swooning within minutes of meeting him.”

Lucas Bowler, Millhouse Gallery’s newest addition, is indeed charming and handsome, with a quiet intensity that draws people in. He has a way of making anyone feel seen, his words carefully chosen, his laughter genuine. I see him work his magic at the gallery, effortlessly captivating everyone who crosses his path. If anyone can make Tiffany forget whatever is haunting her, it’s him.

Tiffany’s arms tighten around me, and she nods, her breath hitching. “Yes, dating could help.”

Help with what? I want to ask, but I bite the inside of my cheek and hold back the question. Whatever Tiffany is going through, she doesn’t want to share it yet, and I need to respect that.

When Alexander returns with the drinks a few minutes later, Tiffany’s tears have dried, and the feverish desperation in her eyes has been replaced by the same distant smile she had earlier.

“Thank you, Olivia. I feel a little better now.” She accepts the drink Alexander offers her with a gracious smile.

I kiss her forehead and tuck a loose curl behind her ear, meeting Alexander’s gaze over her head, silently asking if everything is all right. I nod imperceptibly.

“Anything, anytime, Tiff. You know that.”

She doesn’t know just how much I mean that.

And, for my sake, I hope that she never finds out.