For I Have Sinned (Silent Nightmares #2)

Chapter 1 - Blair

If I hold my breath, the dress fits perfectly.

If I exhale, the zipper digs into my ribs like a serrated knife, reminding me that I’m an impostor in emerald silk.

I stare at myself in the gilded mirror of the Emerald Hills Country Club ladies' room, smoothing my damp palms over my hips. The tag is still tucked into the side seam, scratching against my skin. Four hundred dollars. That’s what this dress cost. That’s two weeks of groceries.

But I needed to look the part tonight. I needed to look like future wife material, not the scholarship girl who clawed her way into a marketing degree she’s still paying off.

"You belong here," I whisper to my reflection.

My eyes look wide, darker than usual against the pale flush of my skin. I look terrified.

"Stop it," I hiss, leaning in to fix a smudge of lipstick. "Ryder is going to propose. Tonight’s the night. You are enough."

The tag digs in again, and I wince. I can’t go back out there like this. I grab my clutch and duck into the large stall at the very end of the row, needing privacy to adjust the fabric so no one sees what I’m doing. I’ve just slid the latch home when the main door to the restroom swings open.

Two women walk in, a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and entitlement drifting in their wake. I recognize Sienna Montgomery’s voice immediately—high, shrill, and dripping with fake sweetness.

"I honestly don't know how she shows her face," Sienna says, the sound of running water filling the silence. "It’s embarrassing at this point."

"Maybe she has a humiliation kink?" the other girl laughs. I think it’s Chloe? Or maybe Zoe. They all look the same. Blonde, polished, expensive.

"Please. Blair? She’s about as adventurous as a slice of white bread. That’s why Ryder’s bored. I mean, Vivi has been fucking him since July. Everybody knows."

I freeze, my hand hovering over the zipper. The world tilts on its axis. The blood rushes out of my head so fast I have to grip the handicap bar to keep from sliding to the floor.

Since July.

It’s fucking November.

"Well, she’s holding on for dear life," Sienna sniffs. "Poor thing. She thinks she’s going to get a ring, and Ryder’s just waiting for the right time to tell her she was just a fun little experiment in slumming it."

They laugh—a cruel, tinkling sound that grates against my eardrums—and breeze out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with the echoing silence and the taste of bile in my throat.

I should cry.

I should collapse into one of these velvet settees and sob until my mascara runs down my face.

But I don't.

Instead, a cold, hard knot forms in the center of my chest.

It’s a familiar feeling. It’s the sensation of watching my father pack his Subaru when I was twelve.

He didn't look back at the house. He didn't look back at me.

I stood in the driveway and realized for the first time that people don't stay just because you love them. You have to be worth staying for.

And clearly, I wasn't.

Slumming it.

I straighten my spine. The zipper digs in, but this time, I welcome the pain. It keeps me focused. I’m not going to let them see me bleed. Not Sienna. And definitely not Ryder.

I walk out of the bathroom and back into the ballroom.

The sensory overload hits me instantly. The smell of pine and roasting meat, the clink of crystal, the low hum of hundreds of wealthy people congratulating themselves for donating money they won’t even notice is gone.

I scan the room for Ryder.

I find him near the open bar, swaying slightly. His tie is crooked. He’s laughing too loud at something James Thornton is saying. He looks sloppy.

And then, I feel it.

The weight. The heat. The absolute, crushing pressure of being watched.

I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I do anyway. My eyes snap to the corner of the room, to the shadows where the real power in this room resides.

Gabriel Hollis.

Ryder’s father is standing alone, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. He’s not looking at the donors. He’s not looking at his son.

He’s watching me.

His steel-gray eyes are locked on my face, unblinking, intense. He looks like a predator assessing a wounded animal. He knows. God, he probably knew before anyone else. He sees everything. And right now, he’s looking at me with that same cold, terrifying expression he’s worn for three years.

Judgment.

It’s the look of a man who knows the value of everything and has decided I’m worth nothing.

Look at what my son dragged in, his eyes seem to say. I knew you wouldn’t last.

Shame burns through me, hotter than the anger. He's right. That's the worst part. Gabriel built an empire from nothing; he recognizes weakness when he sees it. And I am weak. I let his son use me for years because I was desperate to be chosen.

I lift my chin, refusing to look away, refusing to let him see the crack in my veneer. Go to hell, I think, projecting the thought across the room. Your son is the problem, not me.

I turn my back on Gabriel Hollis and march toward Ryder. I’m going to drag him outside. I’m going to end this quietly. I’m going to salvage what’s left of my dignity.

"Ryder," I say, reaching for his arm. "We need to talk. Now."

He pulls away, stumbling a little. His eyes are glassy. "Babe! Where have you been? I was just telling James about the—"

"We’re leaving."

"Relax, Blair. Don't be such a buzzkill. It’s a party."

"Ryder, I mean it—"

The microphone screeches.

The sound cuts through the room like a gunshot. Conversations die instantly. Three hundred heads turn toward the small stage where the string quartet had been playing.

But it’s not the band.

It’s Vivienne Ashford.

She’s wearing a red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, and she’s holding a champagne glass in one hand and the microphone in the other. She looks manic. Beautiful, but unhinged.

"Excuse me!" she shouts, her voice slurring slightly. "I’d like to propose a toast!"

Ryder stiffens beside me. "Oh shit."

My stomach drops through the floor.

"No," I whisper.

To the Hollis family!" Vivi yells, her voice slurring with champagne and venom. She sways dangerously on her heels, locking eyes with Ryder before her gaze slides over to me like I’m something she scraped off her shoe.

"But specifically to Ryder. For promising me the world while playing house with his little toy. "

She jabs a manicured finger in my direction, her lip curling.

"Look at her. God, Ryder, you weren't kidding. She really does look like a cheap knockoff trying to pass as designer."

The ballroom goes silent, and I feel the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold and exposed, as if she just stripped me naked in front of Emerald Hills’ entire elite.

"Vivi, enough," Ryder hisses, but he doesn't move toward me. He doesn't step between us.

"Why?" she laughs, a brittle, hysterical sound. "Tell them, Ryder! Tell them what you told me last night while you were inside me! Tell them she’s a mercy fuck! Tell them she’s so desperate to fit in that it’s pathetic.

Tell them that you only kept her around because she was easy and too stupid to realize she’s a joke! "

I look at Ryder, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I’m waiting for the outrage. I’m waiting for him to deny her words. To defend me and what we have.

To prove the last three years weren’t a total lie.

Ryder scans the room. He sees the board members shifting uncomfortably. He sees the donors whispering behind their hands. He sees the mess his actions made.

And then he looks at me.

And he rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, Blair," he sighs, the sound heavy with irritation. "I told you I didn’t want you here tonight, but you forced my hand. You just never listen."

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

"Don't look at me with those big, sad eyes," he snaps, his voice raising just enough to distance himself from me. Enough for him to play the victim. "Vivi is drunk, sure. But let’s not pretend she’s making it up. You know we’ve been over for a long time. You were just convenient."

Convenient.

The word lands like a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs.

He adjusts his cufflinks, looking at me with a cold, bored disdain that hurts worse than anything else that’s happened tonight.

"Honestly? You're exhausting. You try so hard to belong here that it’s uncomfortable for everyone else to watch. You were fun but now I’m bored. So do yourself a favor—stop embarrassing us both and just go."

The air leaves my lungs.

It’s not the cheating that kills me. It’s not even the shitshow of Vivi on stage.

It’s this. It’s the way he looks at me like I’m a smudge on his tuxedo he can’t wait to dry clean away.

I was the safe option until something better came along.

I molded myself into the perfect girlfriend, the perfect accessory, the perfect doormat, and none of it mattered.

I guess you can be perfect and still be disposable.

I meant nothing to him.

I feel something snap inside me. It’s a distinct, physical sensation. A rubber band breaking.

I don't cry. The tears that were starting to burn at the back of my eyes evaporate, replaced by a cold, arctic rage that floods my veins, numbing the pain, numbing the embarrassment.

I look at Ryder. Really look at him. And for the first time, I don’t see the golden boy of Emerald Hills. I see a weak, pathetic child.

"He's all yours, Vivienne," I say. My voice is steady, and thank fuck for that. "I hope you're good at faking it, because I'm exhausted." I cast a pitying glance at Ryder. "Three years, and I never came once. Enjoy the disappointment."

I turn on my heel.

The crowd parts for me like the Red Sea, but not out of respect. Out of pity. They’re staring at the car crash. They’re thankful it’s not them.

I keep my chin high. I fix my eyes on the double doors at the exit.

I have to pass him to leave.

Gabriel is standing near the exit, like a sentinel guarding the gates of hell. He hasn't moved an inch.

As I get closer, I expect him to step aside. He doesn’t. He stands there, a wall of broad shoulders and expensive wool, forcing me to veer close to him to get around.

For a second—just a fraction of a heartbeat—I’m in his orbit.

I smell sandalwood and aged scotch and something darker, like ozone before a storm. I feel the heat radiating off his body, a furnace compared to the ice in my veins.

I glance up.

I expect to see a smirk.

But his face is stone. His jaw is locked so tight a muscle ticks in his cheek. And those gray eyes... they aren't watching the crowd. They aren't searching for his son.

They’re burning into me with a terrifying intensity that makes the hair on my arms stand up.

I push past him, bursting through the double doors and into the biting November air.

The valet stand is busy, but I don't wait. I run toward the employee lot where I had to park my beat-up sedan because it wasn't nice enough for the front row.

I fumble for my keys, my hands shaking now that the adrenaline is fading. I rip the door open, slide into the freezing seat, and jam the key in the ignition.

As I peel out of the lot, leaving Emerald Hills and its fake smiles and cruel laughter behind, I make a promise to the girl in the rearview mirror.

I press my foot down on the gas, the beat-up engine whining in protest.

He thinks he’s untouchable because of his last name? He thinks he owns this town?

I think about the man standing in the shadows of the ballroom. The man who actually owns the name Ryder is so proud of.

I’m not going to let Ryder win. I’m not going to fade away into the background like he expects.

He took my dignity.

So I’m going to take his legacy.