Chapter 1 #2
I ride the elevator with a flutter of nerves. This is it. The kind of moment people write about. The kind of love people want. She’s going to say yes. The certainty sits in my pocket.
Stopping outside her door, I inhale, straighten, unlock it—
And pause.
Her designer handbag sits on the table. Slightly open. Unzipped.
Weird.
Her keys are tossed carelessly beside it.
Weirder.
Taking a step inside, the cherry blossom candle she loves is still burning. The scent hangs heavy in the air. Sweet. Cloying.
Something’s wrong.
Deeply, terribly wrong.
One) Chloe would never leave a lit candle unattended.
Two) Everything in her world has a place, a purpose. Nothing is ever out of order.
And things are definitely never left slightly open. Or unzipped.
My heart thuds harder than it should. The nervous flutter in my chest spikes into a prickling unease.
At first glance, everything appears perfect. The throw blanket draped neatly over the stark white couch. The coffee table books are stacked with surgeon-level precision. It all screams Chloe, practiced, staged.
Then my gaze snags on the armchair.
A suit jacket. Navy pinstripe. Tossed over the back.
Next to it, a pair of leather shoes.
My stomach knots. I scan the room again.
A bottle of wine on the counter. Her favorite. The one I stored in her fridge. Two glasses. One with a crimson lipstick stain. And the other…
The flutter in my chest nosedives into my stomach, turns to stone. It sinks further, cold and crushing. Confusion collides with denial. Fear tangles with fury.
The jacket. The shoes. The wine.
The groceries slip from my arms. The flowers tumble out next. I move down the hall where sounds bleed from the bedroom in a rhythmic, intimate, and unmistakable echo.
My head spins, desperate for an explanation, or a lie I can cling to, but one truth barrels through the noise—
I know exactly what I heard.
My hand lands on the doorknob. Ice-cold. It creeps up my arm as I brace for the moment that ends everything.
I push the door open.
My world detonates.
Naked. Straddling…is that…
Jackson Butler?
My boss’s nephew?
Fucking hell.
The woman I’ve been building a life with for the past twelve months is ripping it apart one moan and thrust at a time.
Her auburn hair tumbles over her bare skin as she grinds on top, her gasps drifting throughout the room.
The betrayal is instant. Atomic. My blood ignites, rage blazing under my skin. My fists tremble, jaw locked so tight my teeth ache. Every instinct demands I break something. Him, preferably.
He looks up. Casual as hell. “What’s up, man?”
My head tilts. Did he just—?
“Nolan,” Chloe stammers, grabbing for the sheet. Jackson doesn’t even bother. His dick is at full attention as he smirks that smug, punchable smirk.
I gape at her, pleading without words, begging for an explanation. Something. Anything.
“I thought you were out with the Kenyon Group,” Jackson says.
Bitter laughter escapes me. I ignore him. My eyes lock on Chloe. “And I thought you were finishing a deposition. And having a drink with a friend.”
“I—I did,” she stammers. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
My voice is low, level. “Then what is it?”
My eyes bounce between Chloe and Jackson. That fucking smirk.
My hands shake. One wrong move, and I’ll crush him.
“See, from where I’m standing,” I grit out, “it looks like you’re cheating on me. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Chloe clutches the sheet, her eyes flicking back and forth, panicked. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” she whispers.
I blink. “Oh? How were you hoping I’d find out? A fucking group text?”
“I—we—”
“We?” I hiss.
Jackson leans back, totally unfazed. “No hard feelings, man. Chloe and I are in love. Right, babe?”
She gives him a weak smile. The stone in my stomach flips.
I zero in on her. “Is that true?”
A pause. “Yes. Nolan—I’m sorry—”
I shake my head. No way this is fucking happening. “In love?”
She nods. And that’s it. Everything snaps.
I lunge. Chloe screams.
But I stop myself with my arm cocked back, fist shaking with rage that could break orbital bones. Jackson’s right below me. I’m one second from gifting him a face only a surgical team could salvage.
My jaw locks. Breath rips its way out of my lungs. And then I look at her—the woman who was supposed to be mine.
And everything in me fractures.
“I thought you loved me.”
Chloe opens her mouth, but before she can answer, her phone buzzes, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot.
She snatches it from the nightstand, her face twisting when she swipes at the screen.
The music starts.
Welcome Home.
My Key Moment.
Fuck.
The slideshow. The grand gesture. Our story.
Eyes wide, mouth slack, she watches in silence.
Jackson glances at the screen and covers a chuckle with his fist. “Oh shit, man.”
The air goes thick, and suffocating. My throat constricts. I want to grab the phone. Smash it. Make it disappear.
But I don’t.
Rooted to the ground, I stand there watching Chloe, feeling every stab of pain her knife is giving me.
When it ends, she whispers, “Wow. That was…beautiful.”
The words are a thousand jagged pieces of glass slicing through me.
I turn and leave.
She calls my name. I don’t stop. Can’t.
Jackson mutters under his breath but I’m already gone.
In the hallway, I delete her number—even though I know it by heart. I’m going to spiral tonight. That’s inevitable. But at least this way, I won’t be tempted to send some pathetic 2 a.m. message I’ll regret by sunrise.
Once I’m in the elevator, I hurl my phone at the wall, because why the fuck not? Betrayal, heartbreak, almost assault, and now property damage.
Of course the screen is now cracked.
Still not enough.
I consider ripping out the panels on the walls. But think better of it when the doors ding open.
The lobby is quiet. My footsteps echo as I push through the exit.
The night air slaps my face ad reality finally catches up. My hands twitch. My chest aches. I shove my fists in my pockets to keep from shaking.
And I keep walking. One step. Then another.
Because if I stop, I’ll fall apart.