Tuned To Break (New Hope World)

Prologue

STELLA

“Here you go, ladies, another round of shots, courtesy of those blokes on the other side of the bar.” Logan slides the glasses across the sticky surface of Grumpy’s bar with his usual shit-eating grin.

I stare at the amber liquid like it might bite me. “Are you freaking serious? We’ve had enough shots.”

“Yeah, but these are free,” he shrugs, wiping down a glass that’s probably dirtier than when he started. “And you’d be an idiot to turn down free drinks.” He lifts a brow, challenging me to argue.

He’s got a point, a drinks a drink. I snatch up the shot glass, knock it back, and immediately regret my life choices as the tequila burns its way down my throat. I slide the second glass across to my best friend, Megan, who’s hunched over her phone.

Glancing around the crowded bar, I mentally curse her for dragging me to Logan’s new masquerade theme night.

The entire place looks like a fancy dress shop exploded, full of people wearing half-masks, full-face masks, delicate lace numbers mixed with chunky knitted monstrosities and ones that glow an obnoxious neon under the UV lights.

The bar's packed, music’s pumping, and everyone seems to be having the time of their lives.

Everyone except me.

“Megan, what are you doing?” I yell over the bass.

“Nothing,” she says, not even bothering to look up from her screen.

My frustration spikes. There’s only one person who could have her glued to her phone. “Are you seriously texting that dickhead ex?” The words come out slurred, evidence of the frankly stupid number of cocktails we’ve consumed tonight.

She finally looks up, guilt written all over her face.

Bingo.

Look, I hated being dragged out tonight.

I had plans involving my couch, a Netflix binge, and absolutely zero human interaction.

But seeing Megan like this—heartbroken and a mess—I know she needed me to come out with her.

We both needed to let off some steam, and she desperately needed to stop thinking about the arsehole who shattered her heart into a million pieces.

“Megs, you’ve got to stop and let him go. He broke your heart.”

“I know, but I miss him,” she sighs, and my heart breaks for her.

I reach across and squeeze her hand. “Yeah, but he cheated on you. With your bloody cousin.”

She lets out another sigh that sounds like it came from her soul and tosses back her shot without flinching. “I know. It’s just hard.”

“I’m sorry, hun.” I genuinely hate seeing my best friend hurting.

If I ever run into that douchebag, I’ll make sure he knows exactly what I think of him.

Megan was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he threw it away for a quick fuck with a younger version of Megan.

The man has no standards and even less brain cells.

She places her phone face down on the table and picks up her drink. “Thanks for being the shoulder I needed. And thanks for coming out with me tonight, even though I know you’d rather be home in your pyjamas.”

“Always,” I say, meaning it. “But let’s not make this a regular thing. You know this isn’t really my scene, right?”

“Yes but look at you—you’re fucking stunning tonight.” She gestures at my outfit with genuine admiration. “That green mask really brings out your hair. And those heels? Fuck if I was into girls, I’d do you.”

I laugh despite myself. Of course she’d say that.

Megan’s been my ride-or-die since we were kids stealing lollies from the corner shop.

We survived school together, uni together, and now we’re navigating our mid-twenties together.

While I’m still working part-time at the coffee shop, completely clueless about what I want to do with my life, Megan’s pulling long shifts at the hospital as a nurse.

The alcohol is making everything feel soft around the edges.

I’m not drunk exactly, but I’m definitely floating in that blissful tipsy space where confidence is free-flowing, and consequences are a tomorrow problem.

I attempt to stand, but my legs have apparently forgotten how to coordinate with my brain.

“Whoa there.” I grip the table for support.

“You okay, babe?” Megan asks while looking at her phone again.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just need to pee before my bladder explodes.” I shake my head, trying to clear some of the floaty feeling. It doesn’t work.

“Want me to come with you?” She’s already moving to stand.

“Nope, I’ve got this. But give me your phone.” I hold out my hand, palm up.

“No way. I promise not to text him again.”

I give her my best ‘don’t test me’ look. The one that’s gotten me my way since we were sixteen. “Megan.”

“Fine.” She hands over her mobile with all the enthusiasm of someone surrendering their firstborn. I pocket it and head toward the back where the bathrooms are, weaving through the crowd like I’m navigating a minefield of drunken bodies.

The bathroom is a typical pub disaster. Sticky floors, mirrors that have seen better decades, and lighting that makes everyone look like they’re dying.

I check my reflection anyway, reapply my lip gloss, and fluff my short red hair.

Megan’s right—I do look good tonight. The green mask makes my hair pop like fire, and this outfit actually works.

But this isn’t me. I’m not the girl who goes to pubs on Friday nights to get plastered and make questionable decisions. I’m the girl who stays home in oversized hoodies, binge-watching crime shows and eating cereal for dinner.

Although, to be fair, what I’m wearing tonight isn’t that far from my usual style. I might be a homebody at heart, but I love dressing up. Short skirts, fitted tops that show off what God gave me, heels that make my legs look endless—that’s just who I am.

Even at work at The Enchanted Bean, this is my uniform. My boss Emily is a legend; she lets us wear whatever we want as long as we’ve got the logo visible somewhere. She even had custom t-shirts made in different colours so we can express our individual styles while still looking professional.

Stepping back into the hallway, the music hits me like a physical force. The bass is so deep I can feel it in my bones. I take a steadying breath and start making my way back to our table, already planning my escape route for when Megan inevitably suggests we stay for “just one more drink.”

That’s when he appears.

A figure steps directly into my path, and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. My heart launches itself into my throat and starts doing gymnastics.

He’s tall. Really tall. The kind of tall that makes me feel delicate even in heels.

His shoulders are broad enough to block out the lights behind him, and his arms look like they could bench press a small car without breaking a sweat.He’s wearing a black half-mask that covers the top portion of his face, leaving his mouth and jaw exposed.

Strong jaw.

Very strong jaw.

He looks like Batman’s kinky cousin, and I am absolutely here for it. My body reacting to him immediately.

“How are you doing tonight, darl?”

His voice hits me like a shot of the good tequila—smooth, warm, and straight to places that have been neglected for far too long.

The way he draws out ‘darl’ makes it sound like something intimate, something real, instead of just another generic Aussie endearment.

My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly.

“I’m good.” The words come out breathier than intended, like I’ve just run a marathon instead of walked ten metres from the bathroom.

“Are you here alone?”

“No, I’m here with friends.” I manage to sound somewhat normal, even though my pulse is doing things that definitely aren’t normal.

He steps closer, and instinct tells me to step back. So I do. It’s like some primal dance we’re both participating in without discussion.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says, taking another step forward.

Now he’s close enough that I can smell him—something masculine and intoxicating that makes my brain go fuzzy. He’s positioned himself so I’m trapped, but I don’t feel trapped. I feel... hunted. In the best possible way.

I could escape if I wanted to. There’s space to my left, people around us, exits within running distance. But I don’t want to escape. For the first time in months, something interesting is happening to me, and I’m not about to waste it.

“Honestly, this isn’t really my thing,” I admit. “I’d much rather be at home in my pyjamas watching Criminal Minds.”

“Ah, you’re one of those girls.”

“What do you mean, ‘one of those girls’?” There’s some bite in my response because I hate being categorised.

“The kind that binge-watches crime shows and casually discusses the best ways to dispose of a body.” His mouth curves into a smirk that does dangerous things to my composure. “Let me guess—you’ve got the whole thing planned out.”

“Feed them to the pigs,” I say without hesitation. “No evidence left behind. As long as you remember to remove the teeth first.”

He laughs, and the sound is rich and genuine. “Of course. That’s everyone’s go-to method these days.”

“It’s effective,” I shrug, trying to play it cool while my insides are melting.

“I like a girl who’s prepared for anything.”

He steps closer again, and this time when I step back, I hit the wall. Game over. He’s got me exactly where he wants me, and we both know it.

He moves quickly, bringing his hands up to cage me in with his arms. His body is so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. When I lift my head to meet his eyes, what little I can see of them through the mask, the air gets sucked right out of my lungs.

Even with the dim lighting and the mask, I can tell he’s gorgeous. The kind of gorgeousness that makes sensible women do very stupid things.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” His voice has dropped to something rough and intimate.

“I don’t know.” It’s a complete lie, and we both know it.