Chapter Four
Abigail-Ann
“We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.”
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
W hat was the saying? Ah, yes— disappointed but not surprised.
I sat in the living room, staring at the last message Joshua sent three weeks ago. No calls. No texts. Not even a simple: Did you land safely?
My sister, Aurora, had always told me one thing: Never let a man show you he doesn’t want you more than once.
I should have listened.
Regret settled deep in my chest, the kind that felt like a weight pressing down on my ribs. My eyes burned, but then I remembered Mikkel’s words.
“Whoever or whatever made you cry isn’t worth it.”
He was right. Joshua wasn’t worth it.
Dr. Green, my therapist, always said that sometimes, happiness requires cutting people off. Maybe it was time I finally did.
“Abigail!” Auntie Leann’s voice snapped me from my thoughts. I looked up at the woman who was practically Azzaria’s twin.
“You look upset. Is everything alright?”
I nodded. “I just have something difficult to do.”
She sat beside me, her voice gentle. “I know it’s hard, but you’re strong. It might hurt now, but you’ll get through it.”
I turned my phone toward her. “Do you think I should respond to this?”
She gasped, eyes widening. “I don’t think he deserves a response. But do you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She stood, grabbing her bag. “Then wait until you’re sure. If you don’t feel like talking to him until you get back to California, then don’t. Do what makes you happy. He can go fuck himself.”
A laugh bubbled out of me at her bluntness.
She kissed my forehead. “I love you, my dear Abigail. Always .”
As she left, clarity settled over me. I was done being afraid. Done wasting time on someone who barely cared if I existed.
Then, he returned to my mind—the man whose presence lingered like a melody I couldn’t forget.
Every time I closed my eyes, Mikkel was there.
Tall. Imposing. That voice, smooth and deliberate, making every word sound like a promise. The way he looked at me—like I was someone—sent my heart into a sprint. And that cologne…spicy, warm, and all-consuming.
Curiosity got the best of me.
I didn’t even know his last name, but a quick Google search for “luxury transport companies in New York City” gave me more than I expected.
His face was everywhere.
Mikkel Suarez.
Owner of Elite Rides, the top luxury transport company in New York. Billionaire. Businessman. And insanely fucking handsome .
How had I not known this?
I scrolled past article after article—interviews, business expansions, and, most surprisingly, not a single photo of him with a woman. My stomach twisted. This man wasn’t just successful—he was one of the biggest names in the city.
Just as I was about to close the tab, my phone pinged.
Joshua.
Joshua: ?
I sighed. Since I had already opened it, I decided to respond.
Me: What?
Joshua: I texted u like three weeks ago.
Me: And how was I supposed to respond?
Joshua: Idk. You could just answer.
Me: What do you want?
Joshua: Missed u, send tit pics.
I nearly gagged.
Me: You didn’t even check to see if I landed safely, but now you’re asking for nudes?
Joshua: ?? That’s what you’re here for. Making me feel good. Are you planning to fail at that too?
The phone slipped from my hands. A single tear escaped.
“That’s what you’re there for.”
“Are you planning to fail at that too?”
I thought he had broken all of me, but I was wrong.
Something else just shattered—something deeper, a part of me I didn’t even know was left to break.
I felt useless. I felt disgusted. I felt fucking defeated.
Placing my phone on the table, my fingers trembled as I let it go. I sat there in complete silence. For an hour, maybe more, I just… shut down. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Nothing .
The only thing I was certain of was how disrespected I felt. How utterly hollowed he’d left me. My stomach churned, nausea creeping in, but I swallowed it down. No tears came—maybe I was too broken to cry anymore. Or maybe I just refused to let him have that part of me too.
The hurt was overwhelming, crashing over me in waves. Every second that passed, it sank deeper into my bones. How little he thought of me. How he tore me apart and left me to pick up the shattered pieces, as if they were meaningless.
I forced myself to push it all aside, shoving the knot of frustration down. There’d be time to deal with all of that later—maybe. Right now, Azzaria had texted, asking me to meet her for drinks at Jimmy’s Corner.
I needed the distraction as much as she did.
Whatever was weighing her down seemed heavy. Mine? Well, mine could sit in the dark a little while longer.
When I got there, she was already at the bar, downing shots like water. One after another, no pause, no hesitation.
“Keep them coming,” she told the bartender, her voice laced with anger and something deeper, something sharper. Desperation.
Sliding onto the stool next to her, I studied her face. “I think you should do something else instead of drinking,” I said cautiously, not wanting to come off as preachy but needing to say something.
She shrugged, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had settled there. “Like what? I don’t really have many other interests.”
“What about that gym you used to go to? You were really into it before.”
For a split second, nostalgia flickered across her face, but it faded just as quickly, replaced by regret.
“Yeah, it’s still there, but I’ve got a teensy balance I need to clear off. Plus, you know I’m cutting expenses.”
Her words settled uncomfortably in my chest.
I reached out, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You should go back, even if it’s just for a little while. I can help you out if you need it.”
Her eyes darted toward me, wary. I added quickly, “Or maybe you could switch to a college plan? Most gyms have special rates for students. ”
“Maybe.” Her tone was reluctant, her eyes still clouded with uncertainty.
“Good!” I grinned, trying to lift the mood, even if just a little. “It’ll help you burn off all this pent-up anger and frustration. And trust me, you’ve got plenty of both right now.”
That earned me a sigh and a faint, grudging smile. “Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt to go back.”
And then, she shrugged and downed another shot.
I gave her a moment before pressing. “What the hell happened today?”
She hesitated, but then the words spilled out anyway, raw and bitter.
“I apologized to him out of courtesy for Friday night. You know what he told me? That it was a mistake on both our parts and we should keep things professional.”
She let out a bitter laugh, but her fingers clenched around her glass, knuckles turning white. For a second, I swore I saw something in her eyes—hurt, regret—but then she blinked it away, masking it with indifference.
“I don’t even know why the fuck it bothers me.”
Her words hit me like a sucker punch.
I froze, my grip tightening around the water bottle I didn’t even remember picking up. When did I even get this bottle?
“You’re lying,” I blurted, disbelief ringing in my voice.
“Oh, I’m very serious.”
“Are you sure he only said that because you apologized?” My heart pounded. “Why did you even say sorry?”
Mistakes? Every smile, every touch? Bullshit. No way in hell .
“Either way, it’s not that serious,” she said, licking the salt off the rim before downing another shot. “I just didn’t expect that response from him.”
“It’s serious to you,” I pointed out, my voice steady but insistent. “Because you enjoyed the conversation. And you like him.”
“I don’t like him,” she shot back, glaring at me. “I’m attracted to him. I think he’s hot.”
I raised a brow. “What’s the difference? ”
She groaned, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.” Her voice was sharp, but it lacked any real bite. Then, just like that, she pivoted. Azzaria Willis’ classic deflection.
She tapped her nails against the shot glass, a telltale sign she was about to dodge something uncomfortable. Then, like clockwork—“Why aren’t you doing an internship?”
“I did mine last semester,” I said with a soft laugh despite the tension. “And when I suggested you do the same, you said you had all the time in the world.”
She groaned again, this time at herself. “I can’t believe I said that,” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. “Anyway, it’s fine. How are you?”
That question, which I’d been dodging since I arrived, now hung between us, unavoidable.
How was I?
Hurt. Broken. Useless. Confused. Anxious.
But I couldn’t say that. Not here. So I took a deep breath, swallowing the truth like a bitter pill. “I’m fine.”
And just like that, I became a hypocrite.
She looked at me, lowering the shot glass from her lips. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t lie to me. So I’ll ask again, how are you?”
I exhaled, feeling the weight of her stare pressing into me. “Confused, mainly,” I admitted, the words leaving me heavier than when I had started.
“About what?” she asked, her tone measured but edged with curiosity, like she already knew the answer but needed me to confirm it.
I hesitated, glancing at her glass, then at the chipped tabletop. “It’s a long story.”
She glanced up at the clock on the wall, then back at me with raised brows and a knowing smirk. “What a relief that time is all we have.”
The corners of my lips twitched at her sarcasm, but the laughter in me was buried under layers of unease. With a deep inhale, I admitted, “It’s Joshua.” The name tumbled out like a stone, sharp and unyielding.
Her posture stiffened, and I saw the beginnings of anger bubbling beneath her calm expression. “What did that little bitch boy do now? ”
I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “He’s being… very dictating. And rude,” I muttered, my words reluctant, almost like I didn’t want them to be real. “With the stuff he asks me to do.”
Her brows furrowed instantly. “What kind of stuff?” she pressed, her tone protective but simmering with frustration.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight, like the words would suffocate me before I could get them out. “He asked me to send him pictures .”
I tried to sound nonchalant, like it wasn’t as big of a deal as it felt, but my voice betrayed me—shaky, strained.
Her expression darkened. “Wait. Pictures ?” she echoed, voice colored with disbelief, tinged with disgust. “Of your p—”
“Yeah.” I spat out bitterly, my lips curling like just the taste of the word was revolting.
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
Then she leaned forward, her voice low, but the anger now unmistakable. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, but let’s forget about Joshua. If you don’t want to send him explicit pictures, then don’t. No means no, and if he can’t respect that, he’s a piece of shit.”
I clenched my fists under the table, nails pressing into my palms. My chest felt too tight, like my ribs were caging in something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just disappointment—it was grief.
Azzaria’s voice softened, but it held an edge of steel. “And if he ever makes you feel like your worth is tied to whether or not you send him pictures, then he’s even worse than I thought.”
I nodded, biting my cheek to stay composed. “It’s just very disappointing.” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak it sounded, how vulnerable I felt.
“Five years down the drain, you know?”
I sighed.
Five years of love, loyalty, waiting for him to treat me like I mattered. Five years of thinking I was building something real, only to realize I was the only one putting in the effort .
“I get it,” she said softly, sliding her glass of alcohol toward me. “But look at it this way—you’re basically done with him. We’re going to make the most of our time here before you leave. We’ll document everything, find you a great man. Not a boy— a man. ”
A small laugh broke through my lips.
“And most importantly,” she continued, a smirk playing at her lips, “you’ll discover who you are and realize how incredible you are, with or without anyone.”
I exhaled, the tightness in my chest loosening ever so slightly. Maybe she was right. Maybe, for the first time in years, I had the chance to finally be me.
And maybe that was worth more than any relationship ever could be.
“Are we really?” I asked, doubt clinging to my words like smoke.
“Yes, we are,” Azzaria declared, her confidence so unwavering, so genuine, that for a moment, I wanted to believe her. “Nobody messes with my best friend and gets away with it. You deserve the sun, the moon, and the fucking stars, Abigail.”
A small smile tugged at my lips, gratitude unfurling in my chest. “Are we going to find you a man too?” I teased, my voice lighter now, even though the ache still lingered beneath the surface.
She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
And then I froze.
The faintest hint of fresh wood, warm ambergris, and spicy cedarwood curled into my lungs, rich and familiar. My skin prickled, as if someone had whispered my name in the dark.
It was him.
“The special for Mr. Xander and Suarez, please,” a deep, velvety voice spoke, smooth yet rugged, laced with an accent that sent a shiver down my spine.
I turned slowly, my pulse thrumming wildly.
Mikkel.
His honey-brown eyes locked onto mine, and in an instant, the noise of the bar faded into a dull hum, the world dimming at the edges. That grin—equal parts mischievous and devastating—spread across his face, knocking the air straight out of my lungs.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he greeted, his voice low and warm, like a secret meant only for me.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I felt them flush, a shade so bright it could rival the setting sun. My lips parted, but for the first time in a long time, words failed me. He was standing here—again—like some sort of cosmic joke. Or maybe… fate.
Before I could lose myself completely, I noticed Azzaria.
Her head was down on the table, her entire posture screaming: don’t look at me . My brows furrowed as my gaze followed hers.
A man. Staring at her from across the bar.
Not just a man. Her boss.
What the fuck?
So much for Friday night being a mistake.
I barely had time to process before Mikkel’s voice pulled me back.
“Three times in one month…” His smirk was lethal, cocky and lazy in a way that made my pulse stumble. He leaned in just slightly, eyes locked on mine like he could hear every single thought in my head. “Are you following me, Red?”
I recovered fast, arching a brow. “I should be asking if you’re the one following me.”
His laugh— deep, rich, intoxicating —wrapped around me like warm silk. My body betrayed me, leaning closer without permission, as if gravity itself had shifted in his direction.
“If only, Red.” His voice dropped just a fraction, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “If only.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a hand clamped around my arm.
Azzaria.
“Let’s go. Now.”
Her voice was tight, urgent. Her fingers dug in, her eyes flickering toward her boss like he was a hunter and she, his prey .
I didn’t want to leave. Not with the warmth of Mikkel’s laugh still brushing against my skin. Not with his gaze still holding mine like I was the only person in this room.
But I had to.
For the third time, I left without a proper goodbye, rushing with Azzaria through the evening crowd, heart pounding, Mikkel’s scent and voice lingering long after we disappeared into the first taxi we could find.