Show Me How (Written In Ink, Book #1)

Chapter 1

Savannah

They say humiliation builds character. If that’s true, then watching the viral engagement video of my ex-boyfriend proposing to my cousin made me have one of the strongest characters ever.

The video played on loop, each frame a fresh slash against my heart. His laugh. Her giggle. The ring that used to be on my finger—the one he swore belonged to his late grandmother.

My pulse stayed steady and my expression was impassive. Under my cousin’s gleeful grin was the caption:

@lorib.xo In every lifetime, YES! ??

We are ENGAGED!! We've known each other for so long and I couldn't stop myself from falling for you. From friends to lovers to partners, nothing will ever come between us. This is a forever thing. And this diamond!!! Omg! Mr and Mrs coming soon.

Couldn't stop herself? This is forever?

I almost smiled. Sure, she couldn't stop herself from spreading her legs for the man I was with for five years. My cousin, predictably going after another thing that I had. Lori always wanted what she couldn’t have—my clothes, my grades, my Ivy League scholarship; and now, my boyfriend.

Correction: ex-boyfriend.

Chase had called me “frigid,” “boring,” “uptight.” Words meant to bruise. I told myself they didn’t—that I was too focused on my law degree, on the next exam, the next firm, the next win, to care. But tonight, those words circled back, whispering like cross-examination in my head.

“It's just kissing,” he’d said. “Don't be so uptight about it.”

“You know how I feel about PDA.”

“I should be able to kiss and touch my woman in public, Savannah. God, sometimes I forget how much of an ice queen you can be.”

Cold. Boring. Unaffectionate.

Apparently, those qualities were enough to drive him into my cousin’s arms—and onto his living room floor, where I caught them together after driving three hours to surprise him on his birthday.

They were both lucky to still be breathing.

Cheating on a woman who studied law was dangerous work. I watched enough seasons of How To Get Away With Murder to know a dozen ways to make a body disappear and have a rock-solid alibi before sunrise.

But I didn’t. I walked away—dignified, composed—because that’s what people like me did. We didn’t beg. We didn’t scream. We won.

I dumped him, blocked their numbers, and moved on. Or I thought I did.

Now, watching them grin for the camera, something inside me cracked—a clean, silent fracture that even I couldn’t ignore.

Walking in on them, I chalked it up to one night of recklessness and idiocy. One night I could burn from my mind. Knowing now that they'd been doing this long enough to warrant a proposal changed everything.

How could they do this to me?

The background chatter of the lounge faded to static.

My champagne glass had gone flat, tiny bubbles clinging stubbornly to the crystal like they hadn’t realized the party was over.

My index traced the cooled stem of the glass as my world became trapped within the four corners of my screen.

Him getting on one knee. Her jumping up and down.

The ring I threw in his face just before I walked out.

Did he immediately pick it up and hand it to her like our five years meant nothing?

We shared so much time together, but it was all a lie—I just didn't realize how much of it until now.

The hushed phone calls. The late-night trips to his “dad's office” after we talked for hours.

The constant arguments about how I was a cold, boring, unaffectionate bitch; how I preferred my studies to him.

A storm brewed inside me the longer I stared at the phone, their happiness poisoning the air I breathed. I was made to look like a fool for God knows how long, and now they were engaged?

A silent scoff left my lips.

Betrayal sunk its claws in me as I zoned in on the plastic smile on my cousin's face. She eyed the ring with a hint of greed in her eyes—I knew because it was the same look she tried to hide when I told her the ring was a family heirloom.

“Is… is everything okay, miss?”

The voice tore me away from the screen, making me slowly look up at its owner. A waiter stood close to the table, a serving tray underneath his arm and a concerned look on his face. His stare was fixated on my cheek.

I blinked up at him, my fingers instinctively sweeping against it. Wet. Tears.

God, I hadn't even realized.

I straightened, keeping my expression cool and collected. “Just fine, thank you. Could I get the bill, please?”

He shot me another look before scurrying off.

My hard stare hit the empty glass in front of me. I didn't want to cry for him. He didn’t deserve the salt of my tears, the ache in my chest, or the way my throat tightened with every replay.

But I couldn't help but feel… devastated.

He’d been my first everything. The man I thought I’d marry after I passed the bar. The one who made me believe that I didn’t have to choose between ambition and love.

Five years.

Five years of plans, of promises, of pretending we were solid.

And he threw it away—for her.

Then there was him. God, that smug, easy smile. The one he used to give me.

I looked at my reflection on the black screen of my phone: a woman who had it all together. And yet, I couldn't help but feel small at the thought of him choosing her.

“Your check,” the waiter said as he slid the black book across the table.

Without looking down, I tapped my phone to the machine and stood. There was nothing left for me here. All I wanted to do was get home and barricade myself from the chaos of this world; to allow myself one night of self-pity.

And possibly have another glass of wine.

Maybe two.

With that thought, I shrugged on my jacket and marched to the doors.

November's cool air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside. My heels clicked against the pavement, the faint tang of the nearby river cutting through the city’s stale warmth.

I didn’t bother pulling my jacket tighter, either.

The chill was a good fit for the icy rage churning beneath my skin.

The streets around campus were half asleep, lined with cool-white streetlights and trees that swayed like gossiping witnesses. A couple of students stumbled out of a bar across the street, laughing too loudly, likely smelling of freedom and beer.

My townhouse sat a few blocks off campus. It belonged to Penny, a friend of my grandma’s who all but insisted I stay there during my time at Kingsview University. It was small, but clean, efficient—like everything in my life. No distractions. No clutter. No room for mistakes.

By the time I walked up the front steps, my heels felt like a punishment. The quiet greeted me like an old friend; or maybe an accomplice. I closed the door behind me and pressed my back to it, the click of the lock echoing too loudly in the empty space.

Then I slid down the door until I hit the hardwood floor.

Alone.

For a few seconds, I just sat there, knees pulled up, the hem of my burgundy silk dress wrinkling under my fingers. My breath caught, coming out as something between a sigh and a laugh.

With my eyes shut, everything hit me all at once. The absurdity. The betrayal. The sheer stupidity of it all.

He was gone.

They were engaged.

And I was here, alone sitting in the dark. This was why I didn't do relationships. It was nothing but headaches and heartaches, making you dream of every way to escape.

Escape—exactly what I needed.

My eyes blinked open and saw the perfect one.

The wine rack.

A neat little grid of glass bottles, all different shapes and shades—gifts from professors, clients of my internship, my mother who believed I was a “goodie two shoes.”

I pushed myself off the floor, eyeing the rack with newfound purpose. In passing, I dropped my keys and phone on the coffee table, then walked barefoot across the cool wood. My hand reached out for the first bottle and twisted, then brought the bottle straight to my lips.

The first gulp burned.

The second went down easier.

By the third, the edges of my thoughts began to blur.

I wandered through my living room, empty except for textbooks, case files, and an unwatered plant that probably deserved better than me. I could see my phone light up from here, but I didn't care anymore. No doubt it was another notification on their post. Hundreds of comments. Thousands of likes.

My stomach turned.

I took another swing of the bottle. Then another. And another. Enough to make me forget how radiant Lori looked. Enough to drown out the feeling of betrayal when I saw Chase get down on one knee for her. Enough to erase the last two hours from my mind.

“Uptight,” I muttered into the half-empty bottle. “I’ll show you uptight.”

Crossing the sofa, I slumped to the floor and fired up my laptop. Typing always steadied me. Facts, logic, steps to action. I could get a headstart on the case study for next month.

Queue distraction number two.

Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine. Everything would be—

An unread email flashed across my inbox. My eyes narrowed on the sender. She couldn't possibly be serious.

______________

From: Lori Ann Bristow

To: Savannah Bristow

Date: Thursday Nov 6, 11:16 a.m.

Subject: My Wedding Party ??

Hi girlie!

I just know you saw my engagement video (eek!) but just in case you didn't—Chase proposed!! I'm so excited that I can barely breathe right now. We agreed not to waste any time so we're having the wedding in about three weeks (isn't that exciting!)

Chase is having his people send out personal invites but I just wanted to let you know. I know things have been rough for you since the breakup, but Chase makes me happy and I hope you can respect our engagement. He loves me, after all.

Don't worry if you don't have a plus one! Grandmama and I will be just happy to see you. Ooh, and I got your mom to come too! You know she adores Chase :)

See you at the engagement party!

Ciao!

Lori B

<> 3 attachments

● Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair Wedding Invite.pdf