Chapter 1
Morning came soft through the curtains, pale light stretching across the bedroom floor like it didn’t want to wake her either.
Rebecca had always preferred mornings.
They asked less of her.
No one expected smiles before noon. No one asked heavy questions while the world was still quiet.
She lay on her side for a moment, staring at the wall, mind already moving before her body did — a habit from childhood. In a house that loud, you learned to wake up alert. Ready to step around moods, arguments, whatever energy filled the air that day.
Some things never leave you.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A notification from the shop’s booking app.
Her stomach dropped before she even opened it.
Cancellation.
Third one this week.
No explanation.
Just gone.
She closed her eyes.
There had been a time when that sound meant something else. Excitement. New client. New story. Someone trusting her hands with something permanent.
Tattooing hadn’t been a plan.
It had been survival.
Art was the only quiet she’d had growing up — sketchbook on her knees while the apartment buzzed with voices, television noise, doors slamming. Drawing was the one place no one interrupted her, no one needed her, no one expected her to fix anything.
When she discovered tattooing, it felt like finding a language she’d already known how to speak.
Pain turned into beauty.
Loss turned into ink.
Stories carried on skin instead of sitting heavy in the chest.
People cried in her chair. Laughed. Told her secrets they didn’t tell their partners.
She held space for all of it.
That was her gift.
And her curse.
Because Rebecca had never learned how not to carry other people’s weight.
She sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her face.
That was how Izzy had come into her life.
Not like a storm.
Like a spark.
He’d walked into her shop loud, confident, smiling like he already knew he’d be liked. Blonde hair, tattoos crawling up his neck, energy that filled the room in seconds.
“Only the best artist in town touches my skin,” he’d said, dropping into the chair like he belonged there.
She’d rolled her eyes.
But she’d smiled.
He was easy. Funny. Intense in a way that felt exciting instead of exhausting at first. He watched her work like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
Most people looked at the tattoo.
Izzy looked at her.
That was new.
She didn’t notice the red flags — or maybe she did and called them passion instead. The constant texts. The jealousy disguised as protectiveness. The way he wanted to know where she was, who she was with.
It felt like being chosen.
And Rebecca had always mistaken intensity for safety.
She’d opened up to him in pieces. About her family. About being the one who stayed. About how tired she was of always being strong.
He’d held her face once, thumb brushing her cheek, and said, “You don’t have to be tough with me.”
She’d believed him.
That was the mistake.
She moved through the house on autopilot, making coffee she didn’t really want.
Outside, the lilies were still by the door.
Inside, her phone buzzed again.
A message from an old “friend.”
You coming out tonight? Girls only. You need it.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
Girls only.
She almost laughed.
She knew how nights like that ended. Loud music. Too many drinks. People who called themselves friends but disappeared when life got real.
Still…
Staying home meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering Izzy’s face the last time she saw him — guilt in his eyes, but not enough to stop what he’d already set in motion.
She typed back before she could change her mind.
Yeah. I’ll come.
Because Rebecca had always gone when people called
Even when she knew better.
The night Rebecca decided not to feel anything… was the night everything caught up to her.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror longer than she meant to.
The black dress hugged every curve like it was stitched onto her skin—open back, thin shimmer along the shoulders, the kind of dress that screamed confidence even when the woman wearing it was running on emotional fumes. Her curls fell wild tonight. Not polished. Not perfect.
Just real.
Like her.
Her phone buzzed on the dresser.
Cassie: We’re outside.
Marie: Don’t make us come drag you out.
Becca smirked, grabbing her clutch.
“Tonight,” she muttered to her reflection, “we don’t think.”
The lie tasted familiar.
Cold night air hit her the second she stepped outside her small country home. The quiet woods wrapped around her—no sirens, no city noise like back in New York. Just wind.
Stillness.
For a split second…
She felt it.
That strange crawling awareness.
Like eyes.
Watching.
Her gaze drifted toward the dark tree line beyond her driveway, but nothing was there. Just shadows playing tricks.
“Get it together,” she whispered, locking the door.
Club Chaos was already alive when they pulled into the parking lot.
Bass thumped through the walls while neon lights sliced through the darkness. Cassie and Marie were mid-conversation when Becca stepped out of the car, heels clicking against pavement.
Both women paused.
Because Becca didn’t just arrive.
She entered.
“Okay body,” Cassie laughed. “We see you.”
Marie leaned closer. “You good though? For real?”
Becca flashed that practiced smile. The one she wore every day.
“Girl, I’m fine. Just life. Shop stuff. It’ll work out.”
Positive. Bright. Unbothered.
Inside?
A hurricane with no exit.
Sam Smith floated through the club speakers the second they walked in.
How do you sleep when you lie to me…
The lyrics slid beneath her skin immediately.
They grabbed a table, drinks in hand while eyes followed her from every direction.
People noticed her.
Just not warmly.
Head nods.
Side glances.
Whispers that died the second she looked their way.
The rumors had beaten her there.
Marie lowered her voice carefully. “We heard some stuff going around…”
Becca laughed like it meant nothing.
“Rumors are rumors. I’m too busy building my life to babysit gossip.”
Cassie and Marie exchanged a look but dropped it.
Becca took a longer sip of her drink.
Then another.
Then a shot of Patrón.
Soon the music pulled her toward the dance floor.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing their hands. “We didn’t come here to sit.”
Lights flashed.
Bodies moved.
Alcohol warmed her blood.
For a moment…
She disappeared.
Into the beat.
Into the crowd.
Into motion.
But her mind?
It betrayed her.
Flashes of Izzy.
His laugh.
His hands.
The betrayal she never saw coming.
Mental photographs flickering behind her eyes.
Then—
A chill rolled slowly up her spine.
Goosebumps covered her skin instantly.
That same feeling.
Someone watching her.
She stopped dancing, turning slowly as her eyes scanned the crowded room.
Nothing clear.
Just…
A presence.
Unseen.
Waiting.
Then she seen him. floor.
Table by the railing.
Izzy.
Surrounded by his boys, laughing like the world hadn’t cracked open behind him.
Her body froze.
Cassie followed her gaze. “You want to go?”
Becca shook her head, jaw tight.
“No. Tonight isn’t about him.”
But her heart had already started pounding.
Back to the bar.
Another drink.
This wasn’t like her. Becca never lost control.
But tonight…
Feeling less meant hurting less.
Or so she told herself.
“Bathroom,” she lied to the girls after a while.
Instead, she slipped out the back balcony door, cool air hitting her face.
She needed space. Silence. A breath that didn’t taste like music and memories.
She reached for a cigarette—
And froze.
Because she wasn’t alone.
Izzy stood there.
Already watching her.
Leaning against the brick wall near the railing, cigarette between his fingers, town lights behind him. Like he’d been there a while. Like he knew she’d come out.
Becca stopped mid-step.
For a second, the music from inside felt miles away. Just bass thudding through walls like a second heartbeat.
His eyes moved over her — not bold, not smug.
Guilty.
She didn’t look away.
Didn’t rush.
Didn’t crumble.
She walked to the other side of the balcony, putting space between them, pulling a cigarette from her clutch with steady fingers. The lighter flicked once. Flame. Inhale.
Only then did she speak.
Calm. Even.
“Funny…” she exhaled smoke into the cold air, eyes finally cutting toward him, sharp and unreadable.
“I step out for air… and I run into the reason I can’t breathe.”
The words didn’t shake.
But something in her chest did.
Izzy swallowed, shifting his weight. “Becca, I—”
She held up a finger.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a quiet stop.
“You don’t get to start with my name like nothing happened.”
Her voice stayed level. Controlled. But her eyes? Fire behind glass.
“I came out here for quiet. Not memories.”
The silence between them grew heavy, thick as smoke.
Inside, she could feel it — the pressure behind her ribs, the things she never got to say, the nights she blamed herself, the lies she replayed over and over.
But he didn’t get that version of her.
Not tonight.
Izzy drops his gaze for half a second — not long, just enough to show it hit.
The wind moves between them, carrying the bass from inside in low pulses. Her cigarette glows at the tip when she inhales, the only thing warm in the space.
“I deserve that,” he says quietly.
Becca lets out a soft, humorless breath through her nose. Not a laugh. Not even close.
“You deserve a lot of things.”
She doesn’t look at him when she says it.
Izzy runs a hand through his hair, pacing once, like he’s fighting with himself. “You think I don’t replay it? Every day? You think I don’t—”
She turns her head slowly.
That stops him more than yelling would’ve.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t make your guilt sound like pain we share.”
That one lands deep.
He nods, jaw tight. “I never meant for it to go that far.”