Chapter 1

Brittany's POV

"Why the hell would you even pack something like this?" Lorenzo bellows, his fingers clenching the bikini I brought for the hotel's pool, as if it were something criminal. "When did you buy this? Did some other guy pick it out for you? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't."

I roll my eyes, snatching the bikini from his grasp. "I bought it for you, you idiot. I thought we could use the hot tub together later, but never mind."

His face twists with disgust. "You think I want you strutting around in front of other men, flaunting yourself like some—some whore? Don't lie to me. You brought that for their attention."

"WHAT OTHER MEN?!" I explode, the anger rising like a tide, crashing over me. I'm beyond done with this. He brought me here to apologize for the way he blew up on me two weeks ago, back at work. He'd stormed in, furious, when a customer helped me pick up some loan papers I'd dropped after tripping.

He'd accused me of cheating with him, even though the guy's wife had been right there, stepping away to change their baby in the bathroom. I nearly lost my job because of that scene. My boss reassigned me to the teller line, and when I told Lorenzo I needed space, this is what I get in return.

This is what he does. He accuses me of cheating, of looking at other guys, of everything. We fight, I take a break, and then he comes back, apologizing, claiming he loves me too much and is terrified of losing me. It's the same cycle, over and over. Two years ago, when we first started dating in college, I thought it was cute. I thought jealousy was his way of showing how much he cared. Now? Now, it suffocates me.

"Lorenzo, I can't do this anymore," I say, my voice colder than I intended. "I'm done. You promised you'd stop, but here we are. I want to go home."

His face flickers, his anger fading into something else—fear, maybe, or desperation. "What? No, we just got here. Don't go."

"But it's already the same damn thing. I'm not going to sit in this hotel room with you and argue when we do that enough at home. I'm done. I want to leave."

"No," he says, reaching for me, but I step back, putting distance between us. His expression hardens, his brows furrow in that familiar scowl. "Brittany, I—I wasn't mad at you. I was just upset about the bathing suit. I don't want to fight."

"You just called me a whore!" I snap.

"No, no, I didn't mean you're a whore. I just meant that wearing a bikini around other guys is something a whore would do. Don't twist my words."

I throw my hands up, exasperation boiling over. "If you won't take me home now, I'll find my own way back. I mean it, Lorenzo. I'm done. I want to go home."

He sneers, the mask of fake remorse slipping away. "Fine. Go ahead. Find your own way then. I paid for the hotel, so I'll enjoy it, even if you don't appreciate the shit I do for you."

My jaw clenches in irritation. "Fine," I mutter, stuffing the few things I unpacked back into my bag—including the bikini—and turn to leave. "Goodbye."

"You better not come crawling back, Brittany! I'm serious! If you leave this room, I'll—"

SLAM.

I slam the door behind me, cutting off the rest of his tirade. The sound of something crashing against the wall follows—a punch or maybe something thrown. Lorenzo's temper is becoming less predictable lately.

I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of my frustration and exhaustion settle in. I make my way down the hallway to the hotel lobby before he has time to calm down enough to come after me. This time, I mean it. I'm done. I don't know why I keep going back to him. He's handsome, sure, and his body isn't half bad, but none of that is worth this constant drama.

I used to think I was lucky. He was good-looking, popular, everything that girls at college wanted. I'm not model-thin—far from it. I've got thick hips and a fuller bust, and I used to hate how I looked compared to my friends, who could wear anything without a second thought. Me? I stuck to baggy t-shirts, hoodies, and yoga pants, trying to hide the parts of me that didn't fit the mold. It wasn't until Lorenzo started showing interest that I began to feel more comfortable in my own skin.

He made me feel beautiful. He took me shopping, dressed me up, paraded me in front of his friends like I was something to show off. I liked it. I loved the attention. I felt special. But now, two years later, I see it for what it really is—chains. He acts like I'm his property, like every curve, every dimple belongs to him. The more he clings to me, the more I feel suffocated, trapped in his obsession.

He's like an addiction. Every time I'm ready to walk away, he does something to remind me of that high—those moments when he made me feel cherished and loved. I can't help but crave it again, even though I know it's destroying me.

It's unhealthy. I know that. I should leave. But it's hard. That 5% of the time when he's not being possessive, when he's showing me love, it makes the other 95% of the time seem bearable. I don't know how he does it. But I can't shake him.

We drove for hours to get here, and I've never been to this town before. It's deep in the wilderness, a small timber and gold mining town. Lorenzo promised great views and hiking trails, but right now, I don't give a damn about any of it. I just want to go home. I reach the bus station in the center of town and check the schedule.

Perfect. No buses until the morning. I could call a cab, maybe an Uber, but it would be expensive, and I'm down to my last few bucks. I sigh and start walking back toward the hotel. I don't want to go back to Lorenzo, but I also don't want to freeze my ass off out here.

As I walk, the sounds of a live band spill out from a bar nearby. The music tugs at me, and the promise of a drink sounds like a good distraction—just one, maybe two, to numb the thoughts swirling in my head.

I step inside, and the first thing that hits me is the crowd. The place is packed with burly, lumberjack-looking men, thick with muscle and rough-hewn good looks. Some of them are so big they seem like they belong in a different world. They're intimidating, but God, they're handsome. My eyes wander across the room, trying to take in the view. There are hardly any women here, and the few who are look just as strong and fit as the men.

Before I can turn to leave, I feel a hand brush against my back—under my backpack—and a jolt of electricity shoots through my skin.

Chapter 2

"Excuse me," a low, gravelly voice murmurs behind me. "I, uh, haven't seen you around here before."

The man standing behind me is unlike any I've ever seen. He's towering, with a jawline so chiseled it could cut glass, and a scruff of sexy stubble that only enhances his rugged handsomeness. His dark blonde hair peeks out from under a well-worn Blue Jays hat, and his crystal blue eyes gleam with an emotion I can't quite place. He is so incredibly handsome—raw, confident, the embodiment of masculinity in a way that feels genuine, unforced. Not like Lorenzo, with his pretty-boy looks. This man is different—more than just his face. He's the kind of man you imagine when you think of someone who could carry the weight of the world and still stand tall. A real man. Not the whining, pathetic jerk I left behind at the hotel.

"Wow," I breathe, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

The handsome stranger smirks, his lips curling into a smile that has my heart pounding. My face flushes in mortification. I try to hide behind my hands, embarrassed by my own stupidity. "Sorry. Geez, I didn't mean to—mouth vomit. You're just gorgeous, and I couldn't— I mean... Gosh! Stop talking, Brittany," I mutter under my breath, cringing at how awkward I sound.

"Brittany?" The man raises an eyebrow, his voice deep and smooth, like honey. "That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

And just like that, my blush intensifies, spreading down to my neck. His smile—so effortless, so warm—does something to me. Makes me weak in the knees. What is wrong with me? I came in here to drink, to escape the reality of going back to a hotel room where my asshole boyfriend is probably throwing a tantrum, waiting for me. I shouldn't be stumbling over my words like some love-struck teenager, especially not to a total stranger. A total sexy stranger...

"I'm sorry," I stumble, my voice faltering as I pull myself together. "I was just heading out." I glance up into those sparkling blue eyes again, my breath catching. He is seriously the best-looking man I've ever seen. I don't understand how he's standing here talking to someone like me. He looks like the kind of guy who dates models or beauty queens—graceful, tall, perfect. Not someone like me. Not someone with thunder thighs and a permanent lack of coordination.

"You just got here, though," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "Why don't you stay for a drink?" He gestures toward the bar with a hand so large and muscular, it looks like it could easily crush a beer can. "I'll even make it on the house."

"Are you the owner?" I ask, a hint of suspicion creeping into my voice. Maybe that's why he's talking to me—keeping a new customer around to boost business. This town is small, a little forgotten. The hotel was practically empty when I checked in.

"No, but I know the owner," he replies with a wink. "It's always on the house for me."

I nod, looking between him and the bar. So, it's not about the money. That thought makes me feel a little more at ease. A stranger buying me a drink should still be a red flag, right? My grandmother always warned me about accepting drinks from men I didn't know. I've never really been the bar-going type—especially not with Lorenzo, who would flip if he knew I was even looking at another guy. But... tonight feels different. It feels like I can forget everything.

I clear my throat and, as casually as I can, ask, "Um, I didn't catch your name?"

"Alexander," he says, smiling again—an easy, genuine smile that makes his whole face light up. "My name's Alexander, Brittany."

"Alexander," I repeat, testing the way it feels on my lips. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to finally meet you too, Brittany."

Finally? What does that mean? Is this some strange saying in this part of the country? Or is it just another pick-up line? I'm not sure, but for some reason, I like it. There's something about the way he says it that makes me feel like I'm meeting someone important. I'm not sure how or why, but for once, I'm starting to believe it.

Alexander leads me to the bar, his hand brushing lightly against my elbow as we walk. A bolt of electric current shoots through my arm at the contact, and I shiver involuntarily. The chill in the air, combined with the thrill of being here, the excitement of the unfamiliar, makes my pulse quicken. He's no longer just a stranger. He's Alexander.

If Lorenzo walked in right now, he would lose his mind. I'm doing exactly what he's always accused me of—wanting another man's attention. But this isn't just any man. This is Alexander. And I can't seem to stop myself. I feel drawn to him in a way I've never felt with anyone before.

I'm not the type of girl who can easily forget her boyfriend. But tonight? I want to be that girl.

I glance at Alexander, feeling the weight of the thought settle in my chest. Lorenzo and I? We should be through. I've tried to break up with him so many times, but something always keeps me coming back. Maybe tonight is different. Maybe Alexander is the catalyst I need to finally take that first step.

Step one: Flirt with a stranger.

Right then, my phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me back to reality. I reach into my jeans and pull it out, seeing Lorenzo's name flash on the screen. I don't want to answer. Not now. Step two: Block the asshole.

I can't just block him, though. I know he's put a tracking app on my phone again. I've logged it out, but Lorenzo—he's clever. He'll find a way to track me if I don't shut this down completely.

"Everything okay?" Alexander asks, his voice low, concerned, as he watches my face fall.

"Uh, yeah!" I force a smile, a little too bright. "Everything's fine." I reject the call, cringing as I do. I can almost feel the rage on the other side of the phone, and I know that Lorenzo is going to lose his mind. But I can't do this anymore. Not with him. I turn off my phone completely. If it's off, he can't track me.

Alexander watches me carefully, his eyes flicking between me and my phone, sensing the tension in my body. "Well, what do you want to drink, Brittany?" he asks, leaning in a little closer. His minty breath brushes against my skin, and I feel a shiver run through me.

"Uh, um... What?" I stumble, caught off guard by his nearness.

He chuckles, a deep, raspy sound that makes my insides tighten. "What would you like to drink?"

"Oh, uh, how about a white claw?" I say, almost nervously, like it's a question.

"A white claw?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

I shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not really a drinker," I admit, my fingers twisting nervously around my glass. In college, I couldn't stand the taste of beer, so I stuck to white claws when I went out. Lorenzo didn't like me drinking at all, though. He insisted I stop completely after we started dating. I rub my arms anxiously, feeling Alexander's amused judgment at my drink choice. "I don't really know what else to get."

"Hm, not a drinker? Like, ever?" Alexander leans back a little, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

I shake my head, the warmth of his deep laugh sending a flutter through my stomach. God, he's so... sexy. It's almost too much to handle. I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly, my body betraying me with a desire I can't suppress.

"What are you doing in a bar then?" he asks, his voice a little teasing.

I blush, suddenly aware of how I must look. "I'm kind of stranded here," I confess, my words stumbling out. "I was just thinking about what to do until the bus comes in the morning." I don't want to tell him about Lorenzo. Not tonight. Step three: Forget Lorenzo.

Alexander studies me for a long moment, his eyes softening. Then, he reaches out for my hand, his large fingers curling around mine, and I gasp softly. The shock of electricity that zips up my arm makes my heart race. What is it about him? How does he keep doing that?

"Let's go somewhere a little more your scene, then?" His voice is gentle, sincere.

"My scene?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Somewhere... with more to offer than booze," he says, his smile genuine and warm. And for some reason, I trust him. I feel safe with Alexander. I don't know why, but I do.

I hesitate for just a second, then take his hand, the electricity flaring again at the touch. There's something magnetic about him. Maybe it's dangerous. Maybe it's reckless. But right now, I don't care.

"Alright, Brittany. How do you feel about milkshakes?"

Alexander drives me to a small, retro-style restaurant just outside of town, nestled in a cluster of trees where old-fashioned drive-in stalls line the parking lot. It feels like stepping back in time, but the milkshakes here are worth it—smooth, creamy, and decadently sweet. We share a large order of fries, and before I can even ask, he's dipping his fries in ranch dressing instead of ketchup. It's an unexpected gesture that catches me off guard—no one I've ever met prefers ranch. Lorenzo always used to mock me for it, calling it disgusting, making sly comments about how it was making me fat, like it was some sort of personal attack on my body. Fuck him.

Alexander, though, doesn't judge. His eyes keep glancing at my thighs as if he's tracing every curve with his gaze, like he wants to devour me in a way that's different from the fries on the table. A shiver ripples through me at the thought. There's something about the way his eyes linger that makes me feel both exposed and wanted in a way I've never felt before. His gaze is possessive.

Chapter 3

But not in a degrading way. It's like he's appreciating me

Small talk flows easily between us. He asks about my job, and I tell him about working at the bank, how I studied accounting in college but stayed local to be near my grandmother. She raised me after my mother left with some guy when I was young. I never knew my father. Grandma was the one who made me feel secure, loved. Even when my mom encouraged me to leave, to go live my life, I couldn't. I couldn't leave her behind.

Alexander shares about his family business—his family owns a logging company. He lives not far from here, in a community dwelling, a tight-knit setup, which only makes me more curious about him. He offers to take me there, show me his place, but I hesitate. It's too soon, too intimate for a first meeting. I've never gone back to a man's house before, not unless you count Lorenzo, but even then it was always more about what he wanted than anything about me. Alexander, though, I trust him. I just don't trust myself, not yet.

"What are you going to do tonight, if you're waiting for the bus in the morning?" he asks, breaking my thoughts.

I sip my milkshake, the cool sweetness sliding down my throat as I try not to notice the way he watches my lips. There's something about his gaze that makes my body ache with longing, makes my core tighten, pulse with a heat I haven't felt in a long time. His eyes do something to me that Lorenzo's never did—they make me feel sexy, alive, desirable. Lorenzo always treated me like I was something to own, something he could control. But Alexander—Alexander looks at me like I'm something to worship, not to possess.

"I was thinking of going back to the hotel," I reply, my voice feeling small compared to the desire building in my chest.

"The one by the bar?" he asks, eyes lighting up with a knowing look. I nod, and he continues, "There's a better place a few people know about. It's behind the bus station. My family owns it. It's for workers who need a place for a short while. I have a room there... if you want to stay with me?"

The way he bites his lip seductively makes my breath hitch. The question, so casual, yet loaded with so much promise, makes my heart race in my chest. Do I want to stay with this man?

Yes. I want to stay with him. I want him more than I've ever wanted any man.

Step four in getting away from Lorenzo's influence: get under Alexander. It may only be for the night, but it's something I need. I need to experience this feeling—this electrifying desire—before I go back to my grandmother. Alexander mentioned the bus in the morning, so I know he's likely looking for a quick, one-night thing, but that doesn't matter to me.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice barely a breath, "I want to stay with you tonight, Alexander."

The hotel he takes me to is nicer than the one Lorenzo booked. It's quiet, with no front desk in sight, at least from the entrance we came in from. Instead, there's a huge indoor pool, the water glistening softly in the dim light. A full restaurant is there, though it's closed for the night. Shelves line the back wall, stocked with complimentary snacks and drinks for guests. A fitness center stands nearby, where a few of the local lumberjacks are working out, their muscles straining as they lift weights. There's even a rec room filled with arcade machines, pool tables, and a dance machine in the corner. Alexander mentions a basement theater, and I can't help but marvel at the extravagance of it all.

"What kind of hotel is this?" I ask in awe, my voice full of wonder.

Alexander laughs softly, his low chuckles stirring something deep inside me. "It's not really a hotel for the general public. Not usually. My family uses it to house extra workers who don't live with us in the community village."

I blink in surprise. "Huh," is all I manage to say, absorbing the information.

"You're free to stay here whenever you want, though," he continues, the sincerity in his voice making my heart skip a beat. "This isn't for tourists, but I hope you become a regular in this town."

His words make me blush. Even if this is just a one-night stand, he's saying he'd like to see me again. It's not just about tonight. He's subtly offering me a space in his life, should I choose to come back. He hasn't offered me his phone number, but this... it feels like an unspoken invitation.

When we reach his room, it's exactly what you'd expect from a hotel suite—king-sized bed, a small kitchen, a two-person table. But the air smells just like him: pine and musk. It wraps around me like a second skin, and I feel dizzy with the intoxicating scent. I want to bathe in it. I want to hold onto it, press it into my skin, wear it like it's mine.

"Brittany," Alexander murmurs, his voice rough as he pulls me close. His hands rest lightly on my hips, squeezing gently, making the sparks in my body flare to life. Normally, I would be self-conscious about my hips, the way they might feel too wide, too full, but the way Alexander looks at me makes me feel powerful, like I'm exactly the woman he wants, exactly the one he desires. "Are you sure you're okay staying here with me tonight? I'm sure you know why I brought you back here..."

I bite my lip, the weight of his words sinking in. But I'm sure. I'm sure I want this—want him.

"Yes," I whisper again, my voice shaky. "I'm sure."

His lips meet mine then, a tender kiss at first, but it doesn't stay that way. It ignites something inside of me—a fire that spreads, consumes, grows brighter with every passing second. His tongue dances with mine, teasing, arousing, each movement sending shockwaves through my body. His hands grip me firmly, one at the back of my head, the other still holding my hip, as though he can't get enough of me.

His hand moves down then, slowly, teasing, until it cups my ass, squeezing the flesh there with a low, breathy moan that goes straight to my core. Every inch of my body burns with desire. I want him—need him. I want him to touch me the way he's touching my lips, to worship and dominate every part of me.

I can feel his arousal pressing against me, his bulge straining against his jeans, and it makes my heart pound. My body aches for him, and I know—he feels the same way.

This might only be for one night, but I'm alive in this moment, consumed by the fire between us.

Alexander pulls away for just a second, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. "If you don't want to go all the way, you have to tell me now, Brittany. I'm getting too excited. I don't know if I'll be able to stop once we start."

My heart swells at the tenderness in his voice, the way he's considering me, fighting his own desires for my comfort.

"I want this too, Alexander. I've never wanted anyone more in my entire life."

A grin spreads across his face, a breathtaking, victorious smile. "Thank the goddess," he murmurs, just before his lips crash down on mine again.

Chapter 4

The next morning

A dull ache pulses through every inch of my body, lingering like the aftershocks of some violent, yet intoxicating storm. Even between the soreness and the ache deep within me, there's a strange warmth that envelops me. My body is loose, stretched out, yet taut all at once. How did I not know that sex could feel like this?

Alexander was a force, so utterly passionate and absorbed in me that I lost myself, again and again. He consumed me, and I let him.

My skin is a mosaic of bruises and bite marks, the evidence of his hunger on every inch of me. My thighs, my buttocks—especially my butt—bear the marks of him. He is, without question, an ass man. The way he worshipped me while he claimed me from behind was overwhelming—too much, but in the best of ways.

I slip from his arms, my muscles stiff, cringing slightly as I stand. My core burns with every movement. The soft sheets around me are a tangled mess, and I look down at Alexander, still asleep in the aftermath of last night's chaos. If I thought he was handsome last night, it's nothing compared to how he looks now. His tousled hair falls perfectly around his relaxed face, the muscles in his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. There's something so beautiful about him when he sleeps. When he's awake, he's ruggedly handsome, but in this quiet moment of repose, he's breathtaking.

I sneak into his bathroom, taking care of my business, the cool water from the sink washing away the remnants of the night. I glance at my reflection in the mirror—my skin glowing, flushed, as though something inside me has been ignited.

The bite marks on my shoulders and back, though not deep, stand out against my pale skin, bold against the softness. Does he have a biting fetish? I wonder. He seemed to be holding himself back last night, as though he was torn between taking more of me and holding back. My back, my butt—those marks tell another story. The bright red bite on my left cheek stings when I touch it.

The bruises on my hips, my thighs, my upper arms, are perfect prints of his hands—his claim on me, unmistakable. My hair is a mess, my eyes puffy, my lips swollen and tender, my skin still warm from the aftermath. I look wrecked. I look used—but in a way that feels empowering, not degrading. I liked it. I want him to do it again.

Maybe not right now—maybe not this moment—but I know I'd come back if he were willing. If I could.

For now, though, I need to clean up. The bus will be here soon, and I need to get moving.

Alexander is still asleep in the bed, snoring lightly, clutching the pillow I used as a shield last night. I decide to let him sleep. I can get ready first—get myself together, so I'm not tempted to crawl back into his arms.

I grab my clothes from the floor where they were carelessly discarded, my backpack resting on the small table by the bed, still packed with my things from last night. With a sigh, I take my clothes and my bag into the bathroom. I need to move fast. The bus leaves in thirty minutes, and I don't have time to waste.

I use a washcloth to clean myself, as best I can, before drying off quickly. I apply deodorant and a bit of perfume to mask any lingering scents. I don't mind smelling like him—smelling like the sex we shared—but I'm sure the other passengers on the bus might not appreciate it. It's a long ride home.

I brush my teeth and slip into leggings and an oversized hoodie, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt underneath. I run a brush through my hair, taming the mess with dry shampoo. There. I look less like I just spent the night with some sex god in the middle of the Canadian wilderness.

I tiptoe back into the bedroom, careful not to wake Alexander. But then, his phone buzzes on the floor, where he must've dropped it last night. The screen lights up, showing a picture of Alexander with a stunning redhead. She's leaning into him from behind, her arms wrapped around his neck as he smiles, his hand resting over hers. They look perfect together.

My stomach twists, a knot of sharp, sudden pain. The name on the caller ID is 'Catherine.' He has a girlfriend—and from the looks of the picture, they're close. Very close.

I step back from the phone as a text comes through: 'GET HOME YOU JERK. Christian IS ASKING FOR YOU.'

Chapter 5

Christian? Does he have a kid with her?

I'm drowning in heartbreak, even though I knew, deep down, that this was supposed to be a one-night stand. I didn't expect him to have a girlfriend, a family. Of course, I didn't expect him to be a good guy either—but this... this stings.

Alexander seemed different last night. He made me feel special—desired, worshipped—but it was all just a lie, wasn't it? I should have known better.

I gather my backpack and head for the door, my footsteps light but heavy with sorrow. Before I turn the handle, I glance back at Alexander one last time. His sleeping face is so peaceful, so gentle, that it makes my heart ache. Even if this was just a one-night thing for him, it meant something to me. For the first time in my life, I felt cherished. Now, it feels like a cruel joke.

I step into the hallway, the cold air biting at my skin. My heart is heavy as I walk out the way we came last night, my head down as I pass by curious glances from the people around me. Outside, the bus stop is just in front of the building. I must've missed it last night in the dark, thinking it was just another building.

I check the bus schedule on the wall. As I pull out my phone to check the time, I realize it's still off from last night. I turn it on, and it immediately starts buzzing with texts. There's a stream of messages—angry, demanding ones, interspersed with a few pleading, desperate texts. One reads: 'I'M SORRY I FOUND YOUR SLUTTY SWIMSUIT AND DIDN'T LIKE IT.'

It's not an apology. It's blame. It's him projecting his insecurities onto me. I don't bother responding.

Maybe I should just give up on men altogether. They use me, break me, make me feel worthless. Alexander—Alexander felt like someone I could trust. Someone good. But it was a lie, wasn't it? I should just focus on myself.

I check the time: about eight minutes before the bus arrives. The station is still closed, so I assume I'll buy my ticket from the driver. I dig through my backpack, searching for my wallet, but then I hear the honk of a car pulling up.

"Brittany!"

Lorenzo's voice rips through the air, and I look up to see him storming out of his car toward me. "Where the hell have you been? I've been looking for you all night!"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "None of your business. We're done, Lorenzo. Go away."

"We're done?" He scoffs, shaking his head, then gestures to the car. "Quit being dramatic and get in the damn car."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, asshole. We're over. I don't want to argue with you. Just go away."

Lorenzo drops to his knees in front of me, his expression pleading. "You don't mean that."

"I do," I say, the words bitter in my mouth. Every ounce of humiliation I've endured with Lorenzo—every lie, every cruelty—has finally broken me. But it's not just him that hurts now. It's Alexander. I feel more betrayed by him than by Lorenzo. What was I thinking?

Lorenzo sighs, defeated, then shakes his head. "The bus doesn't run here anymore, if that's what you're waiting for. Let me give you a ride home."

I should've known. Alexander could've told me the bus wasn't coming. But no, he was too busy making me feel like I was the only woman in the world just to get me into his bed. The bastard.

I feel so stupid. But there's nothing I can do about it now.

"Fine," I murmur, my voice distant, "but we're really done, Lorenzo. I just need a ride home."

A smirk breaks across Lorenzo's face, like he's won something. "Okay. Just get in, and we can talk on the way."

I don't argue. He can talk all he wants. I'm not changing my mind. I'm done. With him. With all of them. Especially the sexy bastard I left in the hotel room behind me.

Lorenzo opens the car door for me. I slide in, and for the next few hours, I tune out his ramblings, trying to ignore his desperate pleas for me to come back to him.

I am done. It's time to focus on me.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts as we drive out of town, I miss the bus pulling into the station behind us.

Six weeks later...

"Honey, are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Grandma's voice is soft, threaded with concern as I step out of the bathroom for the third time since I was sent home early from work. I feel the heaviness of the day hanging around me, thick and oppressive like a fog I can't escape. After lunch, my boss came back to the office reeking of tuna fish—an odor so pungent it practically knocked me to my knees. I couldn't help it. The smell made my stomach revolt, a violent wave of nausea crashing over me in the lobby. I puked all over his shoes. All over his pants. He barely flinched before telling me to go home, to rest for the rest of the week.

"I'm fine, Grandma," I mumble, my voice barely more than a whisper as I rinse my mouth out with water at the sink. I don't look at her as I swallow hard, trying to push down the heaviness in my chest.

"You've been under the weather for a while now. Maybe it's time you see a doctor."

Her words hit me like a cold slap, though I don't flinch. I swallow hard, my thoughts a frantic mess. We can't afford a doctor. Not with everything else going on. Grandma's health insurance doesn't even cover her medication anymore. I've been the one covering it all. Not that I'll tell her. She doesn't need that weight on her shoulders. Not when she's already fighting diabetes and everything else.

"I'll do Teledoc later," I say, trying to sound more convincing than I feel. "I'm just going to lie down for a bit."

Grandma pats my cheek with a tenderness that almost breaks me. "Okay, sweetie. I'll make you some chicken soup when you wake up."

I nod, but I don't reply. I head to my room, pulling the door behind me as I collapse onto my bed. The sweatshirt I grab has a familiar, soothing weight to it. The soft cotton clings to my skin, its scent still faintly carrying the memory of a night I can't quite shake. The smell is almost gone now—more of a ghost than a fragrance—but it lingers, just enough. If I press my nose into the fabric, close my eyes and breathe deeply, I can still catch it. The intoxicating, almost addictive scent of Alexander. His hotel room, the scent of his sheets, his skin. I know I should wash it, should let it go, but I can't. Not yet. The scent is a tether to something I can't bring myself to sever.

I lay there for a moment, the image of Alexander's face—so perfect, so real—taking over my thoughts. I close my eyes, feeling the heat of his gaze on me, that raw, intense hunger in his stare. The feeling of his hands on me, his touch, his lips. It was only one night, but it feels like a lifetime ago. A part of me hates myself for holding onto it like this, but another part... another part knows I need it. My body, aching and tired, still craves him in ways I can't explain.

My phone breaks the stillness. The buzz feels like an intrusion, though I already know who it is before I even look. Lorenzo.

I roll over, grabbing the phone and unlocking it with a sigh. I'd broken things off with him weeks ago. He didn't make it easy, but I blocked him everywhere I could—his number, his work number, Facebook—but he always finds a way. I didn't even know you could call someone without revealing your own phone number, but Lorenzo's shown me all the tricks.

I wait for the ringing to stop, counting the seconds in my head before I finally hear the familiar ping of a new message.

L: Why aren't you at work?

I roll my eyes. Seriously? Did he really show up again?

I ignore the message and bury my face in the pillow. Just when I think I'm safe, another ping. Then another.

L: They said you got sick.

L: Are you okay?

L: Did you go to the doctor?

L: Can I take you?

L: Brittany, quit ignoring me and answer!

The barrage continues, relentless. He doesn't give up. I pull the pillow over my head, but just as I'm about to drift off again, another message appears.

L: Are you pregnant?

The question hits me like a thunderclap. Wait. Pregnant? Could I be? My stomach twists at the thought. I start to run through everything in my head. My period... it's been late, but I thought it was just stress. I've been so stressed. Work, my grandma, Lorenzo, and everything else. It didn't even cross my mind. But then I remember that night with Alexander—how we didn't use protection. Could I be pregnant?

Shit. Could I?

The thought has me bolting upright, my heart racing now. I can't stay here, not until I know. I throw on my shoes and grab my bag, my hands shaking. "I'll be back, Grandma," I call out as I rush through the kitchen. Her voice calls after me, but I don't stop. I don't explain. If I tell her, she'll want to come with me, and I don't have time for that.

I don't wait for anything. I have to know. Now.

The drive to the pharmacy is a blur of anxiety. My mind races, my pulse thumping in my throat. Could I really be pregnant? The thought of it terrifies me, but part of me feels a strange, almost painful hope.

Lorenzo's messages still pinging in my bag, but I ignore them. I don't care. I don't want him anywhere near me right now.

After we came back from the trip, after I told him for the final time that it was over, Lorenzo went to our friends, twisted the story. He told them I left him alone at the hotel, that I abandoned him. He gaslit me in front of all of them. Most of our friends sided with him. They've turned their backs on me. Lorenzo made me out to be the villain, the cold-hearted girlfriend. And I... I didn't know how to fight back. I didn't know how to explain everything that led up to me leaving him that night. He didn't tell them the full truth, the real story.

If I'm pregnant, I pray it's Alexander's child. Not Lorenzo's. If it is Lorenzo's, I'm not sure I can stand it.

But Alexander... Alexander is different. He feels like a spark in a world of dullness. And though I know I shouldn't, I still feel drawn to him. There's a part of me that can't let go of him. I know that sounds insane, but I can't shake it. My body remembers him, remembers how he made me feel—alive in ways I hadn't been in years. I still crave him, still ache for him in the quietest corners of my mind.

But I know I'll never be his. Not truly.

Catherine, the girl who called him home... she's the one he wants. I was just a moment. A mistake. A one-night stand.

At the pharmacy, the shelves of pregnancy tests loom in front of me. I stare at them, my thoughts a mess. They're expensive. Too expensive. I consider the public health clinic, but then I see the cheapest test and decide it'll have to do. It's been six weeks since I slept with Alexander. Six weeks. A test should show it. Even the cheapest one.

God, I feel so stupid. I just thought my period was late because of everything else. The stress, the anxiety. The constant turmoil. It's not uncommon for me to miss a period when everything's out of balance.

"Brittany?"

The voice—so familiar, so unwelcome—stops me in my tracks. Lorenzo. I turn to find him standing at the end of the aisle, watching me.

"What are you doing here, Lorenzo?" I ask, my voice cold. I can't even bring myself to pretend to be civil.

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, though his voice is still coated in that same faux concern.

"I was getting you some soup and nausea medicine," he says, holding up a can of soup and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. "I stopped by your work to bring you those toffee candies you like. I thought of you when I saw them. When your co-workers said you'd gone home sick, I thought I'd stop by and get you something to help."

I don't respond right away, my stomach clenching with something cold and sharp. Then he looks at the pregnancy tests in front of me, his eyes going wide with surprise.

"You're pregnant?"