Cracks

The slap came down hard. My brain short-circuited, unable to process what had just happened.

My fiancé hit me.

Three minutes ago, I was mentally arranging throw pillows in our ridiculously overpriced, magazine-worthy penthouse apartment.

Two minutes ago, I broke a mug.

Then Rhys hit me.

The burning pain on my cheek dulled my reactions. It took a full thirty seconds before my brain caught up.

“You’ve got to be fucking insane,” I said through gritted teeth.

Rhys’s lips were tightly pressed together, his expression resolute. “It was just a mug with Katherine’s face on it.” His voice was cold, devoid of any guilt for what he’d done.

I stared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

For half a second—just half—there was a flicker of guilt on his face. But it quickly vanished, replaced by stormy anger.

“No, you’re insane. I already agreed to marry you—what more do you want? Katherine’s gone. And yet you still deliberately knocked over that mug!”

His voice trembled with rage. “She’s your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you’re jealous of her? You won’t stop until you’ve erased every trace of her, will you?”

The hatred in his eyes stung more than the slap.

My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bleeding. But nothing hurt more than my heart.

I forced myself to unclench my jaw and tried, one last time, to explain. “It wasn’t me. I never asked her to leave.”

Technically, I could understand why someone might say that. After Katherine left, she left a letter. On the paper, she’d written that she saw my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to “step aside” and “let him be mine.”

I don’t think she ever understood that diaries meant privacy. I clearly never intended anyone to read it, but not only did she see it—she let everyone know.

No one cared about my devastation after my secrets were exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, and forced to pay for her noble, saintly sacrifice.

To my family, it was like being a benchwarmer suddenly thrust into the starting lineup—I should have been devoutly thankful. Even if Rhys stabbed me in the heart, they’d find the perfect excuse for him.

It was as if my parents were genetically programmed to hate me. No matter how much better I performed than Katherine, they always thought I was mean, incapable of protecting her fragile self-esteem.

The burning on my cheek flared again.

My fingers clenched around the engagement ring. A wave of heat—anger, humiliation, resentment—rose in my throat.

Tears burned in my eyes. I blinked rapidly, wiping them away before they could fall.

I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.

I headed for the door. I had to get out, or I’d collapse. If I stayed, whatever shred of dignity I had left would be gone.

Rhys grabbed my wrist.

“Clean it up.”

I looked up, expecting to see his usual smugness, the kind that always hinted at some hidden joke.

There was none. Only pure, seething hostility.

My cheek still ached. The burn had deepened. By morning, it would definitely leave a charming little bruise—a party favor from this nightmare.

“No.”

He clenched his teeth. “Pick them up.”

“I said no.” My eyes, bloodshot and unyielding, stared him down.

If love meant throwing my self-respect in the trash, Rhys could keep it.

The air between us crackled. He looked like he might hit me again. I watched his right hand carefully.

Rhys worked out religiously—probably thought skipping leg day was a war crime—so physically, I didn’t stand a chance. But I wouldn’t back down.

He stepped closer. “Last chance. If you don’t do what I say, then we—”

“We’re done,” I finished for him.

A flash of surprise crossed his face. Oh. Didn’t expect that, did you?

While he stood there, reprocessing everything, I yanked my wrist free. Or at least, I tried. Just as I thought I was free, he grabbed my arm again.

That was it.

I turned and swung my empty hand back—smack—it landed square on Rhys’s handsome face.

Oh. Oh, that felt so good.

Rhys stumbled back, eyes wide—not from pain, but from disbelief. He’d never thought I’d hit him. After all, I loved him so much.

“Well,” I said calmly, “now we’re even.”

I immediately dragged my feet out of that suffocating hellhole.

If I stayed even a second longer, I would shatter. I’d rather choke on my own tears than let him see them.

And then—bam—I fell.

Heels and emotional turmoil really don’t mix.

Pain shot through my palms and knees, scraping against the hard marble. Blood welled instantly, but I barely felt it.

I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking.

Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him.

I bolted out of the building like a woman fleeing a crime scene—and ran straight into a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.

Tall, solid, dressed in a high-end tailored suit that still couldn’t hide a dangerous energy—like the kind that makes you think twice in a traffic jam.

Tears blurred my vision as I mumbled a rushed apology and pulled away. I didn’t want to hear a single question. One word, and my tears would flood again.

I jumped in the car and floored the gas.

Back at the apartment building, I searched my bag. My heart sank. No keys.

Of course. The universe had clearly declared today “Mira’s Doom Day.”

Rage and helplessness sparked in my chest. I kicked off my heels and violently shook the door handle. It wouldn’t help, but I needed to stay busy.

Until a voice, smooth as black velvet, spoke behind me.

“Your keys.” No inflection. But something in his tone smoothed out the chaos in my mind. I turned—and after seeing his face, I was certain.

The universe had left only me and a living David statue.

Tall. Very tall. Six-foot-two? Six-foot-three? A little taller than Rhys.

Rhys had that polished, city-boy kind of good looks—the trust fund kind of charm.

This guy was...

Well. Sharp, sculpted features, and an intimidating aura that could silence an entire room. He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn’t just ruin your life—he’d erase your existence.

Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive.

For a second, I wished he’d throw me over his shoulder and carry me off to his lair—

His square jaw tightened, a crease forming between his brows, and I realized I’d been staring too long.

“You left these at 425 Park Plaza,” he said, holding out his hand.

My keys. And my lipstick. Resting in his wide palm.

My face flushed red. If I were filming a porn movie right now, the shot would be a disaster.

I snatched the keys from his hand, turned, and bolted inside.

Oh god. I didn’t even get his name. I should’ve thanked him. But when I peeked through the peephole, I saw him walk into the apartment across the hall.

He lived here?

Well. That changed things.

He must be new. No way I would’ve missed someone like him—because no one with that face

and that energy

could just blend in.

And just like that, all my very inappropriate thoughts screeched to a halt.

One-night stands are only fun when you never have to see the guy again. Casual, clean. No awkward post office encounters involving packages labeled “XXXL vibrator”

just a hypothetical, of course

.

But neighbors? Neighbors were dangerous.

Still... that didn’t mean I didn’t want to see him again.

Of course, just to thank him. Maybe bring him some cookies I baked myself. My friends always say they’re great.

As I entered my warm, safe haven, the pain returned in waves. I collapsed on the floor, curled into a ball—

And the tears came again.