Crack.

The slap landed so hard my brain short-circuited, like it physically couldn’t process what had just happened.

My fiancé hit me.

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

Two minutes ago, I broke a mug.

And then Rhys hit me.

Rhys. My fiancé. My soon-to-be husband.

Hit me.

Over a mug.

The room tilted. My cheek throbbed. It took a full thirty seconds for my brain to catch up.

‘You’ve lost your goddamn mind,’ I said, pressing a shaking hand to my burning face.

Rhys’s mouth flattened into a hard, unforgiving line. ‘That was Catherine’s mug.’ His voice was ice, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

I stared at him. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? This is insane!’

For half a second—only half—a flicker of guilt crossed his face. But then his expression darkened again, burning with fury.

‘No, you’re the insane one. I already agreed to marry you. What more do you want? And yet, you still can’t handle even a trace of Catherine. You knocked over that mug on purpose, didn’t you? Because you knew it was hers.’

His voice shook with rage. ‘She’s your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you’re still jealous? You won’t stop until you erase everything of hers, will you?’

The hatred in his eyes hit harder than the slap.

My cheek stung. My hand was still bleeding. But none of it hurt as much as this.

I forced my teeth to unclench. ‘You think I’m jealous of her?’

Technically, I could see why someone might say that. Catherine and I shared the same parents, but only one of us was the golden child. The favourite. The chosen one.

And me? I was the inconvenient shadow.

Catherine the Great could do no wrong. And if she ever did, well, it obviously wasn’t her fault. Someone must have misled her. She must have been ‘influenced by the wrong people’.

Even when she ran away from home, vanishing overnight without so much as a Post-it note, guess who got blamed?

Me.

Because apparently, Catherine left because I liked Rhys. And in some grand, saintly act of sacrifice, she decided to ‘step aside’ and ‘let me have him’.

As if I couldn’t find my own man. As if I spent my life collecting Catherine’s leftovers.

My fingers curled around the engagement ring on my hand, and something hot—rage, humiliation, resentment—rose in my throat.

Maybe Catherine was right. Because if she were still here, Rhys wouldn’t have looked at me twice.

I should be grateful, I suppose. Rhys was the catch of the century.

But nobody ever asked me what I wanted. My parents just shoved me into Catherine’s vacant role and expected me to perform. Marry Rhys. Secure his investment. Be the replacement wife. The backup plan.

I had thought, stupidly, that Rhys would refuse. That he’d never agree to marry me.

But he had. And for one fleeting second, I thought maybe here was someone who had finally seen me for me.

And then I broke one of Catherine’s precious mugs, and he slapped me across the face without hesitation.

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

I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

I made for the door. Had to get out before I broke down completely, before I lost what little shred of dignity I had left.

Rhys grabbed my wrist.

‘Pick up the pieces.’

I looked up, expecting the usual smug glint in his eyes, some kind of joke lurking beneath the surface.

There was none. Just pure, simmering hostility.

My cheek throbbed. The burn had deepened, promising a lovely little bruise by morning. A party favour from this nightmare.

‘No.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Pick. Them. Up.’

‘I said no.’ My voice didn’t waver.

If love meant tossing my self-respect in the bin, then Rhys could keep it.

The air between us crackled. He looked like he was considering hitting me again. I eyed his right hand warily.

Rhys worked out religiously—one of those guys who probably thought skipping leg day was a war crime—so physically, I didn’t stand a chance. But I wasn’t about to cower.

He stepped closer. ‘For the last time, if you refuse to do as I say, then we—’

‘We’re done,’ I finished for him.

Shock flickered across his face. Ah. Didn’t see that coming, did you?

While he stood there, rebooting his brain, I yanked my wrist free. Or at least, I tried. Because just as I thought I’d gotten away, he caught my arm again.

That was it.

I pivoted, wound my free arm back, and—slap.

Oh. Oh, that felt spectacular.

My palm stung like hell, but it was worth it. And maybe it was my imagination, but that ‘crack’ definitely sounded louder than the one I’d received.

Rhys stumbled back a step, his eyes wide—not in pain, but in disbelief. He never thought I’d hit him.

Just like I never thought he would.

‘Well,’ I said coolly, ‘now we’re even.’

Still speechless. Love that for him.

I turned, walked to the door, and paused just long enough to look over my shoulder.

‘And we’re done.’

Then I was out.

I stormed down the hall, out of his penthouse, out of his life. If I had stayed a second longer, I would’ve crumbled—and I’d rather die choking on my own tears than let him see them.

I didn’t check if he was following. Just ran.

Well. Tried to run.

High heels and emotional distress? Not a great combo.

I made it fifteen steps before—bang.

Ankle twisted. Body lurched. Full-body collision with the floor.

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

I pushed myself up, grabbed my wallet, and kept moving.

Home. I just needed to get home. Away from this. Away from him.

I burst out of the building like a woman fleeing a crime scene and slammed straight into a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.

Tall. Solid. Dressed like he had a personal stylist but still radiated the kind of danger that made people think twice before cutting him off in traffic.

Tears misting my eyes, I barely spared him a glance and kept going.

I didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching me go. I could feel it—that quiet prickle of curiosity from a man who’d just witnessed a dishevelled, emotionally wrecked woman making a run for it like the final girl in a horror movie.

I jumped into my car and floored it.

Back at my apartment building, I dug through my bag. My heart sank. No keys.

Of course. Because the universe had clearly decided today was Screw Over Mira day.

With a defeated sigh, I slumped against my front door, my whole body trembling. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind only pain. My cheek throbbed from where Rhys had slapped me—a sharp, burning reminder of just how badly the day had gone off the rails.

I’d held back my tears for the entire twenty-minute drive home, but now they had their own agenda, streaming down my face in hot, miserable streaks.

I dragged in a shaky breath. I had to go back. I must’ve dropped my keys when I fell.

Steeling myself, I turned to leave—only to find my path blocked.

A man stood in front of me.

I was eye level with his chest. ‘I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.’ My voice came out hoarse, scratchy, like I’d spent the last hour screaming into the void.

I stepped to the side. He stepped with me.

‘You dropped these at 425 Park Square.’

In his outstretched hand: my keys. And my lipstick.

I finally looked up.

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

But that’s where the similarities ended.

Rhys had the polished, metropolitan, heartbreaker kind of good looks. The type that came with a trust fund and a knowing smirk.

This man was…

Well. Imagine if danger had a face.

There was nothing soft about him. No playboy charm, no easy smile. Just sharp, sculpted features and an air of quiet menace that could probably clear a room. He looked like the kind of man who, if you crossed him, wouldn’t just ruin your life—he’d erase your very existence.

Which, unfortunately, only made him more attractive.

There was just something about a man who looked like he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me off to his cave—metaphorically, of course—that made my heart go full cavewoman and beat like a war drum.

His square jaw tensed, which is when I realised I’d been staring at him for far too long.

I yanked my gaze away, clearing my throat.

‘Your keys,’ he said again, his voice smooth and deep, like something expensive gliding over silk.

A shiver zipped down my spine. My thighs squeezed together of their own volition.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I was in pain, on the verge of a major breakdown, and my body still decided now was the perfect time to act like I’d just walked into the first chapter of a steamy romance novel?

I snatched the keys from his hand before he could change his mind. My fingers brushed against his, and it was like a jolt of electricity shot straight through me.

His palm was warm, firm, and I noticed the calluses on the sides of his middle and index fingers. These were hands that knew work. Maybe he worked with a gun. Or a pen.

I imagined those hands on me—moving, caressing…

For one reckless second, I considered inviting him in. If Rhys didn’t want me, if my own family didn’t get me, why shouldn’t I do something for myself? Something purely for my own pleasure?

But before I could open my mouth to say something wildly inappropriate, he turned and walked away.

Straight into the apartment opposite mine.

Oh.

He lived here?

Well. That changed things.

He had to be new, or I would have noticed him long before this—because no one with a face

and a presence

like that could just blend in.

And just like that, all my very X-rated thoughts came to a screeching halt.

A one-night stand was only fun if I never had to see the guy again. Casual, clean, no awkward run-ins at the mailroom while holding a package labelled XXXL Vibrator

hypothetically speaking, of course

.

But a neighbour was dangerous territory.

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

I could be neighbourly. Maybe bring him some of my homemade cookies. My friends always said they were delicious.

But that was a problem for Future Mira.

Right now, I was exhausted. And hurting.

I finally got my door open, stepped inside, and sank to the floor, curling into myself.

And then I let the tears fall.