Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
“And you love it.” He watched me like a predator indulging his prey. I damn near speed-walked toward the door. I flung it open with more force than necessary, the sound echoing. Just as I stepped into the hall, his voice followed.
“You’re everything to me, Mint. We’re not done. We can never be done. You start where I end, remember?”
I swallowed but didn’t look back. As I passed through the sleek, modern living space, I muttered a curse under my breath, a specific one directed at Wilder’s asshole friends.
They were all there, sprawled out on the plush sectional at nearly two in the morning, texting each other, their faces lit by the glow of their screens. Lucian, Thorne, Hunter, Atlas. Romeo’s crazy ass was God knows where. They were all in that thread and not a single one of them looked up, didn’t say a word.
They sat there, fingers tapping away in their little group chat. The whole scene was all around weird and unsettling, like some twisted cult gathering. I fought the urge to flip them off on my way out. I was done with this place, and as much as it was already killing me, I was done with the man I loved more than anything.
CHAPTER TWO
I kept my head down and powered through. I held it together as I stepped into the elevator, entering the pin that got it moving and then practically assaulting the ground button with shaking hands. The ride down was agonizingly slow, the silence thick and suffocating.
When the doors finally slid open, I flipped off the camera that gave them a view of the lift and called Wilder a piece of shit again. Then I walked into the parking garage, passing their ridiculous line of luxury cars, my footsteps echoing in the dimly lit space. My breath felt tight in my chest, but I kept going, determined to get to my car without falling apart.
Not yet.
It wasn’t until I slid into the driver’s seat of my sporty sedan that Wilder always teased me about that I finally let out the first choked sob I’d been holding back, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.
Holy fuck, this hurt.
The pain ripped through me, sharper than anything I had ever felt.
I’d sworn I would never be that girl, the one who aggressively claimed their man would never cheat, only to end up looking like a complete fool. Yet there I was, sitting behind the wheel of my car, feeling every bit the idiot, humiliated, and blindsided.
I blinked through the tears that welled up, my vision blurring. Even if he wasn't physically cheating—which I found hard to believe--there were still those fucking pictures, the messages. The betrayal clung to me like a second skin. I wasn’t just mad at Wilder; I was mad at myself. Mad that I had let it get this far. Mad that I’d ignored every red flag.
There was still a pitiful, delusional voice inside my head, whispering that I had this all wrong. That there was some reasonable explanation for everything. I shut that stupid bitch down real quick.
I knew better than to let that voice take over. It was delusional. I’d seen what it did to my mom, how it had driven her to ignore the truth and live in denial until it was too late. She spent her last days clinging to some fantasy that everything would be okay, even as my dad’s lies chipped away at her until there was nothing left.
It drove her into an early grave, leaving me with a father who drank too damn much because he regretted his shitty choices far too late to fix anything. He wasn’t a mean or angry drunk; he was a sobbing pathetic one. His death led to me being taken in by a new family entirely.
I wasn’t going to be her.
I couldn’t be her.
And the worst part? Wilder knew all about that. He knew what it had done to me, the scars I carried from watching my mom unravel. So how could he do the same damn thing?
The ache in my chest burrowed deeper, sharper, cutting through the anger. He was supposed to be different. He was supposed to understand. That hurt even more than the lies.
I pulled out of the parking deck, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. The streets were empty at this hour, the quiet hum of the city night wrapping around me as I drove. The streetlights blurred by, one after another, but I barely noticed them. My mind was still racing, tangled in everything that had happened.
My phone had only gone off once during the thirty-minute drive, and I didn’t need to check it to know who it was from. I ignored it the entire way, too afraid to see whatever excuse or bullshit justification he might have produced. It wouldn’t change anything. I knew that, but there was a part of me still clinging to some semblance of hope and terrified of what he said, or worse, what he hadn’t.