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When I was thirteen, I tried hosting my first boy-girl party. This time, he let me have it, and I was having so much fun… until Adrian and the other Heirs showed up, uninvited, and I became an outcast at my own party.

I didn’t have a sweet sixteen because my mom was sick. That didn’t stop him from sending me a bouquet of flowers, signedwith a heart and his initials, as though mocking me for turning sixteen without any fanfare.

At least, that’s how I interpreted the gesture back then. Now… I was just starting to see a different side of Adrian Heller only to realize that, no, I pinned him down perfectly now, and I was an idiot to think he could ever change.

That’s the worst part of sitting here, stewing over the last month. I didn’t want to think that our relationship is—like it was back then—purely about sex. That Adrian Heller was attracted to my body in a way that didn’t quite make sense to me, but when it comes to the person inside, he couldn’t care less about Loni.

This proves it.

I grab my phone, making a decision.

If he doesn’t want to celebrate my birthday, that’s fine.

I’ll celebrate it on my own.

It’s beena long time since I’ve given in to my petty side, but hell if I’m not enjoying it.

Living on my own at eighteen wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Having money and dad’s silent support was definitely a privilege that most people don’t have, but it was rough. I went from knowing everyone in town and being wary of all of them to being a new face without any baggage.

Once I realized that, it was super fucking freeing. The Order didn’t chase me after Harmony Heights…yet…and without my past following behind me like a big, black cloud, I could be anyone that I wanted without my real name weighing me down.

And Marie Howard could be a petty bitch once she was allowed to be.

Back home, once again Loni Dougherty—or, as my husband insists, LoniHeller—I struggled; my forced marriage and my magnetic pull toward my former bully definitely didn’t help. Tonight, though? I’m hurt enough that I let the petty take over.

Which is precisely why I decided to leave the house.

Except for a couple of walks when it cooled down a little, I haven’t really gone outside. It’s not that big a deal for me. In Bridgewater, heading downstairs to get my mail was a notable event. Hiding behind the front of Adrian’s home was no real adjustment at all.

Could I leave? That’s something that Adrian answered shortly after he moved me in. Of course I could. I wasn’t a captive. I wasn’t a prisoner. I was his wife… just a wife who’s SUV is conveniently still parked at my dad’s house.

If he thought that would trap me, he has his head so far up the Order’s ass that he forgets how the real world works. I mean, it’s pretty damn obvious he doesn’t want me going anywhere, but to think that I can’t… hey. When there’s a will, there’s a way, and I was super fucking willing to stick my middle finger up at Adrian however I could.

Well, no. That’s being a littletoopetty. I respect his position in the Order, even if I don’t like it. Cheating on him wouldn’t just embarrass him; it could be a death sentence for me if he petitions Jack Collins and uses my infidelity against me. There aren’t any Used for the Offering. Oh, no. Once we’re married to an Owed, that’s it—or else.

But ordering a ride and paying for the driver to bring me to the King’s Court, that’sperfect.

Technically, anyone affiliated with the Order is allowed entry. One of the Owed flashes their brand, and since the Used work out of the club, security recognizes them. I was a little worried that I’d have to namedrop Adrian to get in, but when I held up my head and walked into the club, no one stopped me.

Is it because I look like one of the Used? I purposely kept my wavy hair down, brushing against my shoulders, covering my neck. I traded my comfy house clothes for a black dress that would’ve had Adrian drooling if he got to see me in it. I’d planned on changing into it earlier for our dinner—a tiny celebration at home—but when he never came home, I didn’t bother.

While I waited for the car to arrive, I did. I put on a little makeup, too, and slipped my feet into a pair of heels that I only wore when I had to go into the office to speak with Mr. Dimmity. I look pretty good, if I do say so myself, even if I start freaking out a little that the other clubbers might think I’m for sale.

It isn’t until after I stepped into the loud, smokey nightclub that it hits me: my wedding ring. While some Owed buy their Offering a ring suited to them—like Adrian said he was doing for me even though I told him it’s fine, I’m not too pressed what it looks like when I’m not the type of girl who bothers with jewelry—most Order wives have the same gaudy gold band on their finger that I do.

If the crowd around me dancing, drinking, smoking, and slinking away to the backroom where the Owed are kept, waiting for their visitors… if everyone at the King’s Court was a vampire, the ring on my finger is like a wooden cross or a vial of holy water. The universal sign that says ‘I’m taken’, I’m given a wide berth.

I’m used to it. In the old days, it was because I was Loni Dougherty and, for some inexplicable reason, Adrian Heller hated Loni Dougherty. I know now that there’s a thin line between love and hate, and while the world believed he hated me, Adrian himself would say it was the opposite.

Do I believe him? Silly Loni, I think I was—but after tonight? I’m not so sure anymore.

That’s okay. I didn’t come here for company. As lonely as I’ve been, being in the middle of a crowd, even if they’re ignoring me… it’s better than spending the night alone, pathetically waiting for my husband to grace me with his presence. The gin and tonic that I ordered from the bartender doesn’t hurt, either.

I’m not a huge drinker. I have a two drink limit so, for the first twenty minutes, I nurse this one. Then, because I don’t have anything better to do, I cross my legs at the ankle, swivel on my barstool and people watch.

A few familiar people come in and out of my line of sight. When I do make eye contact and feel that flash of recognition deep in my gut, I’d drop my head, letting my hair fall forward into my face. They disappear into the crowd, and I let out a sigh of relief.

Rinse.