Page 18

A slight groan escaped my lips as my eyelids fluttered open, a dull ache throbbing in my head—heavy with the remnants of sedation.

My gaze was hazy, vision blurry as I slowly came to, blinking with a soft wince. My palm flew to my head, fingers massaging my temples in an attempt to soothe the pain that plagued me.

I was disoriented. My senses were foggy, and my muscles were stiff, not to mention my dry mouth and sticky tongue, both of which were obvious as a wave of nausea washed over me.

In just a few seconds, my vision cleared, and I took stock of the familiar interior—the familiar scent that wafted through the air. I blinked a few times, eyes fixed on the spinning ceiling fan.

I winced at my aching body, which felt like it was weighed down by an invisible force. I still hadn't fully grasped how I ended up here on this couch.

“Where am I?” I muttered, struggling to sit up, eyes darting across the cozy interior.

My heart skipped a beat, and my breath lodged in my throat as I recalled what happened to me in the gardens.

How long ago was that?

But what bugged me the most was the realization of where I was.

My eyes widened first, hardly believing the sight before me, then narrowed.

I recognized the flower vase on the table and the portraits that adorned the walls.

“What the hell?” I whispered, setting my feet on the fine wooden floor.

A wave of nostalgia hit me. Memories of time spent in this place came rushing back into my mind. “No, no, no,” I grumbled, rising to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest.

I stumbled upon the coffee table and tripped, crashing to the floor. My leg ached from the painful collision, but that was the least of my problems right now.

A loud, ear-piercing whistle cut through the air, drawing my attention toward the kitchen, where water in a kettle had reached its boiling point.

“Oh, you're awake,” his calm and tender voice came from behind.

With a swift movement, I jerked back on my feet, ignoring the pain in my leg. My face contorted into a frown.

“Wow, you're even more beautiful than before,” he said, lips curling into a smile as he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” I snapped at him, gesturing with a palm held up in front of me.

He stopped in his tracks, slowly raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, I may have deserved this reaction considering how….” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Well, considering how I got you to come with me.”

“I didn't come with you. You kidnapped me, you moron!” I snarled, my tone laced with venom.

Seeing him now after all this time made my skin crawl, and my blood boiled with rage. I glared at him, my scowl deepening by the second. How dare he bring me here without my permission? How dare he kidnap me?

“Don't look at me like that, Smurfette,” he said, eyes locked on me. The expression on his face was soft. “You know I'll never hurt you.”

My brows arched in disbelief, and an abrupt chuckle escaped my lips as I recalled the multiple times he'd actually hurt me.

“Well, not physically, anyway,” he added almost immediately, that friendly smile never slipping.

I maintained a straight face, my expression unreadable. “Why did you kidnap me, Bryce?” I questioned, glaring at him.

He rolled his eyes as though he was contemplating his response. “Do you want the long version or the summarized version? Because honestly, I went through a lot of trouble bringing you—” The words tumble from his lips frantic rush.

“Bryce!” I thundered, brows furrowing as I cut him off.

Bryce Foster, the idiot who had broken my heart more times than I could count. He was tall and lanky, with beautiful blue eyes and hazel-brown hair. He was charming in every way, blessed with a silver tongue that could get him out of any situation.

He was a smooth talker, easy on the eyes, and always seemed to draw unwanted attention to himself. As Mister Popular, he loved being in the spotlight, loved the noise and attention he received from other girls. One could say he was the exact opposite of me.

I used to fool myself into thinking our differences were the reason we were so perfect for each other—the ideal couple. Unlike terms, they say, attract, and that saying was the reason I held on to a broken relationship for so long.

I thought he loved me, and despite all of his flaws—his insecurities, pride, and ability to seamlessly flirt without remorse—I couldn't find it in me to let go.

Bryce was my first love and wanted to be my first—the one to take away my virginity, my innocence. However, I didn't give in to his persuasion, even though he’d tried many times.

Bryce just couldn't understand that I didn't want to have sex until my wedding night, and that always made us quarrel.

We'd fight over this and the silliest of things, but we'd always make up and get back together.

We’d started dating back in high school, and as we drew close to graduation, rumors started flying around that Bryce was cheating on me. Of course, I was too blind to see the signs and so lovestruck that I believed his words when he denied the “allegations” against him.

Carol, Jade, and Cassie, the three most attractive girls in school who thought the world revolved around them, had once told me that they had a foursome with Bryce. Again, when confronted about this, Bryce denied it.

It was almost like everyone else could see him as the liar and cheater that he was—everyone else but me.

I’d gotten tired of his behavior. He'd say he had nothing with other girls, but his attitude toward them would prove otherwise. I realized it was pointless talking to him about how his actions were hurting me. So, I ended things and moved on.

He, on the other hand, hadn’t.

Even after I lost his number, he’d still reached out to me by whatever means he could. He'd send flowers, romantic texts, apology letters—lots of them.

He’d gone as far as applying to the same college as me, and after we both got in, he didn't relent. Bryce chased me down, trying so hard to prove himself and show me he was a changed person.

This entire time, he’d still never admitted to sleeping around with those girls. He claimed his faults were the other bad character traits I couldn't put up with.

He’d seemed very genuine, and when I was convinced he truly loved me, I accepted him back.

We’d dated again in college for about two semesters, and everything looked like it was fine until I dropped by his place unannounced one day.

I pushed the door open and walked into the living room, shedding my jacket. “Bryce!” I called, draping it over the couch. “Babe?”

No response.

The TV was turned on, and a movie was playing—a scene from our favorite show. There were two bags of popcorn on the coffee table, both halfway through.

That was strange. Did he have someone over?

“Babe!” I called again, my heels clicking against the floor.

My hands flew to my hair, fingers deftly clipping it atop my head as I ascended the stairs. “Babe?”

Still no response.

Loud music boomed through the hallway as I approached his room. But there was something else beneath the melody—a sharp, pleasured cry that pierced the air.

My brows knitted, accentuating the puzzled look on my face. The closer I drew to his room, the clearer the unmistakable moan punctured the melody.

Cold sweat dampened my skin, and my heart pounded hard in my chest. My legs turned to jelly—too weak to carry my weight—as a sudden heat swelled up within me.

I felt my tear glands charging up, stinging my eyes as I dared to grab the door handle. I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat and twisted the handle. The door gave a soft creak and opened, revealing the sight that would haunt me for a very long time.

My eyes widened in shock, breath catching in my throat as I stood transfixed, rooted to the spot by the entrance. I was glued to the scene unfolding before me, unable to tear my gaze away.

There he was, lying on his back, naked on the bed, with a girl straddling him. She had her face thrown up in pleasure, hands in her long auburn hair as she ground over his groin.

He was sweaty, groaning like a primal beast, as his palms squeezed her breasts.

Her waist was grinding back and forth as she said his name amidst moans, over and over. The scene was an erotic one, but it messed with my mind, shattering my heart into a million tiny pieces.

Tears streamed down my eyes as I watched them in silence. They were so engrossed in their session that they didn't notice my presence. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't feel my legs.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, tossing the girl off him, his eyes wide in fear and shock.

She yelped and fell off the bed, cursing under her breath.

“Smurfette, I can explain…. It honestly isn't what it looks like,” he said, clutching the sheets to his groin. His voice dripped with insincerity and was laced with desperation as his face turned bright red.

Across the bed, the girl's face snapped up from the floor, her tangled hair obscuring her face. But I recognized those green eyes that shone brightly without remorse.

It was Carol—the same Carol from high school that he claimed to never have even kissed. Her lips curled into a mocking smirk as she wiggled her manicured fingers at me.

My scowl deepened, and a mix of anger and pain surged through me. My jaw tightened, and my chest heaved slowly as I tried to control my emotions.

I wasn't sure what hurt more: catching him in bed with Carol or the fact that he'd been sleeping with her all this time and lying to me about it. I felt like a fool, especially as Carol had that mocking glint in her eyes.

My legs felt alive again, and I stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I could hear him yelling at her, blaming her for what happened and asking her to get out of his room.

Classic Bryce, never man enough to fess up and own his mistakes. What a coward!

That was the day that I’d made up my mind that I was done with him for good. I cut ties with him and vowed never to get back together with him ever again. His hold over me had broken, and I was finally free from him.

I'd been doing fine without him and had buried all the memories of him so deep that his name barely even crossed my mind.

However, here we were, standing face to face with each other after all this time. My hatred for him was still fresh, like it was just yesterday that I witnessed that sight.

“I'm sorry I kidnapped you, but that was the only way I could bring you here.” His voice, dripping with condescending sincerity, cut through my thoughts.

My brows furrowed at the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

He continued with an unsettling calmness, “You never would’ve come with me voluntarily.”

“What do you want, Bryce?” I snapped, my scowl deepening. “I didn't stutter when I said I didn't want anything to do with you.”

“Come on, Smurfette, that was a long time ago…” he said smoothly as he started to approach.

“Don't come any closer, Bryce.” I cast a stern glare at him, my voice laced with disdain. The mere thought of his hands on me made my skin crawl.

He stopped in his tracks, respecting my demand. “Look, I don't wanna fight—”

“Then you shouldn't have kidnapped me in the first place,” I cut him off, eyes blazing with fury.

“I'm trying to do you a favor, Smurfette,” he said, his expression softening like he truly believed his own words. “I know you got dragged into marrying that punk. I know you never wanted this life.”

Listening to him insult my husband made my blood boil, and my jaw clenched, accentuating the displeasure etched on my face.

“I was heartbroken when I learned that you married some rich asshole—”

You're really pushing it, aren't you, Bryce? I thought, fingers balling into fists.

I thought I'd never feel the need to defend Alexei's name anywhere. But right now, if Bryce said one more insulting word about my husband, I could slap him across the face.

He continued, his eyes flickering with mirth. “But after I did some digging and realized the real reason you married that man, I knew instantly that you needed my help.” His lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. “That's why I'm here, Smurfette…to help you.”

My brows arched at his ridiculousness. It just seemed to irritate me even more. “I don't need saving, Bryce…much less from someone as selfish as you,” I snapped.

The color drained from his cheeks at my words, and his lips twitched at the corners as though my statement had hurt him.

Good.

I stepped closer to him, looking him dead in the eyes with the meanest expression I could muster. “That ‘punk,’ that ‘rich asshole,’ is twice the man you will ever be, Bryce,” I hissed the words, my tone biting and contemptuous as I hurled the verbal dagger at him.

His eyes misted, and his throat wobbled, a testament to how hard he swallowed.

I leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I'd rather spend the rest of my life with him than spend another minute standing here with you.”

His body trembled, and he blinked rapidly like he was struggling to fight the tears that filled his eyes. His nose flared, lips quivered, and face paled even further, now drained fully of color.

“Let me make one thing clear, Bryce Foster: If you ever pull a stunt like this again,” I warned, my voice cold as ice, “you will live to regret it.” I eyed him, disdain etched in my gaze.

His eyes dropped, unable to meet my glare as a flush of shame crept up his next.

He stumbled backward as I shoved past him, my shoulder deliberately jamming into his chest.

“Please, don't go,” he begged, his voice weak and faint, filled with pain and regret.

“Have a nice life, Bryce.” I stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind me.

His pleas meant nothing to me. I had a bigger problem on my hands: Alexei.

How would I explain sneaking out of the house and returning at this time of night?