Page 5

Nic

An hour later, my hands are still shaking.

I kick off my heels and climb out of the taxi, dashing across the rain-slicked driveway. The front door looms ahead, blurred by the downpour, and by the time I fumble the key into the lock, my rental dress is ruined.

I should’ve waited for Barry. He always keeps an umbrella in the backseat of his Civic. But the last thing I needed after that shitshow was his smug ‘I told you so’.

And Chase fucking Mitchell. Kai—

Nope. Don’t even go there, Nic.

I shove the door open and step inside. The house is warm, but it does nothing to stop the shiver wracking my body. Water drips off me onto the marble.

I fling my wet shoes aside, and the slap they make against the floor echoes through the cavernous entryway like a reprimand.

Despite living here for two years, I’ve never stopped feeling like an accessory to the space.

Like those Aldridge Christmas dinners, where I’d smile through small talk while Theo’s parents subtly showed me off.

I should strip out of this dress. Dry my hair. Do anything but stand here—dripping, shaking, thinking.

Screeching tires. An explosion of heat and noise. And the smell of rubber and burning flesh.

A reckless drunk driver saw to that.

We—Dad, Mom, Bea, and me—were on our way to pick Cass up from a school camp when a drunk, battering ram of a driver cleared us off the road. Mom died instantly. I almost lost my right leg—the fire ate through my skin like wildfire—but Dad and four-month-old Bea? They escaped without a scratch.

After the accident, Cass went back to live with her father and stepmother in DC. Bea had Dad. All I had was pain, bandages, hospital walls, and the unbearable weight of wondering if it would’ve been better if I had died instead.

Until I met Theo Aldridge. A golden-haired six-year-old with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat it was a miracle he could breathe. He was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was scarred.

Theo had broken his arm, and since his school took him to the nearest hospital first, he ended up getting initial treatment at the same clinic as me—before his parents whisked him off somewhere more exclusive.

For Theo and me, it was love at first sight—or whatever it is that happens when two broken kids just click. We built a bridge between his world and mine, though bridges can be a lonely path when you’re the one always crossing them.

And then, ten years later, Cass returned to L.A., all grown up and sophisticated. She’d gotten a job as a columnist and wanted to reconnect. I was sixteen—the same age she was when I left—and angry and confused. But I forgave her.

Suddenly, I wasn’t lonely anymore. I had a sister, an anchor. We had plans. I was going to move in with her after I finished high school.

She confessed how horrible it’d been living with her biological father in DC, and how she had struggled with her mental health. Life had been one tragedy after another.

Until she met and fell for Chase Mitchell.

I had nursed a childhood crush on him since that night in Beijing. Well, more than a crush—I felt entitled to Chase Mitchell in some way because he served me the worst pain of my life.

Still, I told myself that it was fine. Cass could have him. He was too old for me, anyway. She called him the most intense man she’d ever interviewed—a man who saw what others couldn’t. But there was something else in her voice when she spoke about him. Something she was trying to hide.

Three months later, she was found face-down in his pool. A month after that, her case was closed, and he got away scot-free.

And tonight, I fell into the arms of that same man. The thought alone makes me sick.

I dart to the bathroom, as if I can try to outrun it. My fingers fumble at the faucet, cranking the water as hot as I can stand.

It should burn. I deserve to fucking burn.

The ruined silk clings to my feverish skin as I peel it off. Memories of his touch crowd in again—and this time, I let myself sink into them for one reckless second.

I never imagined anyone would kiss like that. I bit him hard. It must have hurt, yet he didn’t care that he was bleeding. That we were in public. That I was engaged. That I hated him. That he didn’t know who I was or what I looked like.

Who the hell is this guy?

My hand drifts up to pull off my hair, remembering the way he’d wrapped his fist around my ponytail and my core instantly clenches in response and guilt needles me immediately.

I love Theo and his parents. I got a good life because I came as a bonus to their son. But when I think of my baby sister Bea, who grew up with far fewer luxuries but more freedom, I envy her.

She’s never owed anyone anything. Never had to constantly remind herself to be grateful.

The front door slams downstairs, and I flinch.

“Nic?” His voice, thick with alcohol, floats through the house as his heavy footsteps draw nearer.

I grab my robe off the rack, reaching the bedroom just as Theo stumbles in.

Even drunk and disheveled, Theo looks exactly like what he is—Valencia’s golden boy. Broad shoulders filling out his now-wrinkled tailored shirt—apparently, trust fund babies look the part even when they get smashed.

“Nic! You’re still up.” He shoots me a grin, his perfect veneers flash white.

“Yeah, I just got back. How was the party?”

Theo groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “It was sick. The Roths are getting divorced. Poor Eddie. His inheritance is getting split.”

I arch a brow, leaning against the bathroom doorway. Old money, old scandal.

“And their company’s stock has already crashed nearly fifteen percent,” Theo continues.

“Tragic.” My voice is flat.

He shrugs off his jacket and starts working his cuffs. “Yeah. Well, I managed to cheer him up some.” He stops, then lifts a finger—the this-is-important gesture he always does when he’s drunk and making a point.

“And then, would you believe their gall—those Stanford jackasses showed up with coke?”

I roll my eyes. “You mean to tell me someone brought drugs to a party?”

“Don’t get cute,” he mock-glares at me, swaying slightly. “They brought that garbage to my event.”

“Ah,” I smirk. “Disrespectful.”

“It’s fucking embarrassing,” Theo mutters. “Bringing their shitty frat-house coke to contaminate my product.”

“How dare they?” I keep my voice dry, but my gaze betrays me, trailing down his body as he shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

His muscles ripple, lean and toned from years of privilege and gym memberships.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and heat flares low in my belly.

Actually . . . Theo isn’t just a pretty boy. He’s hot.

How the hell have I not seen it?

“Right?” His lips curve in satisfaction. “I had to set the record straight, of course.”

“God, you’re starting to sound like a full-blown drug lord.”

He smirks, reddening slightly under the praise. “Just doing my part to keep the brand pure.”

The Aldridges may own some of the biggest citrus orchards on the West Coast, but much of it is a front for producing the hallucinogenic party drug Joystick.

And Theo? Theo is his father’s son.

“Daaayum . I’m so fucking shitfaced.” Theo stretches, then reaches for his buckle.

I undo the belt of my robe, cross the room, and bat his hands away. “Let me.”

“Nic,” he groans, but I kiss his protest shut.

His breath reeks of beer, and his scent is all wrong—something cloying and synthetic that turns my stomach. But it doesn’t dampen the fire raging between my thighs.

I couldn’t control the way that bastard made me feel, but at least I can control this.

Wrapping my arms around Theo’s neck, I hoist myself up and lock my legs around his waist. He stumbles slightly but catches himself against the wall.

“Fuck me hard, Theo,” I whisper.

His head rears back. “Who are you right now? Not that I’m complaining . . .”

I bury my face in his neck, desperate to lose myself in the familiar planes of his body. “Hurry.”

Theo’s surprised laugh rumbles against me as he walks us toward the bed. “What happened at the fundraiser?”

Every-fucking-thing happened.

I kiss him again to shut him up and drown out the memory of scorching dark and hazel eyes. Of olives. Of large, calloused fingers.

Theo lowers me onto the bed, his mouth slanting over mine, then his hand slips between my thighs—and he freezes. “Jesus, Nic. You’re soaked.”

I hate the wonder in his voice. That he’s never felt me this wet. That it’s not for him. But more than anything, I hate that he won’t question it.

I grit my teeth when he starts to press two fingers inside me, like he’s suddenly fascinated with a toy he just discovered.

“Now, Theo,” I snap.

“Okay!” He smirks, reaching toward the bedside stand.

“Leave it on,” I say, my voice rough with need.

He blinks at me. “What?”

“I want to see you.”

I never have sex with the light on because of my scars. But tonight, I need to see anything except the shadows in my head. Anything but that bossy prick.

Theo’s confusion melts into a boyish grin—the one that made me melt in middle school, the one that still makes me forgive him for every indiscretion.

“Really? We’re feisty tonight, aren’t we?” He teases, freeing himself from his pants. But I’m already moving, flipping us over—taking control the way I couldn’t at that bar.

My silk robe joins his shirt on the floor. I bend to nibble along his jaw—

That’s when I see it: a fresh purple mark.

One I definitely didn’t put there.

The room tilts sideways.

“Nic?” Theo’s hands settle on my hips, urging me on. “You okay?”

I poke the bruise. “What the hell’s this?”

The irony isn’t lost on me. Just over an hour ago, I was biting another man.

“What’s what?” His tone is too casual, his eyes flickering with something. Guilt.

“This.” I press the mark harder, and he winces.

“Oh, that.” He forces out a laugh. “Must’ve been one of the guys messing around. You know how my parties get.”

“Right.” I slide off him. “Because your frat brothers leave hickeys on your neck all the time.”

“It’s not a big deal, Nic. Don’t make it one.”

He props himself up on his elbows, his face flushed—whether from alcohol or guilt, I can’t tell.

“Don’t make it a big deal?” I echo.

Theo exhales sharply, like I’m exhausting him. “Babe, it didn’t mean anything. You know how it is. It’s all for show. Some girl was there. I may have grabbed her to keep things smooth. That’s all it was.”

The words coil in my stomach like something rancid. I pick up my discarded robe and tighten the belt.

Theo watches me with a mix of irritation and disbelief, then shakes his head. “Jesus, Nic. Are you really doing this?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, his patience fraying. “I come home to you every fucking night. You think some drunk, desperate girl at a party changes that?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Nic, come on. You know these parties are crucial to what we’re trying to achieve. What you’re doing. Your kids—”

My nails bite into my palms. “My kids! How sick can you be to drag a bunch of innocent children into our argument every time you fuck up?”

Theo scoffs. “Because that’s all you care about, Nic. Setting up your own charity. You don’t give a fuck about the family business.”

Which one? The one that bullies and underpays its farmers or the one that produces drugs? I wisely remain silent.

He folds his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “And I get it. You were traumatized as a kid or whatever. You’ve got the scars to prove it. I totally respect that.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me.

“But guess what, Nic?” Theo pins me with his green eyes. “Your dream is expensive. And I’m going to have to make it come true if I’m going to be your husband.”

A wave of nausea rolls through me. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Theo.”

“Which is the problem,” he snaps. “You never ask. You’re killing yourself to keep a scholarship you don’t need because you won’t let me pay—”

“I don’t want your money!”

“Well, clearly, you and your family need it!” His voice turns cruel. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to have my fiancée running around in cheap rented clothes and a second-hand van?”

My chest tightens, but my lips curl into a mocking smile. “Wow. And yet, you wonder why I don’t let you take care of me.”

He sneers. “No, you don’t get to put that on me. That’s all on you and the way you overthink everything, Nic.”

I huff out a breath, needing this argument to be over. As sweet as Theo is, he can be a mean drunk. “You’re right. I overthink.”

His lips twist into another sneer when I don’t give him the fight he’s obviously in the mood for. “Of course, I’m right. You want to control everything, and that’s why you’re so high-strung. Try smoking a joint or snorting some Joystick and just relax. Who knows? It might actually help you enjoy getting fucked.”

White-hot rage explodes in my chest. Normally, I’d shove it all in a box and lock it away. Let him sleep off the alcohol, let him grovel in the morning.

Not tonight.

I march to the walk-in closet, grab an overnight bag, and start stuffing my things into it.

“What are you doing?” Theo asks, watching me through the open closet door.

I glance at him, sprawled on the bed like a prince in a fucking fairytale, completely oblivious to how messed up this is.

This isn’t about the hickey. Or the man whose blood I can still taste.

This is about me and all the times I’ve told myself to stay grateful. To keep crossing the bridge into his world and convincing myself I belong there.

“Oh, nothing major.” I toss back as I pull on a pair of jeans. “I’m just a little bit done.”

Theo lets out a deep belly laugh. “Done? The fuck does that mean?”

That’s the problem right there. He’s not just my fiancé. He’s family. My entire existence has been defined by the Aldridges since I was six. Walking away now feels like disowning the family I never wanted, but the only one I was allowed to have.

“It means I’m moving out, Theo.”

He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, Nic. It’s midnight, and it’s pouring rain. There’s no need to overreact.”

“I completely agree.” I keep packing.

He huffs out a breath. “You’re acting like I murdered someone. You fucking own me, Nic. Those other women don’t mean anything.”

My chest tightens with a sharp, ugly ache. “Lucky me.”

“Come on, we’re Theo and Nic. Surely we can survive a stupid hickey?”

What about a secret obsession that just came to life? Can we survive that too?

I pull out a small suitcase—the one Theo thinks holds my mom’s ashes and keepsakes. I stuff it in my overnight bag, zip it closed, and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ll send for the rest of my things later.”

“Alright! Fine, I’ll go,” Theo huffs and starts to rise on unsteady legs. “I’ll go, okay.”

“No, don’t be silly. You stay,” I snark. “It’s your house, after all, right?”

The prenup sitting in the library desk clearly states it. I leave with what I came to the Aldridges with: nothing.

I pull my jacket on.

“Don’t be a donut, Nic.” He flops back onto the bed with a yawn. “Stay in the guest suite, then. You’d be crazy putting yourself in danger because of a fight.”

“Appreciate the concern, Theo,” I snap, but my biting tone rolls off him.

“Okay, babe.” His words slur as his eyes drift shut. “Love you.”

He must be too drunk to take this seriously.

Or worse—he thinks I can’t leave him.

And maybe . . . I can’t.

Because he’s safe. Predictable. And let’s be honest, the only anchor my family has left in this world.

Still, fuck if I’m staying chained at the bottom for one more night.

I call a taxi, then ring Bea.

It rings off twice before she calls me back.

“Bea?” I answer.

“Nic!” She’s out of breath, and there’s thumping bass in the background.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I hiss at my just-turned-eighteen sister. “Are you—“

“At a party? Yup.”

I instantly feel a pang of envy. At her age, I was mostly in my Aldridge fairytale bedroom, doing mine and Theo’s homework while he partied with the other jocks.

“It’s a school night, Bea,” I chide, wondering how she managed to sneak past our insomniac dad.

“So?”

“Anyway, I’m coming home. I’ll be there in under an hour, so you’d better—“

She cuts in. “Home? As in our house?”

My gut twists at her question. Not that I blame her.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m coming to Valencia. Guess your party’s over. If I get home and you’re not there, Dad will find out you snuck out.”

“Nic!” she groans, drawing my name out in five syllables. “You’re such a pain! Just kiss and make up with Theo already. That’s what you’ll do anyway, so why bother me with—“

“Shut up, Bea, and haul ass. Now.”

“Fine!” she snaps.

An hour later, I’m home, shooing Bea to bed before our dad gets up to investigate the ruckus.

I crawl into bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling the weight of tonight throbbing at my temples.

Maybe Theo and I will fix this. Maybe I’ll pretend I never saw the hickey, never tasted another man, never realized I’ve been sleepwalking through my own life for years.

Or maybe . . . for the first time, I don’t want to pretend anymore. The thought scares me more than anything else.

Because if I don’t belong here . . . where the fuck do I go?