Breaking Hearts
ONE
I take two hours getting ready to lose my virginity and walk into my boyfriend making out with my best friend instead.
Honestly?
That feels like the kind of thing that should happen to somebody else.
Not me.
Not tonight.
Not after the dress.
Not after the makeup.
Not after shaving literally everything below my eyelashes because apparently humiliation wasn’t dramatic enough already.
The music is too loud the second I step through the wrought iron gate leading into Ethan Holloway’s massive backyard graduation party. Bass rattles through the warm June air while fairy lights sway overhead and drunk seniors scream lyrics around bonfires near the pool.
Everything smells like chlorine, smoke, and expensive alcohol.
I barely notice any of it.
Because Carter’s hands are on Brooke’s waist.
And Brooke’s tongue is in my boyfriend’s mouth.
For a second my brain simply… stops.
The world narrows violently.
Pool lights reflecting across water.
Someone laughing too loudly nearby.
Carter’s white graduation shirt wrinkled beneath Brooke’s fingers.
Then Brooke opens her eyes.
And sees me.
The horror on her face arrives first.
Carter turns a second later.
His entire body locks.
I think he says my name.
Maybe.
I can’t actually hear him anymore.
Something inside me goes frighteningly still.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Just empty.
Around us the party keeps moving like nothing happened. Someone cannonballs into the pool. Music pounds through hidden speakers. People laugh near the firepit completely unaware that my entire life just cracked open in the middle of Ethan Holloway’s backyard.
“Ophelia—”
I turn before Carter can finish.
Not because I’m about to cry.
Because if I stay there another second, I might genuinely ruin both their lives.
I hear footsteps behind me immediately.
“Ophelia, wait!”
Carter catches my wrist near the side gate leading toward the driveway.
His touch sends revulsion crawling up my spine so fast it surprises even me.
I yank my arm back hard enough that his expression shifts instantly.
Pain.
Good.
“Please let me explain.”
“Explain what?” My voice comes out terrifyingly calm. “Which part confused you? The cheating or the making out with my best friend at our graduation party?”
“It just happened.”
I actually laugh.
A sharp little sound.
“Right. Because people accidentally fall into each other’s mouths all the time.”
“Ophelia—”
“No.” I step backward again. “Don’t touch me.”
His face twists.
Guilt.
Panic.
Shame.
I see every emotion flicker across his expression almost before he feels them himself.
That happens to me sometimes.
Tiny shifts in people.
Tiny truths hiding beneath words.
I’ve always noticed things too easily.
“You were acting distant lately,” Carter says quietly.
The words hit strangely.
Like somehow this is partially my fault now.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“You literally are.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated now. “Sometimes being around you feels…” He hesitates.
“Feels what?”
His eyes meet mine fully for the first time tonight.
“Intense.”
The word lands heavily in my chest.
Pool lights flicker once overhead.
Neither of us acknowledges it.
“I loved you,” he says quietly.
Loved.
Past tense.
That hurts worse than the cheating somehow.
Because part of me realizes I already knew.
Maybe not about Brooke specifically.
But something inside me has felt this relationship dying for weeks.
I just didn’t want to admit it.
Which makes the humiliation even worse.
Because tonight was supposed to mean something.
I swallow hard against the burning in my throat.
“I hate both of you right now.”
Then I leave.
Actually leave this time.
Past the music.
Past the lights.
Past the noise.
The massive driveway stretches downhill through rows of dark trees, steep enough to feel endless beneath my heels. Gravel crunches sharply under my shoes while distant bass slowly fades behind me little by little until the night becomes unnervingly quiet.
Cool air brushes against my bare skin.
I wrap my arms tightly around myself and keep walking.
Angry.
Humiliated.
Furious enough that my chest physically aches with it.
I look insane probably.
Two hours getting ready for a boy who apparently decided my best friend was more interesting.
My laugh escapes bitterly into the darkness.
“Love that for me.”
The farther I get from the party, the stranger the silence becomes.
Too still.
Like the night itself is listening.
I make it halfway down the driveway before I see him.
At first I think he’s just another guest leaving the party.
Then he steps fully beneath the moonlight.
And my brain stops functioning for a full second.
Dark hair.
Short black hair slightly messy like he’s been dragging his hands through it all night.
Dark clothes.
Dark dreamy eyes that catch silver around the edges when he lifts his head toward me.
He looks around my age. Maybe older by a year or two. Tall enough that I instinctively slow when he starts walking toward me.
Not threatening.
Just… impossible.
Beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel entirely human.
My heartbeat stumbles traitorously.
There are markings across his skin.
Not tattoos exactly.
Intricate black, or is it purple, patterns curl along his throat and disappear beneath the collar of his dark jacket. More markings wrap around his hands like elegant ink carved directly into him.
For one irrational second, my eyes lock onto them so hard I almost miss his smile.
God.
That smile.
Crooked enough to feel real.
Slow enough to make my heart ache.
Warmth floods unexpectedly through my stomach despite the emotional disaster currently happening inside my chest.
He stops directly in front of me.
Close enough that I catch the scent of rain and smoke and something colder underneath. Like air right before a storm breaks.
“You look disappointed,” he says softly.
His voice slides through me like velvet dragged over a knife.
I blink at him. “What gave it away?”
One corner of his mouth lifts.
“The homicidal energy mostly.”
A startled laugh almost escapes me before I can stop it.
Which is insane.
Because five minutes ago I wanted to set my entire graduating class on fire.
“You were watching me?”
“Maybe.”
That answer should bother me more than it does.
Instead I become painfully aware of the fact that he’s looking directly at me like I’m something fascinating.
Not pretty.
Not hot.
Fascinating.
The distinction sends something strange fluttering through my pulse.
Before I can think of something intelligent to say, he reaches inside his coat and pulls out an envelope.
Solid black.
No writing.
No seal.
Just matte black paper.
He holds it out to me.
I stare at it without taking it.
“What is this?”
“An invitation.”
“You hand out mysterious black envelopes often?”
That crooked smile appears again.
“Only to girls dramatically storming away from emotional devastation.”
Despite myself, another laugh slips free.
His gaze sharpens slightly like he didn’t expect that reaction either.
“To what?” I ask carefully.
His eyes flick slowly back to mine.
“Nightshade University.”
The wind moves and tree branches creak overhead.
For one impossible second, the entire night goes silent.
No music.
No insects.
Nothing.
A chill works slowly down my spine.
“That sounds fake.”
“That’s usually everyone’s first response.”
“I think you definitely have the wrong person.”
“I don’t.”
He takes my hand before I realize he’s moving.
My breath catches.
His fingers are warm.
Rougher than I expected.
And the second his skin touches mine—
Something cracks open inside my head.
Not pain.
Something deeper.
For half a heartbeat I see him differently.
Darkness unfolding endlessly beneath his skin.
Fractured doorways suspended in empty space.
Stars collapsing into violet-black nothingness somewhere behind his eyes.
A feeling of distance so profound it almost feels inhuman, like standing at the edge of something ancient and endless with no bottom beneath it.
Then silence.
Like something on the other side noticed me noticing it.
The vision vanishes violently.
I jerk backward hard enough to stumble.
But he doesn’t let go right away.
His expression changes.
The flirtation disappears.
The markings along his hand darken sharply beneath my fingers.
The air around us bends.
Just slightly.
Like heat distortion warping reality for half a second.
His eyes lock onto mine with something dangerously close to shock.
“That’s impossible,” he says quietly.
A chill races down my spine.
“What was that?” I whisper.
Instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly.
Studying me now.
Really studying me.
And somehow that feels worse.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
The way he says it sends heat crawling unexpectedly up my spine.
He steps closer again before I can recover, reaching up slowly enough for me to stop him if I want to.
I don’t.
His fingers brush one loose strand of black hair behind my ear.
Gentle.
The gesture catches me completely off guard.
So does the way his gaze flickers briefly toward my mouth afterward.
“You should open the envelope, Ophelia Velmora.”
The sound of my full name in his voice does strange things to my heartbeat.
“If you accept,” he says quietly, “we’ll see each other again.”
Then he presses the black envelope into my hand.
His fingers drag slowly against mine before he lets go.
Another tiny shock races through me.
Not painful.
Worse.
Intentional.
“Who are you?” I ask softly.
His smile returns slowly.
“Lucas,” he says.
Then he walks past me into the darkness.
And somehow, standing there alone with the black envelope in my trembling hands, I already know my life is never going to belong to me again.
