Chapter One
Five months.
That’s how long it had been since I ended things with Daniel "Danny" Morales.
Five months since I looked him straight in the eye and told him I was done pretending. I was done being someone he mistreated and only ever loved halfway.
Five months of silence I tried to make permanent. Of memories that still crept in through the cracks when the world got too quiet.
Somehow, also five months of him moving on like I was never even real. Like my heartache had been a free-for-all invitation to parade around with every woman he could, glitter-dusted and never having to earn his affection.
They came in waves.
Sun-kissed. Giggly. Manicured to perfection.
Women who looked effortless. All gloss and giggles and skin that shimmered under dimmed lights. Who didn’t flinch when he got moody. Who didn’t ask for more.
Ones that were never told that they were too much.
Too loud.
Too intense.
Too honest.
Too real.
Too... me.
Of course, no hate to those women at all. They were just doing their own thing.
Danny was the problem.
He was the one who cracked me in half and then called me dramatic for bleeding out. He made love feel like an audition. Like I was a placeholder until someone prettier, easier, or less inconvenient came along.
I deleted his number... three times.
I blocked him twice.
Re-blocked him again this afternoon when he texted me from a new number: “I miss you. Maybe we could start again. Just keep it physical though?”
When I read it, I didn’t cry.
I just stared at the screen in disbelief.
After a moment of silence I laughed; dry, sharp, almost maniacal. I resisted the urge to throw my phone against the wall. Instead I buried it beneath a pile of lace bralettes and worn-out hoodies. As if the memory of what I just read could be choked out by the fabric.
Across the room my best friend and roommate, Brielle Moore, paused mid-fold. Her green eyes narrowed as she tracked my every twitch. “You good?” She asked, probably already knowing I wasn’t.
“Totally.” I said as I reached for my makeup bag, grabbing my eyeliner like it was my lifeline. “I'm just thinking of donating all the parts of myself I don’t think I want anymore. You know. Dignity, patience, the ability to give a shit.”
She smirked. “That sounds sexy, empowering, and possibly unhinged. I approve.”
“That’s the goal,” I muttered as I walked over to the full length mirror on the wall closest to the bathroom before slicking on liner with the kind of precision born from severing the last bit of something keeping me sane.
My reflection in the mirror made me feel unnerved, but I was trying to like her again. Petite frame, sharp edges, wide hips, small chest, and nose ring in place like punctuation. Dark brown hair streaked with red like a warning, freckles splattered across pale-golden skin like war paint. My hazel eyes unreadable behind the newly applied liner sharp enough to wound.
I turned away before I stalked toward the closet, dragging out fishnets and my favorite black mesh top.
The one that made my ex call me “too provocative”. Now I was hoping wearing it would be like a giant middle finger.
Brielle’s gaze followed me as I pulled everything on and finished buttoning the red shorts that fit snugly over my hips, contrasting with the inky black color of my fishnets.
“You know you’re not going out like that alone.” She said.
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“No, but you do need a witness when you inevitably turn some poor bastard’s heart into confetti.” She tossed her hoodie aside before grabbed her lip gloss, the deep orange one she always wore like a trademark. “We’re both going out. You’re not doing the ‘I’m fine’ meltdown alone tonight. You need music, noise, and perhaps someone hot and temporary.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but her expression said 'don’t even try it'.
So, I didn’t.
We got ready in sync, like we had a dozen times before.
It didn't take long before she stood there with her tall, statuesque frame wrapped in a violet corset top and dark skintight jeans that clung like they were scared to let go.
I pulled on my black boots and painted my mouth a dark red.
Tonight I wasn’t looking for closure.
I was looking for destruction.
Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d finally stop mistaking one for the other.
When we walked into the party, the air hit like static—thick and loud and full of everything I was trying to forget.
Heat. Music. Bodies too close. Sweat. Beer. Bad choices in cologne. Worse choices in men.
I leaned against the sticky kitchen counter, clutching a red solo cup like it was a shield. I wasn’t drinking, just blending in.
Then, I saw him.
Danny.
He was slouched on the couch like he was carved from golden hour and ego. His short dark hair styled like he hadn’t tried. He had that stupid smirk aimed at the blonde draped over him like an accessory. Her nails traced his chest like she was signing a contract.
He saw me
His dark eyes stayed open and locked on me as he pulled the blonde in for a kiss,
Slow, deep, intentional.
It was as if he wanted to punish me with it.
My breath caught. My chest squeezed like something sharp wrapped around it.
Brielle followed my gaze. “He’s disgusting.”
I forced myself to look away. “He always did have a type,” I muttered. "Just not me..."
“What type? Anything available with a pulse?”
I huffed out a laugh. “You’re awful.”
“And you’re spiraling. Quit it.”
I sighed dramatically as I mutter, “I feel like I’m watching a horror movie where the monster is my ex, and the supposed to be final girl gets killed in the first ten minutes.”
“You say that like you wouldn’t watch that shit with popcorn and a grudge.” Brielle said with a laugh.
“Fair.”
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “C’mon, Han. Let’s find someone with commitment issues and just enough red flags to distract you for a night. Bonus points if he has a nice jawline and a tragic backstory.”
“I don’t need someone,” I said. “I just need—”
The words dried up as something caught my attention.
He was sitting on a couch in the far corner like he belonged to the shadows.
Broad shoulders relaxed under a denim jacket, dark curls framing his face, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear. His tan skin glowed under flickering yellow light. Tattoos snaking down both arms and across his knuckles like secrets etched in ink.
His light brown eyes were already on me.
Not scanning. Not judging. Just… watching.
“That one,” Brielle said, low and certain, “he looks like he wants to ruin your life and make you say thank you after.”
“I don’t even know him.” I whispered.
“Even better.” She grinned, patting me on the butt before turning to make eyes at someone on the other side of the room.
I tried not to think too much as I crossed the room, hips swinging with just enough confidence to fake it.
My heart beat too loud. My thoughts tangled. I just wanted to forget everything.
“This seat taken?” I asked, trying to sound flirty but a little of my usual venom slipped out.
He tilted his head, slow and smooth. His lips curled, lazy and lethal. “Not if you’re taking it.”
I sank beside him, closer than necessary.
His scent hit me. A scent of menthol, something else earthy, and the kind of trouble I’d once promised myself I’d never touch again.
“I’m Hanna.”
“Ellis,” he replied, his voice a gravel drawl that made something low in me clench. “No last name. You’d just Google me.”
I smirked. “You don’t look Google-able.”
“And you don’t look like someone who's forgettable.”
His words landed like a match to my bloodstream.
“Do you always come on this strong?” I asked as I leaned in closer to him.
He responded back with another question, “Do you always make broken look hot?”
I couldn't hold back a laugh—half shocked, half impressed. “You don’t even know I’m broken.”
He leaned in, brushing a knuckle across my jaw. “I do now.” He rasped out, barely above a whisper. “You always this confident?” He then asked, eyes flicking down to my fishnets, lingering.
“No. But tonight I’ve got recklessness and zero shame on my side.”
“Dangerous combination, yeah?”
“You look more dangerous.” I shot back.
He didn’t deny it.
“Only if you let me be,” he murmured, voice dripping with implication.
My breath caught. My thighs clenched. My mouth went dry.
I tried to think fast. I clinked my cup of vodka-less soda to his bottle of whatever it was he was drinking. “Here’s to bad ideas.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You chasing one?”
I smile as I let my eyes wander over him for a moment. “Maybe I’m letting one catch me.”
His grin was slow and wicked. “Then let me catch you properly.”
In that moment, I thought about how easy it would be to let myself thrive in my own ruin for the night.
For once, I was actually looking forward to it.
