Prologue
(Hope)
ONE YEAR AGO
What was I doing here?
Cheers and shrills stabbed at my ears as I forced my eyes to adjust to the scene around me. Purple, red, and yellow lights flickered like warning signs, cutting through the darkness to spotlight what I already wished I hadn’t seen. Half-naked bodies ground together in a mess of sweat and music, dancing — if you could even call it that. It was less dancing, more groping.
Most of the men couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. Strangely, most of the women didn’t seem to mind. If anything, they leaned into it. It didn’t seem to be violating to them the way it did from where I was standing. Resting their backs on men’s chests, they willingly welcomed the hands exploring their bodies like Atlantis.
Their moans were enough proof of that theory.
I gagged a little when my eyes landed on a couple — or maybe just two strangers — tangled together in the far corner, basically devouring each other. That was when I knew it was official. Max was going to pay for this. No amount of holy water would ever make me unsee what I saw.
I was traumatized for life.
This wasn’t my scene. It never was.
Unlike most of the female population here, who wore tops that were confused for bikinis and short sexy dresses outlining their curves, I had failed to make an entrance with my choice of a plain black hoodie paired with black pants. I looked so out of place, and this wasn’t just my opinion. People weren’t sneaky enough as they stole glances at me — because who in their right mind walked into a nightclub dressed for a funeral?
I was a nun compared to the crowd, but at the back of my mind, there was a valid reason why I had chosen to wear black today.
As the couple from earlier stumbled in my direction, I slipped out of my shadowed corner — my sanctuary — not wanting to be collateral damage in whatever drunken mess they were heading towards.
I can’t believe he talked me into this.
When he asked me to go out to a nightclub to have some fun, I was sure this wasn’t what he had in mind. If he could see me right now, he’d probably have forced me to have the experience all over again — under his watch.
“Need a drink?” a bartender asked, holding a tray of shots.
Even though Max had made me promise to at least try one, I shook my head too quickly, the automatic refusal flying out of me before I even thought. My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to need something to take the edge off.
But then I remembered why I came.
Why tonight mattered. Why this date pressed on my chest like a weight I couldn’t carry on my own.
My grip loosened.
“Actually,” I murmured, voice softer this time. “Something strong.” Because tonight wasn’t about keeping it together. Keeping the perfect image that I was supposed to keep locked in a safe didn’t matter. Not today.
After a few minutes, I wasn’t so sure how much of my life I had accidentally shared with Sam. His remark told me it was too much.
“I knew I recognized you from somewhere!” the bartender grinned.
I hiccuped, glancing around for anyone listening before whispering, “Shh, we don’t want anyone figuring that out now, do we?”
“You do know your outfit grabs enough unwanted attention, right? I’m sure most of them already know you’re President White’s daughter.”
“Really?” I glanced down at my hoodie, then back up, whining. “But I don’t want anyone recognizing me.”
“Well, you should’ve thought of that before walking into a nightclub looking like you’re grieving someone’s death.”
Something about that word triggered me.
“Who told you I’m not?” I snapped.
“Shit,” he mumbled, brushing his hair back. “Sorry.”
“Hey, Sam!” another bartender called out. Sam threw me an apologetic smile and asked me to stay where I was before rushing off. He probably felt the need to keep an eye on me, given how miserable I looked.
I downed the shot he left behind. His words echoed in my mind. My mood sank because I was grieving someone. I knew exactly what today was — what it meant.
Suddenly, I needed out. The crowd suffocated me, my chest tightening as if my non-existent claustrophobia had decided to finally show up. I pushed myself off the stool, vision blurry. Two hands steadied me before I hit the ground.
“Thank you,” I mumbled to the stranger.
“Care to explain what you’re doing in a shithole like this?” he asked coldly.
There wasn’t a single sober cell in my body to question why he felt oddly familiar. My response came out too fast — too ready, like I had been waiting for someone to ask me this question all day. To care.
“I lost someone.”
My heart pounded. My breath came fast.
Why couldn’t I forget?
I didn’t realize I was crying until he cursed softly. “Come here, princess.”
He pulled me into a hug, and I didn’t resist. The scent that clung to him — I knew it. Caleb. The only one who ever wore it.
His rough hands moved gently through my hair. “I miss him too, you know.”
My body tensed.
“Let’s get you back home.”
He might not have been Caleb, but he knew exactly who I was referring to.
And then it hit me. This voice. I knew this voice. I pulled back, needing to see. My blurred vision settled, and I nearly stumbled again — but not from alcohol. No. From the steel gaze, the thick brows, and the way memories of where I knew him from came crashing back.
I did a double take.
No, no, no.
It couldn’t be.
“Rico?”
He didn’t answer.
And then, as I turned toward the exit, ready to flee from him — because he was the last person I should’ve been seeking comfort from — a stranger passed by. And I stopped. My breath caught. Something about the stranger who just walked in — I didn’t know. It was the hair. Dark, messy, like it was always a second away from falling into his eyes. The eyes — sharp, blue, just like the ocean. The scruff, the nose, the way he stood.
God, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t him.
Rico’s eyes fell into my line of sight and understanding dawned upon him.
“Looks like him, doesn’t he?”
He was right.
He looked like Caleb.
Not exactly. Caleb was broader. Sharper jaw. A little more muscle than bones. But if you squinted — if you blurred the edges — you’d swear this stranger was him. For a second, my heart did something it hadn’t done in a year. It leapt.
And then it crashed.
Because it wasn’t him. And I hated that my body even thought it could be.
I hated that I looked.
A knot of emotion lodged in my throat as thoughts of him attacked my mind one after the other.
I hated that I hoped.
