Chapter 1
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Tears streamed freely down my cheeks, hot and unforgiving. My chest tightened as I stood frozen in front of Matt’s bedroom door, the sickening sound of another girl’s moans slicing through the silence like a blade. It was surreal — a moment I never thought I’d live through. My heart shattered with every breathy sound coming from inside. This couldn't be happening.
How did we end up here?
I felt rooted to the spot, my legs refusing to move, as if some part of me still hoped it was all just a horrible misunderstanding. But deep down, I knew. The truth was loud, clear, and ugly. A soft whimper escaped my throat before I turned on my heel, each step toward the door of his apartment feeling heavier than the last.
"I guess this is the end, Matt," I whispered to myself, the words trembling on my lips.
I wiped my tears hastily, not wanting him — or anyone — to see me break. As I stepped outside, the evening breeze hit my skin, reminding me I was still alive, even though I felt dead inside. Max, my driver and bodyguard, stood by the car, a look of concern flashing across his face the moment he saw me. Usually, I spent hours at Matt’s place — laughing, talking, wrapped in his arms — but today, I hadn’t even lasted five minutes.
Max didn't ask questions. He didn't need to. The air around me was heavy enough to speak volumes. Silently, he opened the door and drove me home without a word. I appreciated his silence more than I could say.
Once home, I bolted to my room, locked the door, and collapsed onto my bed. The pillows muffled my sobs as I clutched them like they were all I had left in the world. I cried until I could barely breathe.
We dated for almost a year.
How could he do this to me?
I kept crying, my tears soaking the pillow, until sleep finally overtook me — a temporary escape from the hell I had just witnessed.
***
When I woke up, the sky outside was dark, a soft glow from the city lights spilling into my room through the window. My phone buzzed weakly on my nightstand. I picked it up and blinked at the screen. 6:50 PM. I’d been out for nearly five hours.
Ten missed calls. Six unread texts.
I already knew who they were from before I even looked.
Six calls from Matt. Three from Ari. One from my other friends, and the rest... who cares?
I opened Ari's messages first.
Ride or die ❤️: Where are you? You said you'd give me details on you and Matt. FYI, Nolan is back and he's doing his best to piss me off.
Ride or die ❤️: Are you okay Amy? Is anything wrong? I've called you three times now, you're not usually like this.
My heart ached reading her words, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond just yet.
I shifted to Matt's messages — hesitation growing into bitterness.
I read his name with disgust. A wave of nausea rose in my stomach just thinking about him.
I didn’t just hate him… I hated myself. Hated that I believed in him. Hated that I’d made him the center of my world. Hated that I forgave him too easily when I caught him flirting at the bar. Hated that I had convinced myself it was innocent fun.
"Fun? Really, Amy?"
"You gotta try better than that," my conscience sneered.
"Not now, Consy," I muttered under my breath.
An unwanted tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away harshly. No more crying. Not for him.
I opened Ari’s chat and quickly typed a response.
*Me:* *I'm so sorry for bailing. Something came up. Can we talk later tonight?*
It wasn’t enough. But it was all I had the strength for.
I stood up from my bed and stripped off my clothes, grabbed a blue plush towel and tied it around my chest. Blue and black were actually my two favorite colors. I was obsessed. Like literally addicted. Huge shoutout to whoever created them — seriously, legends. But I’ve always wondered: who even *created* colors? Did they just exist? Why didn’t they name red “blue” and blue “red”?
My body was still damp from the shower, but at least I wasn’t dripping. I pulled on my pajamas and was just running my fingers through my hair when I heard a knock at the door.
Who could that be?
I opened it and saw one of the maids standing there.
“Sir said you should come down for dinner,” she said softly.
Only then did I realize how empty my stomach felt. I’d only eaten breakfast.
“Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute,” I replied with a tired smile. She nodded and walked away.
I walked toward the mirror and gave myself a long stare.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered.
Despite everything, I had to hold my head high. Especially here.
My dad was amazing. Not at all like the cold-hearted Mafia boss you’d expect. He was kind, strong, and knew how to love. You’d probably wonder why I wasn’t some spoiled brat — well, that's because despite all the affection he showed me, he also raised me with values. He taught me when to be kind, when to stand up for myself, and yes — when to be rude. His favorite line? *“No matter what, if it’s a bitch, teach her a lesson.”* I remembered him saying that to five-year-old me, his face completely serious. I’d giggled then. Now I just smiled.
Though a Mafia boss, my dad was the best. And if you’re wondering about my mom... she died when I was three. It tore both of us apart. He loved her with his entire being.
With a breath, I let my damp hair fall loose and walked down the hall.
But as I approached the dining room, something caught my eye.
Someone I didn’t recognize.
A guy.
He sat casually at the far end of the long dinner table, scrolling through his phone, dressed in dark casual wear that clung perfectly to his toned frame. His jawline was sharp, his dark hair tousled effortlessly, and his aura screamed confident, dangerous… intriguing.
I slowed my steps.
Who the hell was he?
