PROLOGUE
Brian 🔥
“Hello?”
My voice comes out like gravel dragged over concrete—sleep-wrecked and smoke-scarred, soaked in bad decisions. It’s barely eight in the goddamn morning. A criminal hour for someone who owns a bar and didn’t lock the doors until the sky turned that ugly gray that screams you fucked up again.
Sunlight knifes through the blinds, slicing straight into my skull like it’s got a personal vendetta. My head pounds in time with my pulse. Whiskey. Cigarettes. Regret. The holy trinity.
My mouth tastes like old pennies and ash.
Dammit—if this is my sister Ava, I might actually kill her for waking me up at this ungodly hour.
I squint at my phone, debating whether this call deserves to live.
Unknown number.
Shit. Nobody good calls this early.
“Hi. Is this Brian Garcia?”
A woman’s voice. Calm. Controlled. The kind that never cracks, never begs. Polished enough to make my skin crawl.
Fuck.
Either a scam... or someone I barely remember from last night.
I picture her without trying—someone confident enough to call this early, bored enough to dial a stranger, probably expecting me to play along. The kind of woman who doesn’t waste time with small talk because she already knows what she wants.
Maybe she asked for my number last night. Maybe Noah handed it out like candy. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Either way, I’m not interested.
I don’t do chemistry. I do... whatever the night hands me. And I don’t negotiate with it.
“Ah—no,” I say flatly. “Wrong number.”
My thumb hovers over end call.
“Wait,” she blurts. “It’s about Kylie Wise.”
The name hits me square in the chest.
Hard.
Like a drink I wasn’t braced for. Like the kind of punch that knocks the air out but leaves you standing—just long enough to feel it.
Kylie.
Fuck.
The woman who walked out of my life the second I put a ring on the table. The woman who swore she saw me cheating—something I never did. The woman I tried to build a future for brick by brick, bottle by bottle, sleepless night after sleepless night.
My bar. My proof. My fucking offering.
I built it from nothing because she said she wanted stability. Because she wanted to feel safe. Because she wanted us.
And then she left anyway.
I let the phone rest against my ear, breathing through the ache blooming behind my ribs like it’s been waiting for permission to spread.
That night crawls back into my head without asking.
I went to see her.
Kylie.
Her smile was softer than I remembered. Sadder. Like she’d been wearing it for days and it was finally starting to crack.
We talked like two people pretending we weren’t standing on the edge of something already dead.
We fucked.
And yeah—maybe that’s the raw truth. No poetic bullshit. No “we slept together” nonsense. We had sex like people who still wanted each other but didn’t know how to admit it.
I thought it meant something.
Thought the door wasn’t locked—just jammed.
Like I opened myself up and didn’t realize I’d be the only one left bleeding.
When she woke up, her walls slammed back into place like steel shutters.
She wouldn’t even look at me.
Said it was a mistake.
Said she didn’t want to see me anymore.
Just like that.
No fight. No explanation. No “we can work through it.”
Nothing.
I walked out feeling hollowed the fuck out. Used. Like I’d been a character in a story she’d already finished writing—one where I didn’t get an ending.
And now—
Now someone is calling me about her.
My grip tightens around the phone until my knuckles go white.
“What about Kylie?” I ask, my voice sharper now. Awake. Dangerous. Like I’ve been waiting for a reason to throw a punch.
“This is Mylie. Her sister,” the woman says quietly. Not nervous. Just... careful. Like she’s walking through a minefield.
Mylie.
Kylie’s twin.
Something cold settles in my gut.
Mylie doesn’t call people for no reason.
“You need to know something,” she adds.
My ribs feel like they’re being squeezed by a fist.
A pause.
Long enough to make me feel the weight of it.
“And... you need to meet someone.”
The words land like a punch you didn’t see coming.
Slow.
Heavy.
Final.
The sun keeps pouring into the room, merciless and bright, lighting up the wreckage I’ve made of my life—the empty glass on the nightstand, the stale smoke in the air, the quiet that follows bad news.
I can feel it before she even says it.
Whatever this is...
It’s going to change everything.
And I already know it’s going to hurt like hell.
⸻
We meet later that day.
A small café on the edge of town. Quiet. Neutral. The kind of place people pick when they don’t want anyone seeing them fall apart.
The kind of place that doesn’t ask questions.
I sit in a booth near the back, where the lights are dimmer and the shadows cling to the corners like they’ve got something to hide.
The air smells like burnt coffee and stale pastries. The kind of smell that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into someone else’s life by accident.
I’m early.
Of course I’m early.
The vinyl seat sticks to the back of my thighs. A spoon rattles somewhere behind the counter. Someone coughs like they’ve given up on quitting.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my hands when I’m waiting. I don’t know how to act like a normal person. I don’t know how to breathe without feeling like I’m holding my breath underwater.
Then she walks in.
Mylie.
Kylie’s twin.
Not the bright, reckless version of her—the one who burned hot and fast and never looked back.
This Mylie is quieter. Measured. Polished in a way that comes from discipline, not vanity.
Classy. Elegant. Controlled.
Her hair is pulled back neatly, intentional—every strand in place like she decided long ago what parts of herself are allowed to show. Her makeup is subtle, expensive, effortless. The kind of perfection that isn’t trying to impress, only to maintain distance.
No smudged eyeliner.
No careless edges.
No room for mess.
Just a woman who learned early that control is survival.
And she wears it the way some people wear armor—light, practiced, and impossible to crack unless she lets you close.
She spots me and hesitates for a beat, like she’s measuring whether I’m safe enough to be around.
Then she sits down.
And she isn’t alone.
She’s holding a baby girl.
Tiny. Wrapped in a pale yellow blanket like a fragile promise. Chestnut hair. Long lashes. She’s asleep, her face soft and peaceful like she doesn’t know the world is already trying to break her.
My chest reacts before my brain does. Tight. Protective. Like something ancient just woke up.
“Where’s Kylie?” I ask.
Mylie’s lips press together like she’s holding back something sharp.
“She’s... gone.”
I laugh once—short, ugly, like the sound doesn’t even belong to me.
“Gone how?”
Gone like she ran.
Gone like she died.
Gone like fuck you, Brian.
My voice gets louder without me meaning to. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
Mylie doesn’t flinch.
Her eyes flicker down to the baby. Back up to me.
“Two days ago, she showed up at my place. With... Addie.”
A pause.
“Then the next morning, she left.”
My pulse roars in my ears. The café sounds fade. The clink of cups becomes distant, like I’m underwater.
“No goodbye?”
“No explanation.”
My throat goes dry.
“And the baby?” I ask, because my brain needs to keep working even though my heart is trying to stop.
Mylie looks down at the little girl like she’s afraid to say the words out loud.
“She left me Addie.”
The air gets thick.
My stomach drops.
My voice comes out wrong. Shaky. Like it belongs to someone else.
“My...?” I choke.
Mylie meets my eyes.
“Yes.”
She says it carefully. Like one wrong syllable might split me open.
“She’s yours, Brian.”
The words hit me like a fist.
I don’t feel anything at first.
Just numbness.
Then the world tilts.
The café fades.
The light gets too bright.
My hearing tunnels. My fingers tingle like they’ve gone numb.
My hands go cold.
Mylie reaches into her bag slowly, like she’s afraid to move too fast and make the moment disappear.
“There’s more,” she says quietly.
She pulls out a folded envelope. The paper is creased and worn soft—like it’s been opened too many times.
She slides it across the table.
My name is written across the front.
Brian.
Kylie’s handwriting.
My chest tightens again. My fingers hesitate before I pick it up, like I’m afraid if I touch it, I’ll wake up in the nightmare.
I open it.
The words are simple.
But they punch harder than anything I’ve ever read.
⸻
Brian,
I’m not brave enough to say this to your face.
But you deserve the truth.
Addie is yours.
I tried to convince myself she wasn’t. Tried to pretend I could disappear and spare you from another disappointment. But every time I look at her, I see you.
I don’t know how to stay.
And I don’t know how to come back.
But she deserves more than my fear.
I’m sorry for the way I left.
I’m sorry for the silence.
Take care of her, Brian.
She’s everything good I ever touched.
—Kylie
⸻
The room feels too small.
My throat goes dry. Like the air just got too heavy to breathe.
I fold the note with shaking hands, careful like it’s a fragile thing that could shatter.
My heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of my chest.
Kylie didn’t run without knowing.
She left knowing exactly what she was doing.
I stare at the baby.
Addie.
My daughter.
I don’t remember sitting down, but suddenly I am. My legs go weak and I feel like I’m floating—like my body has decided it’s too tired to carry all this truth.
My hands shake.
Every late night. Every empty apartment. Every drink poured to forget—my life rearranges itself in one brutal, irreversible moment.
I never cheated.
I never walked away.
And I never stopped loving her.
But somewhere along the way, Kylie chose to disappear.
And she left me something I didn’t know I was missing.
Addie stirs.
Her tiny fingers curl in her sleep.
I reach out without thinking.
Just one finger.
She grips it instantly—fingers curling tight, all reflex and nerve.
My chest caves in anyway.
Because suddenly, nothing in my life has ever felt this real.
And for the first time in a year, I understand something so loud it hurts:
This isn’t an ending.
It’s a reckoning.
And for the first time in a long damn while—
something like a beginning.
