Prologue
I used to believe in forever.
It was a stupid, soft belief, the kind that lived in late-night promises and matching playlists and the way he used to kiss the top of my head when he thought I was asleep. I was nineteen and completely convinced that love was something solid. Something that stayed.
Then I walked into his apartment on a Thursday night and found my forever buried inside my own stepbrother.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I just stood there in the doorway with a bag of takeout in my hand and watched the two people who were supposed to be safe destroy every version of myself that still trusted easily.
My stepbrother was the first to notice me. His face went white. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—scrambled for the sheets like fabric could somehow erase what I had already seen.
I put the food on the counter, turned around, and left.
That was two years ago.
I never cried over him. Not properly. What I did instead was rebuild myself into someone harder. Someone who laughed easily, fucked without attachment, and treated the word “relationship” like a disease. I kept my circle small. I kept my heart smaller.
Fun was allowed.
Feelings were not.
People called me cold. Others called me a slut. I didn’t care. Both titles were easier to carry than the girl who once believed someone could love her without eventually choosing someone else.
Tonight, like most nights, I planned to stay exactly that girl.
My best friend Lila had dragged me to a club that smelled like expensive perfume and bad decisions. She was already three drinks in and buzzing with the kind of energy that usually ended with a dare.
I should have known.
I should have stayed home.
But I didn’t.
And because I didn’t, I met a man who looked at me like he already knew every rule I lived by—and had every intention of breaking them.
His name was Dalton Crowe.
He was older.
Colder.
And the first person in two years who made me forget why I stopped believing in forever.
