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💔Betrayed by the friend she loved. Saved by the boy she hated. Justice tastes like revenge (and his arms). -------- ANGELA’S POV I always knew this day would come. My secret love for my best friend would be exposed. But not like this. Never this cruel. I dropped my keys twice before I finally got them into the lock. My hands were shaking, mostly from exhaustion, but also from a tiny, stupid spark of hope that I couldn't seem to smother. It was my twenty-third birthday. I had just finished a twelve-hour double shift at the clinic, my feet felt like they were made of lead, and all I wanted was to walk through that door and see Ethan waiting with a cheap grocery store cake and that crooked grin of his. We had been best friends since we were six years old. He knew today was the day. He had to know. When I woke up that morning, his bed was already empty. I told myself he had gone out early to plan something special. I told myself not to overthink it. I pushed the door open, bracing myself for a "Surprise!" or at least the smell of something cooking. Instead, I was hit with the sound of packing tape screeching against cardboard and the sharp, soul-crushing sound of something shattering. "Oops," a high-pitched, feminine voice giggled from the living room. "I guess that one was a bit fragile." I dropped my bag and sprinted toward the noise. My heart stopped. Maya, Ethan’s girlfriend of three months, was standing over a box, a smirk playing on her perfectly glossed lips. At her feet lay the shattered remains of the vintage, hand-carved music box Ethan had given me for my eighteenth birthday. It was my favorite gift—one I had kept on my nightstand for five years as a symbol of his promise to always be my "home." "What are you doing?" I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared at the white shards on the hardwood floor. "Oh, hi Angela," Maya said, not sounding sorry at all. She kicked a piece of the porcelain under the sofa with her designer heel. "I'm just helping. Ethan and I decided that since I’m moving in today, we really needed to clear out the clutter. This guest room needs to be an office, you know?" My mind flashed back to that eighteenth birthday—to a much simpler time. The rain had been drumming against the roof of his old beat-up car, but inside, it was warm. Ethan had handed me the small, wrapped box with a shy grin. "It plays our song," he’d said softly, his eyes full of a tenderness that made me feel like the only girl in his world. "Whenever you feel alone, just wind it up. I’m right here, Ang. I’m always going to be right here." Ethan. Where is he? I looked around the room in a daze. My books were piled haphazardly in open crates. My clothes had been yanked out of the closet and dumped onto the bed. It looked like a burglary, except the thief was wearing a silk robe that I knew Ethan had bought her last week. "Ethan?" I called out, my voice rising. "Ethan, where are you?" He stepped out from the kitchen, looking everywhere but at me. He was wearing his favorite hoodie, the one I’d patched for him a dozen times. He looked smaller than usual, his shoulders hunched as he avoided my gaze. "Hey, Ang," he muttered to his shoes. "Ethan, she’s throwing away my things," I said, pointing to the shattered music box. "What is going on? Why is she packing my room?" Maya stepped up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist like a victory flag. "I already told her, babe. I’m moving in. Today. You told me it was fine, remember?" Ethan finally looked up, but there was no warmth in his eyes. Just a weary, annoyed kind of guilt. "Maya’s lease ended early, Ang. It just made sense. We need the space." "We?" I repeated. "Ethan, I’ve lived here for two years. You told me I could stay as long as I needed to get on my feet. I pay rent. I do the groceries. I thought we were roommates. I thought we were friends." "We are friends," he said, but he sounded like he was reading from a script. "But things change. You’ve been here long enough, don't you think? It’s getting a little crowded." The air in the room felt thin. I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall in front of Maya. She was watching me like I was a show, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Today is my birthday, Ethan," I said softly, giving him one last chance to be the person I thought he was. "Did you even remember?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Does it matter, Ang? Really? A birthday is just a day. Maya needs the space now. We can't just put our lives on hold because you want to blow out some candles. You’ve had plenty of time to find your own place. You've been here long enough." It was like a switch flipped in my head. The crushing weight in my chest didn't disappear, but it hardened into something sharp and cold. I looked at him—really looked at him—and I didn't see my best friend anymore. I didn't see the boy who used to share his lunch with me or the man I had spent years secretly pining for. I saw a coward. A ghost of who I used to know. "You're right," I said, my voice suddenly steady. "It doesn't matter." Maya’s smirk faltered for a second. She probably expected me to beg or sob. Instead, I walked past them both and grabbed my hiking backpack from the hall closet. "Angela, look, you don't have to leave this second," Ethan started, moving toward me. "Maya said sunset, we can help you move the big stuff to a storage unit or something—" "Don't touch me," I snapped, and he froze. I went into the room that used to be mine. I didn't bother with the clothes Maya had touched. I grabbed my laptop, my documents, and the few photos of my parents that hadn't been boxed up yet. I moved through the apartment with a frantic, cold energy. I was done. I was so incredibly done with being the girl who waited around for Ethan to notice her. He had noticed me, alright. He’d noticed I was an inconvenience. I walked back into the living room five minutes later, my backpack heavy on my shoulders. Looking down at the shattered music box, I felt a lump in my throat. I should take it. But what would that matter? It's of no use. So I left it behind. Even though it had been my favorite gift, it didn’t matter to me anymore. As I reached the door, he spoke again. “I asked a friend about a roommate. He’s nice. The place is nice. I can text you the address.” I nodded without looking back. That evening, I went straight to my colleague’s place. She let me crash on her couch without asking questions, and for a few days, it became my temporary shelter while I tried to figure out what to do next. For the next few days, I toured apartments that were either too expensive, too tiny, or downright depressing. By the fifth day, my feet hurt and my hope had thinned. I needed something that was okay enough for a human to live in, but also cheap enough so it doesn't affect my pocket. I had debts to clear up, and this newfound situation wasn't making it any easier. Finally, I went to the address Ethan sent me. A penthouse-level place. Elegant. Cold. Expensive. No way I could afford this. Not with the student loans and credit card bills currently suffocating my bank account. But curiosity made me ring the doorbell anyway. The door opened. And my heart dropped straight to hell. Liam. The university’s golden boy. The campus hockey star whose face was plastered on banners and sports pages. The boy every girl had crushed on at least once. And the one man I absolutely did not like. We went to the same college, and for as long as I could remember, we had never liked each other. We weren’t enemies, but he was a tease, and I hated him for that. Now he stood in front of me shirtless, water still dripping from his hair, sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips. “Well, well,” he drawled, eyes dragging over me. “If it isn’t Ethan’s little shadow.” I wanted to evaporate. “You have got to be kidding me,” I whispered. He grinned. “You’re here to audition to be my roommate, aren’t you?” “I would rather swallow glass.” I turned to leave, but his hand landed lightly on my shoulder. “Cute.” He leaned closer. “Come in.” “Don’t touch me!” I snapped. “I’m not stepping foot in…” “Then you’ll be homeless tonight,” he said calmly. My breath stilled. How the hell did he know? “Don’t be stubborn, little bow,” he murmured, his voice brushing the shell of my ear like a shiver. His hands brushed mine as he dragged me into his apartment, the sudden movement stunning me as I jerked and fell to the cold hard floor. When I turned, I saw his eyes roam my body. His gaze flicked down. My tank top had shifted. And his eyes darkened. .............................................................................. ANGELA’S POV For a solid, horrifying minute, the world was a still image. I didn’t move. He didn’t move. Only those infuriating, storm-gray eyes did. They were dragging, slow motion, like he was filing a report on my exposed chest, a smug, arrogant journey straight back up to my face. Holy heck, the heat flooding my cheeks was so intense I was surprised the polished, million-dollar floor tile didn’t crack beneath me. I violently yanked the hem of my tank top back into place, my fingers shaking with a cocktail of raw humiliation and pure, unfiltered rage. “Stop looking at me!” I snarled, scrambling back like he was radioactive. He leaned back, hands up in a lazy, mock-surrender. “Relax, little bow. Didn’t see anything you haven’t already posted on your sad little private Instagram.” Wait. “My Instagram account is private.” “Yeah,” he drawled. His lips curled into that signature, soul-destroying smirk. “Exactly.” The blood ran cold in my veins, then instantly boiled over. That arrogant jerk stalked me online? Of course he did. Liam Kingstone was the kind of guy who pretended nothing mattered while secretly caring way too much. It was infuriating. I shoved myself up, furiously brushing off invisible dirt. Naturally, the floors in his penthouse were spotless. Liam probably had enough money for a team of angels to clean his apartment while he slept. “Fine,” I spat, throwing my hands up. “I’m leaving. Find another roommate. Preferably someone who won’t murder you in your sleep.” I spun for the door. He blocked it. A solid, unmoving wall of muscle and abs and…ugh…stupidly low-slung sweatpants that clung to his hips. Water was still sliding down his ridiculously sculpted back like it was an exclusive water slide. I hated that I noticed. I hated him for making me notice. “How do you even live like this?” I snapped. “Are you allergic to shirts, Kingstone?” “Yes,” he deadpanned. Zero hesitation. “And no, you’re not leaving.” I sucked in a sharp, desperate breath. “Try and stop me.” “That’s the plan, sweetheart.” My jaw dropped. “Liam, move.” “Nope.” My fingers tightened into fists. “Are you actually insane?” “Probably,” he conceded, his eyes holding mine hostage. “But Ethan sent you because you’re desperate, right? All those depressing little boxes reject you?” He softened for half a second—a flicker of something—before the smirk snapped back into place. “I am not desperate,” I lied through my teeth. His brow arched. “Yes, you are. And judging by the look on your face, you haven’t eaten a real meal all day.” I bristled. “Don’t you dare pretend you care.” “I don’t,” he shot back, flat and immediate. “I just don't like seeing you helpless.” He said it in a tone that made me want to punch him. It wasn't pity. It was pure, simple disdain for weakness. I tried to push past him, but he didn’t budge. He just stood there, a massive, unyielding wall of ego and infuriating handsomeness. “Move,” I repeated, quieter now. Begging. “No,” he repeated, his tone suddenly flat, heavy, and non-negotiable. “You’re not staying at Ethan’s tonight.” That stopped me cold. His eyes dropped to my pathetic little bag—the small one that held the only clothes I’d managed to sneak out. The heat rushed to my throat, threatening to choke me. “I’m not going back there because I don't need Ethan, but that doesn't mean I want to stay here with you, Liam. You are a truly terrible person.” I whispered the last part, and he just smirked, looking at me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved. “Fine,” he challenged. “If you’re so certain you don’t need Ethan… prove it. Stay here.” I scoffed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting to torture me 24/7.” “I would,” he said, utterly shameless. “I’d get to watch you trip over your pride every single morning.” “Choke,” I muttered. He grinned. Slow. Infuriating. “On what, little bow?” My brain short-circuited so violently I genuinely forgot how to form words. He had to be kidding me. His grin widened, dark and dangerous. “Relax, little bow. It was a joke. Mostly.” Little bow. That stupid nickname. He ruined the bow in my hair at age fourteen, I shoved him into a locker, and he swore he’d never let me forget it. “I hate you,” I said, breathless. “Good.” He shrugged, dismissing my hatred like it was lint. “Hate is energy. Energy pays rent.” My stomach dropped to the spotless floor. “I can’t afford rent here. I barely have two dollars to rub together.” “You can,” he said, his expression completely blank. “I’m giving you Ethan’s rate.” I blinked. “What?” He ran a hand through his wet hair, the water dripping onto his chest—seriously, God hated me personally. “I don’t need the money,” he said, almost bored. “I just know you need a place to stay and I happen to have a spare bedroom. This place can get lonely.” He stepped closer, and my heart slammed against my ribs. “It would be nice to have some company.” Liam? The king of cold silence? The guy who made girls cry in the cafeteria without looking up from his phone? He wanted company? “You still want to leave?” he murmured, his breath hot near my ear. “Fine. Go back to Ethan. His new girlfriend can tuck you in.” I flinched. The reaction was involuntary, a tiny, miserable tremor. And he saw it. He liked seeing it. “Thought so,” he said softly, victory clear in his voice. He finally walked past me, leaving the door open—wide open, like a taunt. I tried to focus. Liam was a star ice hockey player. That meant training, traveling, games. He wouldn't be around all the time, right? He was probably just home for the off-season. I didn't even know what team he was playing for now. My phone vibrated in my bag. A text from Ethan. Have you checked out my friend’s place yet? He’s a good guy, Angie. He’ll take care of you. I stared at the message. Then at the open door. At the cold hallway. At the warm, expensive apartment. And at Liam’s ridiculously broad back. He didn’t look back, but his voice drifted from the kitchen. “Stay or go, little bow. But pick fast. I don’t beg.” My chest twisted with a sick, painful knot. I couldn’t go back there. I wouldn't watch Ethan and Maya act all lovey-dovey. And Liam? He was an asshole, but he was my asshole. I could handle him. I had to handle him. “Wait!” I called out. He stopped, turning slowly. The stupid smirk was already curving his mouth. “Yes?” I rolled my eyes to keep from screaming. “I’ll stay. But I have to go get my things.” His eyes flashed with a triumphant glint. He’d won this round. “I’m glad you chose wisely, Bow. Now, hold on. Let me grab a shirt and my keys. We'll head out together.” I shook my head immediately. “Absolutely not, Liam. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll get my stuff and come back alone.” But he was already walking away, completely ignoring me. I groaned, sinking against the wall. A part of me screamed to run, but I had nowhere to go. Here I was completely defeated and choosing my high school nemesis over being homeless. Liam came out moments later, finally wearing a soft gray T-shirt, keys jingling in his hand. He held out his other hand, palm up. I stared at it. Did this infuriating idiot actually think I’d take his hand? “What are you doing?” I asked. He smirked. “Your phone, Angel.” The new nickname was a low blow that did strange, awful things to my stomach. “What?” I was genuinely stunned. “Give me your phone. It's about to die, and you’ll be coming back with me. I want to help you power it up.” I handed him the phone, already feeling powerless, and he gave me a look that said good girl. Ten minutes later, we were at Ethan's apartment. I practically ripped my door open and bolted out. Liam was right behind me. “Where are you going?” I whisper-hissed, eyeing him cautiously. “To help you pack your things.” “Oh, hell no. You will wait right here for me.” But he wasn't listening. He walked past me immediately, moving with the quiet, predatory grace of a predator. I ran after him. “Liam… Liam, I swear to God—” He smirked, ringing the doorbell as if he was inviting himself to a house party. “Why are you so infuriating?” I asked him, utterly defeated. “You’re the only one who thinks that way, Bow.” The door swung open, and there was Ethan, Maya plastered to his arm like a lost koala. He stared, speechless, looking between Liam and me. “I came to get my things, Ethan,” I said, my voice ice cold. “I won't be long.” With that, I pushed past him, feeling Liam’s massive, silent presence right behind me. I wanted to cry so badly. But I absolutely refused to let myself fall apart here. Not now. Not ever again. .............................................................................. ANGELA’S POV The moment I stepped back into Ethan’s apartment, the air felt different. Stale. Like a room that had been left empty for years, even though I’d only been gone a few hours. Ethan didn’t come after me. I didn't know if he was drowning in guilt or just too busy admiring his new life with Maya. Honestly? I didn't care anymore. Every inch of this place was a landmine of memories. The same beige walls. The same scent of his expensive detergent. The same stupid hopes I’d nursed for two years, thinking that if I just stayed long enough, if I was just "good" enough, he’d finally wake up and realize he couldn't live without me. What a pathetic joke I’d been playing on myself. I headed straight for the guest room—the small, cramped space I’d called home while waiting for a promotion to "girlfriend" that was never coming. Liam followed me like a silent shadow. I could feel the heat radiating off him at my back, a constant, heavy presence that kept me from collapsing. I didn't dare look at him. If I caught his eye, I knew the dam would break, and I’d end up a sobbing mess on the floor. My hands shook as I reached for my clothes. "You can... go wait outside," I muttered, not turning around. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word, either. We existed in this thick, suffocating silence. Me, frantically stuffing my life into a bag; him, standing there like an overprotective statue with a massive superiority complex. And for the first time in my life, I was grateful for him. Because I knew if I saw even a flicker of real concern on his face, I’d lose it. I refused to cry here. I refused to give this house—or Ethan—the satisfaction of my tears. I would wait until I was alone. I absolutely refused to break down in front of Liam Kingstone. The door creaked open, and the mood turned from tense to toxic. Maya was leaning against the frame, her eyes raking over me like she was checking to see if I’d hidden Ethan’s silver in my bra. She wrinkled her nose, looking at my open suitcase. "Have you taken everything yet?" Liam turned his head slowly. Lazily. Like a lion deciding if the gazelle in front of him was even worth the effort of a bite. "Shouldn’t you be attached to your boyfriend’s hip?" he asked, his voice dripping with bored disdain. "Or do you have a new hobby, Maya? Aside from being a nuisance?" Maya stiffened, her mouth falling open. She stared at Liam like he’d just grown a second head. I’m pretty sure no one had ever spoken to her like that in her entire life, and the way she bristled showed she had no idea how to handle someone who wasn't under her spell. "I'm just... looking," she stammered. "At what?" Liam’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "She’s packing her own clothes, not stealing the furniture." Maya gasped, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. "I didn't say she was stealing—" "You didn't have to," he cut her off, his voice smooth and lethal. "Your face said it for you. Move." She faltered, looking between us before huffing and stomping away. For the first time since she’d entered my life, Maya actually shut up. I waited until her footsteps faded before I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "You didn't have to do that. I could have handled her." "I wanted to," Liam said simply. "I don't like her. She’s a parasite." I sighed, zipping up the bag. "Nobody likes her, Liam. She's just... Maya." "Then why did you stay?" he asked suddenly. I froze at the tone of his voice. He wasn't mocking me now. He was genuinely curious. "Why did you stay with Ethan even after you realized he only kept you around because he liked having a backup plan? You knew he was using your loyalty, Angela. Why?" My throat closed up. I didn't have an answer. Maybe I was just comfortable in my own misery. Maybe I was terrified of being alone. I didn't say anything. I just pulled the zipper shut—the final punctuation mark on a friendship that had been on life support for years. It was time to go. Without asking, Liam reached down and took the bag from me. No smirk. No sarcastic comment. He just claimed the weight of my things as if it was his responsibility now. We walked out into the hallway, and that's when the voices hit us. "...she likes you, babe," Maya was saying, her voice carrying easily from the kitchen. "I told you months ago. Girls like that get weird when you’re nice to them. They start thinking they actually have a chance." My heart didn't just drop; it shattered. Ethan let out a long, heavy exhale. "I just... I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. Once I realized she might actually... like me, I couldn't keep treating her the same. I've known for a long time, Maya. I just thought she'd grow out of it. I thought she'd move on eventually." My fingers went numb. He knew? He’d known all this time that I was drowning in love with him, and he’d let me stay? He’d let me cook his meals and pack his bags and look at him with stars in my eyes while he looked at me with *pity*? "Exactly," Maya hummed, her voice dripping with triumph. "I went to her room to make sure she wasn't taking anything. Men never notice things disappearing—especially underwear. We wouldn't want her taking anything that doesn't belong to her just to have a 'souvenir' of you." My stomach flipped. I felt physically sick. And the worst part? Ethan didn't say a word. He didn't defend my honor. He didn't tell her she was being insane or cruel. His silence was the loudest "yes" I’d ever heard. I didn't step forward. I didn't need to. Liam did. He cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the air like a blade. Before I could even blink, his hand slid into mine. His palm was warm, firm, and completely grounding. He didn't just hold my hand; he claimed it. "Well," Liam said, stepping into the kitchen with a bright, mocking smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I see your taste in women has hit rock bottom, Ethan. Impressive. Really. I didn't think you could go any lower." Maya’s face went white. Ethan froze, his eyes darting to our joined hands. "Angela... wait..." No. I was done waiting. Done explaining. Done humiliating myself for a man who didn't think I deserved basic human respect. I gripped Liam’s hand tighter, feeling the strength in his fingers. And I didn't look back. Not once. Not even when Ethan called my name again, his voice sounding small and heavy with a regret that had arrived exactly five years too late. Liam tugged me gently toward the door. "Come on, Bow," he murmured, his voice low and private. "Let’s get out of this trash fire." I let him lead me. For the first time all night, leaving didn't feel like I was losing my world. It felt like I was finally waking up from a long, bad dream. We got into his car, and I sat there in the silence, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I could feel the anger radiating off Liam—a dark, quiet fury that I didn't quite understand. Why was *he* so angry? He didn't start the engine for a long time. Finally, he spoke. "Happy birthday, Little Bow." I turned to look at him, my breath hitching. "I know it was a few days ago," he said, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel, his jaw tight. "But you deserve to be celebrated. Not tolerated." The sting in my eyes was back, but this time, it wasn't because of Ethan. Liam remembered. The enemy remembered my birthday, and my best friend hadn't even noticed it had passed. That was officially the worst birthday of my life. .............................................................................. LIAM’S POV I didn’t start the car right away. I just sat there, gripping the steering wheel, staring at Angela as she pressed her forehead gently against the window like she was afraid she might break if she leaned any harder. The streetlights painted soft gold across her face, and for the first time all day, she wasn’t trying to look strong. She wasn’t snapping at me. She wasn’t pretending she didn’t care. She just looked… tired. Cracked around the edges. Hurting. And it tore something ugly and familiar inside me. People always said I didn’t have a heart. Maybe they were right. The damn thing only ever reacted to one person anyway, and she was sitting two inches from me, blinking really fast like she was trying to keep her tears from drowning her. “Happy birthday, little bow,” I had said, and she turned to me with those eyes… eyes that shouldn’t look that sad days after a birthday she didn’t even get to celebrate. She didn’t realize I remembered. Of course I remembered. I remembered everything about her. I looked away before I said something stupid. Angela didn’t need more complications today. She already had enough wounds without adding me to the list. Still, the truth simmered under my ribs like a secret I’d sworn to bury deep: I had always loved her. Not puppy love. Not convenient love. Not “she’s my friend’s friend” love. Real, painful, vicious love. The kind I kept caged behind sarcasm and coldness so she’d never see it. Because Angela loved Ethan, or at least she thought she did. And she was so stupidly loyal to him, loyal to someone who never deserved a single piece of her. I clenched my jaw. Two years ago, I heard Ethan tell his friends he didn’t like chubby girls. They laughed. Laughed at her. At her body. At the softness she tried so hard to hide. She wasn't from a rich family, she was very naive, but I hated that Ethan used that against her. I almost tore Ethan apart that day. I almost told her. I almost picked a fight big enough to end a friendship. But she walked in seconds later, shining that clueless smile at him, and I swallowed the rage like poison. And I let her go on liking a man who treated her like a charity case. Maybe that made me a coward. But losing her entirely felt worse than wanting her in silence. I exhaled and finally turned the keys. The engine hummed to life. Angela blinked and looked at me. “Where are we going?” “We're not going home. At least not yet.” She frowned. “Liam…” “You didn’t celebrate your birthday,” I cut in. “I’m not letting that slide.” “I don’t need…” “I didn’t ask what you needed.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “I’m telling you we’re fixing it.” She didn’t argue again. Maybe she didn’t have the strength. Maybe she trusted me. Maybe she was too tired to fight. Whatever the reason, it felt… nice. I drove quietly, the city lights streaking past us until we reached the parking lot of the theme park. Ethan had mentioned, when we were having a few drinks, that she wanted to come here with him last week before he conveniently “forgot” it was her birthday. Angela froze, eyes widening as the colorful lights, screaming rides, and cotton candy stalls sprawled before her. “Liam… this…” Her voice cracked like a fragile glass ornament. “This is your birthday present, little bow. You didn’t get it before. You’re getting it now. I'm sorry your best friend is such a dick.” I said, shutting the engine off. She didn’t speak. She just took a small, uneven breath and let herself be swallowed by the noise and chaos of the park, the happy screams of strangers clashing with the hollow ache inside her chest. We walked through the crowd, and I made sure she stayed close, a protective shadow against the dizzying lights and laughter. She didn’t touch me, didn’t say anything. She just let the atmosphere hit her. And then I heard it, the softest sound, the tiny sound of a choked breath. Angela was crying. Her shoulders trembled under the weight of everything she hadn’t let out in months, maybe years. I watched her struggle to hold herself together, breathing shallow and rapid, as though she could tell herself not to fall apart. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “Angela,” I whispered. She shook her head, murmuring, “Just… please. Let me…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. I didn’t say another word. I just guided her gently toward a quiet bench near the Ferris wheel. The lights glimmered over her face, her hair catching the neon glow. Slowly, I lifted her into my arms, careful, reverent. She didn’t resist. She didn’t fight me. She just buried her face into my shoulder, letting every tear fall freely. The sobs shook her whole body, and I felt her weight, her pain, her brokenness settle over me like a storm I couldn’t escape. I held her tighter. Whispered nothing. Just let her cry. People passed by, laughing, shouting, not noticing the world had stopped for two people on a bench. And I didn’t move. Because tonight wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about Ethan. It was about Angela—letting herself feel every bit of sorrow she’d been holding inside, letting the world see her pain for the first time. I brushed a stray curl from her face and murmured, “Let it out. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She finally, finally believed me. And for once, it wasn’t about heartbreak or loss. It was about her. We needed somewhere more quiet so I picked her up bridal style and headed back to the car. When we got there, I dropped her for a bit and opened the passenger door, placing here there and staying right by her side, not moving an inch. I just watched her, entranced by the beautiful woman I loved and couldn't take her pain away. Everyone, all my fans thought I was a playboy. Never staying too long after a game in the ice rink. The ice gave me freedom, but at every turn, I missed her. I wasn't a playboy. I didn't even those girls I was with. The thought of being with anyone else aside Angela made my blood boil. After a while, Angela wiped her cheeks again, but the tears kept coming, slipping past her fingers, stubborn and relentless. Her breathing came in short, uneven bursts, like each inhale hurt. I crouched down so we were eye-level. Her mascara was smudged, her lips trembling, hair a mess from crying against my shoulder, and damn it, she had never looked more breakable. Or more real. Most people don’t understand what it means to watch someone you love fall apart. They think it’s dramatic. They think tears are loud. But real heartbreak is quiet. It leaks. Slowly. Silently. Until suddenly it’s too much. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, voice barely there. “What wasn’t?” She hugged her arms. “I wasn’t supposed to cry in front of you.” That hit harder than she realized. “Why the hell not?” I asked, softer than I meant to. “You think I’ve never seen you cry before?” She shook her head, wet lashes clinging together. “Not like this. Not this way. Not me broken.” Broken. She said it like she was apologizing. I reached forward and tilted her chin up with one finger. “Angela. Look at me.” It took her a moment, but she finally met my eyes. “You’re not broken,” I said, steady and sure. “You’re hurt. There’s a difference.” Her throat bobbed. “You think I’m weak,” she murmured. I almost laughed. “Weak? You think crying because people walked all over you is weakness?” Her eyes filled again, fresh tears spilling faster than she could wipe them. “I keep trying,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I keep trying to make people happy. Ethan, even strangers. I keep shrinking. I keep letting them treat me like I don’t matter. And I don’t know why.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know why I can’t just leave people alone when they don’t want me.” My jaw tightened. Hard. This…this right here…is what made me want to drag Ethan out by the throat and make him kneel for every tear she shed. I moved closer, leaning one forearm on the open door beside her. “Listen to me carefully,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “If someone can’t see your worth, that’s not your flaw. That’s their blindness.” She blinked. “And if someone makes you feel small,” I continued, “they’re not your people. I don’t care who they are.” “Even Ethan?” she whispered. Especially Ethan. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. My thumb lingered a second longer than it should have. “Even him,” I said quietly. She sniffed again, softer this time, and I could feel her unraveling, not from pain anymore, but from exhaustion. The kind that sits in your bones. “Liam…” she whispered my name like it scared her. I swallowed. “Yeah?” “Thank you.” Two stupid words. But they hit me harder than any punch I’d ever taken. I exhaled slowly. “Don’t thank me for being here. You don’t thank people for breathing.” Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something else, something deeper but she hesitated. She looked away and hugged herself tighter. I reached over and gently pulled her seatbelt around her. The moment my fingers brushed her shoulder, she exhaled shakily, like she wasn’t used to being handled with care. “I’m taking you somewhere else,” I said, buckling it. She frowned. “Where?” “You’ll see.” “Liam, I’m not in the mood to…” “It’s not about mood,” I cut in. “It’s about air.” She blinked. “Air?” “You need to breathe. Not in a car. Not in a dark room. Not in your head.” I closed her door gently. “Somewhere open.” I walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car again. She wiped her face with her sleeve. “Where are you taking me?” “A place I go when I’m about to lose my mind,” I said simply. She stared at me like she didn’t know whether to trust me or run. But then she whispered, “Okay.” And that one word, that quiet surrender did something to me I couldn’t explain. I pulled out of the parking lot and drove. And for the first time all night, Angela leaned back against the seat…and breathed. .............................................................................. ANGELA'S POV I could hardly breathe. My eyes burned, swollen from crying. My chest felt tight, like someone wrapped a rope around my ribs and refused to let go. Beside me, Liam drove quietly through the city, taking us farther and farther away from the theme park we had just run from. Music played softly from the radio, but it sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater. Neither of us talked. I kept staring out the window, blinking slowly as street lights streaked past us. My reflection in the glass looked miserable. My face was stained, my curls messy, my hearing aid visible behind my ear. I looked like a heartbreak in human form. Finally, the car stopped. I looked up. My stomach twisted. Shock registered in my features. We were at the carnival on the edges of town. The exact one I had mentioned wanting to see months ago, in a moment I barely remembered. “What are we doing here?” I asked, voice weak and raw. He didn’t look at me when he answered. “Living.” Living? I almost laughed. It didn’t feel like that to me. But then a different thought stabbed me. I had told Ethan about this place, not Liam. So… how did he know? I wanted to ask, but the second the question formed, he opened my door and spoke first. “Come on, princess. We have games to lose.” I frowned. “I’m not in the—” “Too late,” he cut in, grabbing my wrist gently and pulling me out. “The carnival demands fun. We must obey.” His voice was annoying on purpose. Teasing. Light. Distracting. And honestly… I needed it. He dragged me straight to the arcade section. Bright colors, loud noises, flashing signs, kids screaming, vendors calling out prizes. Even through my hearing aid, the world was a lot. Why did he choose the loudest part first? Because he knew silence would eat me alive. He challenged me to almost every game we passed. Basketball toss. Whack-a-mole. Racing games. Strength test. Dart throws. And yes—he won nearly all of them with that stupid smirk glued to his face. “Not fair,” I muttered as he dropped another winning ticket in the basket. “Terribly fair,” he said proudly. “You’re just weak.” “Say that again.” “You’re just—what the hell?” he paused, staring at the next game. Shooting. I picked up the toy gun before he could finish panicking. And I destroyed his score. Twice. The shock on his face made me laugh so hard I bent forward and clutched my stomach. “No way,” he whispered, looking betrayed. “Yes way,” I said, wiping a small tear from the corner of my eye—not a sad one this time. “Oh nah,” he demanded. “Rematch. Now.” I shook my head, still giggling. “Not happening. You lost twice. No refunds.” He groaned and held his forehead dramatically. “Mercy… please.” I pointed to the claw machine behind me. “You want mercy? Win me that.” He spent an embarrassing, ridiculous amount of money on that claw machine. The vendor guy even started cheering for him out of pity. I just stood there eating cotton candy, watching his downfall with joy. Finally—the claw grabbed a tiny plush bear with the exact same grumpy face he always made when annoyed. He turned around slowly and handed it to me like a defeated knight offering his crown. “One grumpy bear,” he said. I hugged it to my chest. “Looks like you.” “Wow,” he said dryly. “I regret this trip.” “No you don’t,” I smiled. And he didn’t argue. Next, we moved to the rides. “Ferris wheel first,” he said firmly. I hesitated. “Why?” “Because you need to feel small in the world today,” he answered softly. “So your problems don’t look that big.” Damn him. That was smart. So I went. At the top of the wheel, the city lights glowed below us. Tiny. Beautiful. Calm. He stared at me again. “What are you looking at?” I asked, pretending to sound bored. He leaned back against the seat, one arm resting behind me, eyes steady. “You.” My heart kicked hard once, like it forgot how to beat right. Then silence settled between us. But not the painful kind. The safe kind. We spent the next hour acting like idiots. Bumping cars. Racing rides. Screaming on drop towers. Liam even threw his hands up on the rollercoaster like he was offering himself to death. By the end, I had laughed more in one night than in the past few months combined. That alone terrified me a little. Because it meant he mattered. Before we left the arcade area completely, a dusty pink hair bow caught his eye. He didn’t ask me. He just pointed. “That one.” He bought it, pearls and all, and clipped it lightly into my hair. Then he took a breath like the memory had weight. “To replace the one I broke when we were kids.” I froze. I didn’t even remember telling anyone about that bow. But I remembered the moment he broke it. Back then, I thought he enjoyed hurting me. Now I wondered if he regretted it more than I ever did. My throat tightened. “I forgot about that.” His gaze didn’t shift. “I didn’t.” And that almost broke something in me again—just not in the painful way this time. He drove me home after. My carnival bear sat on my lap the whole drive. The bow still rested in my hair like a quiet apology I didn’t know I needed. Then my phone buzzed. One message. Unknown number: He doesn’t deserve you. But neither does Liam. Be careful who you trust, Angela. My blood turned cold. Liam didn’t deserve me, fine. But neither did Ethan. What the hell was happening? Who sent this? Who knew anything about us? I looked at him, fingers gripping my phone, breath stuck at the top of my lungs. And the carnival lights outside the window suddenly felt a lot less bright. ******* 👇👇👇 There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open App to continue reading (It will automatically jump to the book)