Abigail

I was horny. Again.

My pen rolled between my lips, smooth plastic gliding over my tongue. My thighs rubbed together under the desk, heat pooling low in my belly as I stared at the spreadsheet without seeing a single number.

The figures were blurry.

His hands on my hips. Fingers digging in, almost bruising. The cold wall against my back, my legs wrapped around his waist as he—

A keyboard clattered somewhere across the bullpen. My office was right next to it, and the sound of printers whirring, spitting out pages mixed with someone's cackle and all of it faded into background noise.

His mouth on my neck, scraping my skin with his teeth, his dick sliding through my pussy folds, drawing me close to release, my thighs slick with arousal—

"Drake," I moaned around the pen.

It pressed against the roof of my mouth and I hollowed my cheeks slightly, sucking on it while imagining it was my fiancé's cock, his salty taste coating my tongue while his fingers fisted my crimson red hair.

"That's it, baby. Take it all."

My free hand drifted toward my lap. My skirt felt too thick and restrictive. God, how much longer before I could leave work? I needed Drake so badly.

My pussy throbbed as I flicked my tongue over the pen, imagining it was Drake's dick. A naughty smile flickered on my face. I couldn't wait until tonight.

"Hello??!"

The pen tumbled from my mouth, bounced off my keyboard—tap tap tap—and rolled across the desk.

My office chair squeaked as I jerked upright. Heat flooded my cheeks, crawling down my neck, and I was sure it would match my red hair. I let out a sharp exhale, my heart hammering against my ribs.

What the fuck was that? Why was I getting horny in the office?

"Jesus holy Christ, Sash, you scared me!"

Sasha leaned in the doorway, her arms folded. The fluorescent lights overhead cast shadows under her perfectly arched eyebrow. Her lips curved into a knowing smirk that meant I was absofuckinglutely busted.

"What on earth were you thinking about?"

"Working," I grumbled, arching my brows.

My computer screen glowed before me, filled with spreadsheets that I definitely hadn't been looking at for the past ten minutes. I snatched my pen like it had betrayed me and jammed it into the ceramic pen holder on my desk.

"Just... the quarterly report."

"Uh-huh." Her smirk widened, turning into a knowing smile. "You review reports by deep-throating stationery now? That's a new technique. Should I add it to the employee handbook under 'innovative office practices'?"

Wetness pooled between my thighs, slick and insistent. I clenched, glancing at the clock on my desk. Five hours and thirty-six minutes until I could go home and pounce on my man.

"Fuck off, Sash."

"Valentine's Day got you all worked up," she wiggled her brows. "Let me guess, Drake promised you the night of your life and now you're sitting here fantasizing about his—"

"Sasha!"

"What? I was going to say 'excellent dinner reservations.'" She grinned wickedly.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Abby."

Yes. God, yes.

Tonight, Drake had promised, we would go to a club to get things steamy between us.

The piping hot kind of steamy. I had bought new red lace lingerie that cost almost half my paycheck and I couldn't wait for him to destroy it.

I wanted his teeth on those ribbons, tearing through fabric like he couldn't wait another second to sink his cock into me.

"Abby? You're gone again." Sasha's laughter pierced my thoughts.

"Seriously, you're like a broken radio stuck on the sex channel. Just wanted to check if you submitted the report to Mr. Morgan yet?"

My stomach dropped.

Er, what report?

One of the white files glared back at me accusingly from the corner of my desk. And that's when I remembered.

"Oh shit!"

My hands flew to the desk, scrabbling for the file. The clock read eleven fourteen, its red numbers glowing like a warning. The file was due to be submitted to the CEO by eleven on the dot.

My chair shrieked against the floor as I launched myself up. The folder crushed against my chest as I bolted past Sasha.

"You're welcome!" Sasha's voice followed me down the hall. "And try not to orgasm on the way there!"

I bit back a smile. Mr. Morgan's office was at the end of the floor. I rapped my fist on the door thrice and pushed it open without waiting for an answer, as was usual.

His chair sat empty behind his desk, still spinning slightly like he'd just left. Papers scattered across the surface in chaotic piles, and a half-eaten sandwich sat on a napkin, mayonnaise oozing onto the wood.

His computer screen glowed with an email inbox that had to have at least two hundred unread messages, each subject line screaming for attention.

Where was he?

Well, all the better for me to submit before he noticed I was late. I strode stealthily toward the desk, intending to leave the report front and center where his eyes couldn't miss it. Just as I leaned forward to set it down, the folder slipped from my sweaty fingers.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I bent over, my skirt riding up my thighs as I scrambled forward on my knees, grabbing at pages before I got caught. The click of the door closing made my spine stiffen.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Morgan, I dropped the—"

Strange hands clamped onto my hips, caging me just as I felt a body press against mine from behind, something hard grinding between my ass cheeks through the thin fabric of my skirt.

What the actual fuck?

Every muscle in my body went rigid. The warmth that had been pooling in my belly all morning turned to ice.

"Mr. Morgan... what do you think you're doing—"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't want this, Kellerman," my boss whispered in my ear, his breath hot and disgusting against my skin.

Revulsion crawled up my spine like insects. My hands crushed the papers. This wasn't Drake's hands on me. I tried to jerk away but his fingers dug into my hip bones, yanking me back against him.

"Let. Go. Of. Me!"

"You submitted late." His hands started moving up my waist, and rage exploded in my chest.

"So you ought to do something for me and make it worth my while, yeah?"

Oh, hell no.

I twisted hard, adrenaline flooding my system. My elbow flew back and connected with his ribs—hard. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough.

I whirled around and my palm connected with his face with a resounding crack that echoed through the office. His head snapped to the side, and I had never felt so much satisfaction hitting anyone in my entire life.

"Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, my voice ringing with fury.

Mr. Morgan stumbled backward. His hand flew to his cheek, which was already blooming red with the perfect imprint of my fingers. For one beautiful second, shock flickered across his face before rage replaced it.

"You little bitch."

"You disgusting old bastard." I didn't lower my voice. Didn't care who heard. My hands were shaking, but not with fear—with pure, crystalline rage.

"I heard about you touching Sarah from accounting. Making Jessica uncomfortable during late meetings. But you never tried it with me before. I guess the slimy old pig finally worked up the nerve."

His face went purple, veins bulging in his forehead.

"You can forget about your job. You're done here."

"Good." I stepped toward him instead of away, and he actually flinched.

"You think I want to work for a pathetic predator who gets off on cornering women in his office? You're doing me a favor."

He lunged for my arm and I jerked it away, holding up my other hand in a fist. "Touch me again and I swear to God, the next slap will be the least of your problems. I will scream bloody murder and tell everyone in this building exactly what you tried to do."

His hand froze mid-air.

"I'll ruin you!" he fumed, pivoting to jab the intercom button on his desk instead.

"You won't be able to work anywhere in this city. I'll make sure everyone knows what a difficult, teasing bitch you are—Security!"

His voice boomed into the intercom.

"Security to my office. Now."

"Ooh, I'm terrified." I made a funny face, sticking my tongue out at him before straightening my blouse with shaking hands and heading for the door.

"Go ahead and try ruining my chances. I'll make sure your wife, the board, and every news outlet in this city knows exactly why you really fired me."

His face drained of color. The door burst open before I could reach it, and two security guards filled the doorway, both looking confused.

"Throw her out," Mr. Morgan clutched his red cheek. "She's fired. Expect your severance pay by the end of the month!"

"I know the way out. And you can't fire me because I quit, asshole!" I looked at the security guards.

"You might want to ask him why his face looks like that. And maybe check in on the other women who've had 'late meetings' with him."

I lifted my chin and walked past them, my head held high even as my legs trembled.

I just got fired. Oh god, I just got fired.

The hallway blurred as I stormed down to my office. My desk swam into view and I reached for my purse, phone, the framed photo of me and my grandparents at the beach, all three of us grinning at the camera.

I just lost my job, Meemaw.

I couldn't ever tell her that. She would panic so hard.

"Abby?" Sasha materialized beside me, her eyes wide with questions. "Abby, what's going on? What happened? I heard the noise."

I couldn't answer. If I opened my mouth, I might scream or cry and never stop. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, hot and insistent, but I blinked them away furiously.

The guards waited at the door. My lips pulled into a fake smile at Sasha, and before my legs gave out, I moved.

Every eye in the bullpen watched me leave. It felt like I'd been walking for a thousand years by the time I reached the parking lot. My car sat in its usual spot, a small red thing that I'd busted my ass to get last year.

Everything went silent once I got in. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, burning hot trails down my cheeks.

No. I wiped the tears from my face. I was not going to cry over that piece of shit. I would get another job. Good riddance to Morgan.

Only one person could help me get out of this mood. I fished my phone out and typed a message.

Me: Bad day, baby. Are you home?

I needed Drake. He would tell me Mr. Morgan was a bastard and I was amazing and everything would be okay. He would hold me, kiss me, make me forget. My thighs clenched together at the thought.

Horny, angry, and frustrated?

What a perfect combo for Valentine's Day. I was supposed to be horny and excited, counting down the hours until Drake could fuck me senseless—not harassed and fired, shaking with rage and trying not to cry.

This was why I loved living with him. We'd be married in a few months anyway.

I stared at the message, more tears blurring my vision, before tossing the phone into my bag and starting the car.

There was no way I could get justice either. I had no proof, and Mr. Morgan was connected enough to blacklist me from every company in this city.

"Good luck finding a better secretary than me, pig!" I spat, slamming my fist on the wheel as I drove. I was good at my job.

Connections or not, I could get another. I hoped.

The drive home was a haze until our apartment complex came into view. Drake's sleek Mercedes sat in the parking lot.

Relief flooded through me. He was home.

I parked beside him, grabbed my bag, and hurried to the front door, reaching for my keys. If I had to beg him to fuck me, then so be it. I needed him to erase the memory of Morgan's hands on my body.

Inside the dim living room, the sound of heavy music filled the apartment, oozing from the bedroom.

"Ohhh, fuck baby!"

Heat flickered between my thighs despite everything. I managed a weak smile. Drake was watching porn. God, maybe he was as worked up as I'd been.

Maybe he'd been thinking about me all day too, couldn't wait for tonight. I wouldn't have to beg at all—he was already ready for me.

My hand reached up to squeeze my breast through my blouse as I walked faster, my other hand already working the buttons.

"Drake? Baby, I'm home," I called out, my voice breathless and shaking as I pulled off my shoes.

The groans were louder now. Multiple voices layered over each other. That's some weird porn and some loud music, some distant part of my brain noted.

The sound quality was too good to be from a phone or laptop. It sounded... live. Like speakers.

"Oh, fuck me in my ass! Yes yes yes!" A man's deep throaty moan joined. Something cold slithered down my spine. Why would he have the speakers on? Why would it be so loud? Then another woman's moan. How many people were in that video?

Panic surged through my veins, replacing the heat. My hand trembled as I reached for the bedroom door.

It's just porn. He's just watching porn.

My heart kicked against my ribs like it was trying to escape. I pushed the door open wider.

...

Abigail

A sight I never expected in my entire life stretched before me.

A fucking orgy.

Drake, my fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry in three months, who had slipped a ring on my finger a year ago and promised me forever, was buried balls deep inside a blonde woman I'd never seen before.

In our bed.

Surrounded by his model friends doing the same thing all over our bedroom.

He'd mentioned us getting involved in an orgy a few months back. I'd laughed it off as a joke, said no way in hell I'd share him with anyone else, and he'd grinned, claimed it was an April Fool's prank. Apparently, I was the fool he'd been fooling all along.

The blonde arched beneath him, her nails raking down his back, leaving red trails across his skin. Her moans bounced off our walls, our white walls that we'd painted together last summer, laughing as we got more paint on each other than the room.

Our framed photos hung above them like silent witnesses. Our engagement photo. Our first kiss under the mistletoe. The picture with my grandparents at the beach, all of us grinning.

Drake wasn't looking at those photos.

He was looking at the brunette pressed against his side, her lips trailing down his neck, her hand wrapped around his balls while he thrust into the blonde. His cock disappeared into her pussy with each stroke, glistening wet when he pulled back.

"Damn, that's it baby," one of his friends groaned from my reading chair, my chair where I'd spent countless nights curled up with books. A woman rode him, her red hair flying, her tits bouncing with each roll of her hips.

Another man sat on the floor beside our bed while a third guy wrapped his lips around his cock, his head bobbing in rhythm. Their moans echoed through the room, each one splintering my heart.

Skin slapped against skin, wet and obscene. The smell hit me next, thick and musky, sex and sweat permeating the air. Burning bile rose in my throat.

I had to be dreaming. Drake would never do this to me, right?

Maybe, it was

"God, Drake, you're so fucking good at this," the blonde gasped, head thrown back, throat exposed, as if snapping some sense into me that this was realer than it could ever be. "Your cock is so much bigger than..."

He didn't even know I was here. His jaw was clenched tight, his face flushed dark red, his eyes half closed. He was close. Lost in it.

Completely gone. I'd seen that face a thousand times. Had felt pride that I could do that to him.

"Yeah, because you're not my bland fiancée," Drake's voice cut through the music, slightly breathless but crystal clear.

My heart stopped.

"God, Abby makes so much noise it's fucking irritating! She just lays there like a dead fish. 'Oh Drake, oh yes.'" His voice went high and whiny, mocking me.

The brunette giggled against his neck, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Another crack split through my chest, deeper this time, reaching bone.

His friend on the chair burst into a mocking cackle his hips still moving as the redhead bounced on his dick.

"Duuudee, that sucks."

"You're telling me... oh fuck baby I'm gonna cum!" Drake threw his head back, letting out a raspy groan.

"I keep thinking maybe she'll get better, you know? But four years and she still can't even suck dick properly."

Four years.

The number echoed in my skull, bouncing off the inside of my head until it was the only thing I could hear.

Four. Years.

I'd moved in with him after our two years anniversary. Said yes when he proposed at that restaurant overlooking the bay, the one where we'd had our first date. Started planning a wedding, a fucking wedding.

My grandparents had already bought their plane tickets. My best friend Annette had her bridesmaid dress hanging in her closet, tags still on, waiting.

The brunette kissed his shoulder. "Poor baby. You deserve so much better." Her hand slid down to stroke his balls, cupping them while he fucked the blonde harder.

"I know, right?" Drake's hips snapped forward again, his cock pounding in and out of the blonde's dripping pussy.

My vision blurred. That fucking music kept pounding in my ears, bass vibrating through the floorboards, through my bones.

How long had this been going on? Had he done this before? Was this a regular thing? Was this one of the models he worked with?

He'd wait for me to leave for work, invite his friends over, hire some prostitutes, and laugh about what a terrible fuck his fiancée was?

His friends were here. God, the whole time I'd been running around looking for the best wedding planner, they must have been laughing at me.

Droplets of sweat glistened on Drake's forehead. A flush painted his chest, his neck, his face. He was enjoying this, getting off on humiliating me even when I wasn't supposed to see it.

My heart didn't just break. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, each one sharp enough to cut. My bag slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.

Drake's head snapped toward the door. Our eyes met and for one second, everything stopped. His eyes widened in shock, then morphed into horror.

"Abby..." His voice cracked on my name.

"You're not supposed to be home."

You're not supposed to be home.

Not "this isn't what it looks like." Not "I'm sorry." Not even "I can explain."

Just that I wasn't supposed to witness this.

His friend on the floor pulled back from the woman sucking him off, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop. He glanced at me, smirked, then actually whistled.

"Damn, Drake, your girl's hot. Now that she knows, care to share?"

The redhead on the chair slowed her movements, looking over her shoulder at me with vague interest before resuming her ride. The man beneath her groaned, his hands gripping her ass, clearly unbothered.

But the guy getting blown looked uncomfortable now, his erection flagging slightly as he shifted. "Uh, Drake, man..."

They didn't all care. It hit me like a freight train. This wasn't the first time. Something inside me snapped like a wire pulled too tight, finally giving way.

My fingers snatched my bag off the floor. I moved into the room on autopilot, my brain kicking into gear. I wasn't leaving here with nothing.

I yanked open my dresser drawer, grabbed handfuls of underwear, bras, socks, shoved them into my bag. My favorite jeans from the closet. Three shirts, didn't matter which. My laptop from the desk, the charger wrapped around it.

"Abby, wait!" Drake's cock slipped out of the blonde with a wet squelch as he scrambled off the bed. She whined in protest, her fingers sliding between her own legs to finish what he'd started.

God, I'd been waiting for this idiot. Pining for him.

"It's nothing. We were just having fun. It doesn't mean anything." His words tumbled out fast, tripping over each other as he stumbled toward me, still fully erect, his dick bobbing obscenely with each step.

I grabbed my jewelry box from the dresser and shoved it into the bag alongside others. My passport from the drawer. My birth certificate. The emergency cash I kept hidden in my tampon box, two hundred dollars in twenties.

"Baby, come on." He reached for me, hands outstretched like he had any right to touch me.

"Don't be like this."

The blonde pouted from the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Her tits bounced as she moved. She slid two fingers into her pussy, pumping slowly, letting out an exaggerated moan.

"Drake, honey, come back. You can see she's not interested anyway." She paused, tilting her head with mock innocence.

"Besides, weren't you going to break up with her anyway?"

The room tilted. My hand shot out, fingers scrambling for the dresser edge, knuckles white against the wood just to keep myself upright.

The fool was going to break up with me.

My hands kept grabbing, kept shoving things into my bag.

"Abby!" Drake's hand clamped around my arm like a manacle. His fingers dug into my bicep, bruising, spinning me around. His face was too close. I could see the sweat on his upper lip, the dilated pupils, smell the sex on his skin. Revulsion washed over me and every bit of love I'd felt for him dissolved into ashes.

"Don't touch me." My voice came out flat. Dead. Empty.

"Just listen to me, we can talk about this, it's not..."

I shoved him hard. Both palms against his bare chest. He stumbled backward, arms windmilling, eyes going wide as I lifted my hand and struck his face with all the fury boiling inside me.

The room went dead silent and the look of pleasure on his face was replaced with pain.

Yes, he needed to feel the pain I was also feeling.

"Asshole! I trusted you!" The words ripped from my throat, raw, ragged, and painful.

"I loved you! I fucking wore your ring for a year while you were planning to break up with me!" A harsh, broken laughter escaped my lips.

"You motherfucking dickhead! I did everything you liked! Dyed my hair the way you wanted!" I grabbed a chunk of my red hair, his favorite color, not mine. I'd been dark before.

"Used the perfume you said you liked even though it made me gag! I pretended to love your shitty friends, watched your boring ass football games, faked every orgasm for four fucking years because you couldn't find my clit with a map and a flashlight!" My voice rose with each word.

"This relationship is over! And no, you don't get to keep this ring." I yanked the silver two-carat princess cut diamond off my wedding finger. It came off easier than it should have, like it'd been waiting for this moment.

"I'm so..."

"I'll sell it." I held it up between us, the diamond catching the light. "At least I get something for the pathetic time I wasted on you. It should cover a few months' rent."

"Abby, you can't just..." He yelled, eyes wide, mouth open, actually looking surprised. Like he hadn't expected me to fight back.

I didn't wait.

I grabbed my bag, now stuffed and heavy, and slung it over my shoulder. My legs carried me out of the room, through the living room where we'd watched movies on Friday nights, past the kitchen where he'd proposed while I was making breakfast, out the door I'd walked through twenty minutes ago thinking my fiancé might be horny and waiting for me.

My car keys were already in my hand even though I didn't remember grabbing them. My vision tunneled as I shut my car door, turned the key in the engine and drove out. I was completely numb.

My body moved but I wasn't in it anymore. I floated somewhere above, watching this shell of a woman drive with shaking hands and blurred vision.

Then the numbness cracked. Hot tears trickled down my cheeks. My hands trembled on the steering wheel, knuckles bone white from gripping too hard. The road wavered in front of me, street lights bleeding together into streaks of yellow and white.

I'd lost my job and my fiancé in one day.

My fingers fumbled with my phone, nearly dropping it twice, the screen slippery with tears before I managed to pull up her contact.

"Hey babe, what's u..." Annette's voice cut off sharp. "Abs? Are you crying? Where are you? Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you!"

"I'm..." A sob caught in my throat, choking me.

"I'm driving. I'm coming to you."

"What happened? Are you hurt? Abs, talk to me!"

"Drake..." Another sob wracked my body, so violent I swerved slightly. A horn blared in the distance. I couldn't do this. I couldn't drive like this. I pulled over onto a curb, not caring where I was, not even looking, just stopping. My forehead hit the steering wheel.

"Please come get me, Annie."

"Okay. Okay, babes, just breathe. Where are you? Send me your location. I'm coming right now."

I sent the pin with shaking fingers.

Fifteen minutes later, a cab pulled up and Annette rushed to my car, yanking the door open. The second she slid in, she pulled me into her arms.

"Hey, hey, Abs. I've got you. I've got you."

I collapsed into her. The sobs came in waves, ugly, choking, snot running down my face, sounds that made my whole body shake. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just cried and cried and cried.

"What did that motherfucker do?" Her sweet voice was edged with anger.

I opened my mouth. The words tangled on my tongue at first—being fired, the orgy, cheating, four years, bland, dead fish—but then they spilled out in a rush. Everything. The blonde. The brunette. His friends. The mocking. The laughter. The ring. The plan to break up with me.

By the time I was done, Annette's jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking. Her eyes had gone dark and dangerous.

"That piece of shit. That absolute piece of shit!"

As I clung onto her arms as an anchor in this difficult time, I reached a conclusion, one that would change my life forever.

...

Abigail

"I'm going to kill him." Annette shrieked, jumping to her feet.

We were on her brown vintage couch in her apartment. I could hardly get a word out when she came to meet me in my car, so we'd switched places and she'd driven us to her place.

"I'm going to find that piece of shit and I'm going to rip his dick off and feed it to him."

"Annie," I sniffed, rubbing my forehead where a headache pounded against my temples like a drum. I'd cried for what felt like hours, and it had to be hours because the sky through Annie's window glowed orange and pink. The sun was already dipping below the horizon.

Valentine's Day was ending. What a fucking day.

"No, I'm serious." She paced around the room, her slippers slapping against the hardwood.

"Four years, Abs. FOUR YEARS. You gave him everything."

"I know." My voice cracked.

"And he repays you by fucking other women in your bed? On VALENTINE'S DAY?" She spun toward me, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "Oh, he's asked for death."

Tears burned behind my eyes again. I pressed my palms against them, but they came anyway, hot and unstoppable, sliding down my already raw cheeks.

"I can't stay here." I sobbed, wiping the tears and snot off my face.

"Annie, I can't. I lost my job. I can't see him. I can't be in New York right now."

She plopped on the sofa, pulling me into another hug. I buried my face in the crook of her neck as I fought the sobs that kept coming in waves.

"That motherfucking asshole," she cursed under her breath, her hand running circles on my back.

"Okay, we'll get you out. Where do you want to go?"

"My grandparents." The words came out muffled against her sweater. My grandparents lived in California, in the house I'd grown up in after my parents died, where everything was safe and warm and didn't hurt like this.

"I need to see Meemaw."

I'd lost my job of over two years and my fiancé on the same day lovers looked forward to. It felt like the universe was scheming against me, and I couldn't remain here in New York or I would shatter completely.

"Done." She pulled back, cupping my face with one hand while tapping rapidly on her phone with the other.

"There's a flight tonight. Leaves in two hours. I'm booking it, okay?"

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

"Hey, hey." She tilted my chin up, brown eyes soft and fierce at the same time. "You're getting on that plane and you're going to your grandparents, and you're going to take all the time you need. I'll handle your stuff from the apartment. I'll get your things and you don't have to see his face again. Ever."

Another sob broke free.

Annette tugged me off the couch. "Come on, let's get you changed. But first, we need to fix this crying situation."

She disappeared into her kitchen and came back with two wine glasses and a bottle of red. "Airport traffic is hell right now anyway. We have time for a drink."

"Annie, I don't think—"

"You need this. Trust me." She poured generously, filling both glasses nearly to the brim, and pressed one into my hands.

"To new beginnings and forgetting assholes who don't deserve us."

The wine was smooth and warm going down, spreading heat through my chest. I drank too fast, desperate for anything to dull the sharp edges of this day.

"That's my girl." Annette clinked her glass against mine. "Another?"

By the time we left for the airport, I'd had two and a half glasses and the world felt softer around the edges, like someone had wrapped everything in cotton. The tears had finally stopped, replaced by a pleasant numbness that made breathing easier.

I stood in her bedroom, replaying the scene over and over while Annette stripped me out of my work clothes and helped me pull on soft black leggings and an oversized cream sweater.

"Your eyes are really puffy."

I turned toward her mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at me, blotchy cheeks, swollen lips from crying. I looked like I'd been hit by a truck, and I felt like one had hit me too.

"Here." She pressed oversized square sunglasses into my hand, the lenses so dark they looked like portals to another dimension. "These will help."

The glasses hid most of the damage. I still looked rough with my hair a mess and my face pale, but at least I didn't look completely destroyed.

Another sob caught in my throat and I slapped my hands over my face. "Oh god, Annie, what do I do?"

"You're going to be fine." She pulled me close. "You'll meet someone else and you'll forget all about that disgusting sewage of a person. And by the time you get back, we will figure something out. That stupid bloke doesn't get to do this to you and go scot-free." A mischievous smile curled on her lips.

Two hours later, we stood at the airport terminal with the departure board glowing overhead and flight information scrolling past in bright white letters.

"Flight 247 to Los Angeles now boarding at Gate 17," a voice boomed through the speakers.

Annette pulled me into a fierce embrace, squeezing so tight I could barely breathe.

"I am here for you, love. You're going to be okay."

"I don't feel okay." My voice came out hoarse and wrecked.

"I know, but you will be. And when you come back? We're going to make Drake regret the day he ever met you."

I managed a nervous laugh. "You're the best."

"Only for you, baby. Call me when you land, okay? Or I'll go all mama-zilla on your ass!"

That got another weak laugh from me.

The security line moved slowly with my boarding pass crumpling in my shaking hand as I shuffled forward.

The TSA agent barely glanced at me before waving me through. The plane was half empty when I boarded. I found my seat near a window, three rows from the back, and collapsed into it with the sunglasses staying firmly on my face.

I didn't want anyone seeing my red, swollen eyes, all because of a fucking man. A flight attendant stopped by my row. "Can I get you anything to drink before takeoff?"

"Red wine, please." The words came out automatically. I needed something to keep the numbness going, to stop my thoughts from spiraling.

She returned moments later with a small bottle and a plastic cup. I poured it all in one go and drank half before the plane even took off.

The alcohol mixed with what I'd already had, and the world blurred even more. The scene kept playing in my head, but it felt more like watching a movie now, distant and unreal.

Drake's flushed face. The blonde beneath him. The brunette's hand on his balls. His mocking voice echoing in my skull.

She just lays there like a dead fish.

Weren't you going to break up with her anyway?

I finished the glass and signaled for another when the seatbelt sign went off. The flight attendant brought it with a sympathetic smile that said she'd seen plenty of heartbroken women drinking on planes before.

I leaned my head against the cool window as the plane climbed higher. The wine and the crying made everything feel surreal, like I was watching myself from outside my body.

My chest tightened despite the alcohol. I couldn't breathe properly. I unbuckled and stumbled down the aisle toward the bathrooms at the back of the plane.

The cabin lights were dim with most passengers already dozing or absorbed in their phones, and no one looked up as I passed.

My steps were slightly unsteady, the wine making the floor tilt more than the plane's movement. There were two bathrooms side by side near the galley.

I grabbed the first handle I reached and stumbled inside, locking the door behind me. The space was tiny, barely enough room to turn around, and I stared at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink.

Then the sobs came.

"Fuck him!" I slammed my palm against the wall. The sting felt good and grounding.

"Fuck Drake and fuck his friends and fuck those whores."

My voice rose and cracked. "Four years! I gave him everything and he threw it away for what? Some meaningless fuck? An orgy on Valentine's Day!"

He'd made me sound pathetic, like being with me was some chore he had to suffer through.

"That bastard. That absolute piece of shitty vermin." I paced the tiny space, two steps forward, turn, two steps back, and my voice kept rising.

A knock rapped on the door.

"Occupied!" I snapped.

The ranting felt too good to stop. I'd suffered all day with Mr. Morgan's hands on me, losing my job, finding Drake balls deep in another woman.

"And on VALENTINE'S DAY!" My voice rose higher, shrill and furious.

"We were supposed to go out. We had plans. I bought lingerie, expensive fucking lingerie that I'll never wear now because the thought of him touching me makes me want to vomit!"

Knock knock knock.

"Are you DEAF?" I whirled toward the door. "It's OCCUPIED! Go use another bathroom!"

Silence stretched for a moment before a deep voice filtered through the door, low and rough.

"Wrong bathroom."

I froze. My eyes flew to the sign on the wall with its little stick figure in pants and the word MEN beneath it.

Heat flooded my face and burned down my neck. "I... shit. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."

"Rough day?"

The two words, spoken in that low rumble, made goosebumps erupt down my arms.

"You eavesdropped?"

"Hard not to."

My cheeks burned hotter behind the sunglasses. The wine made my thoughts slow and syrupy, made this whole situation feel even more unreal.

Silence stretched between us, me on one side of the door and him on the other while the plane hummed around us. Somewhere overhead, the seatbelt sign dinged.

"He's an asshole."

My throat closed up and the tears threatened again.

"I'm sorry."

"I hate this." The words spilled out before I could stop them, loosened by wine and exhaustion and the strange safety of talking to someone I couldn't see.

"I hate that I'm a mess. I hate that I'm crying in a bathroom, the wrong bathroom, over someone who clearly never deserved me in the first place."

A soft sound reached my ears, like he'd shifted closer to the door.

"What do you want?"

The question caught me off guard. Not "are you okay?" or "can I help?" but simply what did I want.

A wicked thought curled in my mind, emboldened by the wine warming my blood. Bland Abby wouldn't think something like this, but I wasn't bland Abby anymore.