CHAPTER TWO

ARIA'S POV

This wasn't how I expected tonight to go. I wanted a surprise but not this kind of surprise.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t move. Even my heart seemed to forget how to beat, as if my body was waiting for someone to tell it this wasn’t real.

That what I was seeing wasn’t real and my eyes were playing tricks on me. My best friend and my boyfriend were cheating on me with each other.

They were both staring wide-eyed at me and bile rose high in my throat from how much guilt was written on their faces. I retched— a dry sound.

That alone spurred them into action.

“Aria!” Ben shouted and removed his penis from where it was inside my best friend.

I almost laughed at the way it swung comically between his legs but the situation didn't permit it. I was too angry.

Hannah dragged the bedsheets to cover her naked breasts and body. She kept on muttering ‘oh my God, oh my God, oh my God’

He isn't even that good in bed. I wanted to scream at Hannah. Eleven years of friendship down the drain. Destroying that all over a bad fuck?

Come on.

I expected more from Hannah. This was the same girl who held my hair back in college bathrooms. The same girl who knew every version of me.

I took a step back, then another, my heel catching on the doorframe. Unlike the clean scent of the room I would have stayed in, this one smelled like the familiar sweaty perfume of both Ben and Hannah. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might actually vomit this time.

“Say something,” Ben pleaded. His voice cracked, like that was supposed to mean something to me. Like the way he sounded mattered more than what he’d done.

He had dragged his pants up to his waist but didn't zip or button it. He just held it up with his hands.

I found my voice then, sharp and hard. “How long?”

They exchanged a glance. That single look told me everything I needed to know—this wasn’t a mistake, not a drunken slip, or a one-time lapse in judgment. This was outright cheating. Hiding.

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “Aria, I swear to you I—”

“Don’t,” I cut in. My hands were shaking now, my body finally catching up to the reality my mind had been refusing. “Don’t swear. Don’t explain. Don’t try to gaslight me. I know what I saw.” I smiled bitterly. “What I'm still seeing.”

Hannah jumped out of the bed and threw on her soft Prada gown. The same red gown she ‘bought’ last week. Claiming she saved up her waitress cheques and thrifted it. Although now, I remember it came with a tag.

“Was it because of his money?” I asked Hannah.

“I didn't— I never—”

I cut her off. “The dresses. Jewelry?”

“Princess.” Ben reached for me, instinctively, like he always did.

I flinched away, the motion violent enough to surprise even me. “Don't. Don't call me that.”

His hand dropped back to his side.

“It was a mistake.” Hannah started sobbing. She pulled her dress tighter around herself, as if modesty mattered now. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sniffed.

If anyone should wail, it should be me.

“It just… happened,” he said, weakly.

I laughed. A short, broken sound that scraped my throat raw. “Yeah. You tripped and fell into my best friend's vagina.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Then Ben grimaced. “That's crass. You don't do crass.”

Cheating on me wasn't crass but me calling it out was crass. That was so Ben.

“You're right, Ben. I don't do crass. I also don't do this.” I turned before they could say anything else—before I could hear one more excuse, one more apology that meant absolutely nothing. My fingers closed around the door handle, cold and solid and real.

As I walked out, I realized something terrifyingly simple.

They hadn’t only broken my heart.

They’d erased the past, too.

All the memories I had with them would be forever soiled. That sucked because combined, they made me who I was.

The party was still ongoing as I left the house. Ben's guests were either too wasted or too engrossed in party games to notice the birthday girl leaving her own party.

I gathered my things— only my shoulder bag and my coat— and left the apartment. The music wasn't even thumping once I shut the door.

Trust Ben to install the best soundproof money could buy in his house. This would definitely not be the last party he would plan.

I went down to the shiny building lobby in Ben's shiny private elevator.

Tomorrow, I will ask Ben to send my clothes to whatever motel I find tonight. I guess I was back to takeouts and couch surfing. I don't have enough more to sustain living in a motel.

A part of me was surprised that he didn't come running after me but another part knew that despite everything— me— Ben still had an appearance to maintain.

He was still the only son to a billionaire father. He would inherit a massive fortune someday.

Louche and reckless with everything. Even true love, apparently.

No wonder girls like Hannah threw themselves at him.

Another ugly thought came to my mind. What if it wasn't only Hannah. What if he has a string of other girls he cheated on me with? What if he was only with me because I was a stable and sensible choice. I never drank or smoked. Or even had a tiny tattoo. By all metrics, I was a good girl.

The what ifs came and my mind spiraled.

Oh my God, I needed a drink. I needed to forget what I saw tonight.

Like a miracle, there was a bar up ahead. I marched towards it and without thinking of the consequences, entered.

Suits. That was all I could see. Suits and suits and suits.

Business men and women relaxing after a long day at work.

The place even smelled rich. Like Chanel N°19 and those tiny bottles Ben has dedicated shelves for.

I gathered my coat closer to my body. I didn't even have it in me to be self conscious around so many professionals. The wound in my heart was still fresh and bleeding.

I was hurting badly and only **** would fix me. At least for a while. I dropped my bag on the deep brown mahogany bar and said to the bartender “Whiskey please.”

It was presented to me with speed. As if the bartender with a manbun and white towel over his one shoulder knew what a mess my day had been.

As if I didn't see first hand how the love my mother had for my father completely ruined her when they divorced. And I thought mine would be any different.

That I would be the exception.

What was so special about me anyway?

Today sucked. I wish I could get a do over.

I must have said that out loud because a low chuckle came from my left. “Try sitting in a conference room for twelve hours straight.”

Huh?

I glanced at the source of the voice. I couldn't make the man out. The bar was low lit and frankly, I was such a lightweight that one drink gave me the buzz.

“…Mine’s still worse,” I said, turning my body just enough to face him. Even with the low light, I could tell he was wearing a sharp suit. “At least you got coffee breaks.”

Another low chuckle. He shifted closer to the bar light and his face finally came into view.

My breath caught in my throat. He was older than I thought. Older than me or Ben. If I had to guess, I'd say mid forties? I wasn't so sure. But I knew he had to be at least twice my age.

Black hair streaked with white. Strong nose and strong jaw. The same shade of green eyes Ben had. But his were a bit tired and looked like they’d seen too many PowerPoint slides and not enough sleep.

Maybe I do have a type.

“Trust me,” he said, lifting his glass, “coffee only postpones the suffering.”

I clinked my whiskey against his without thinking. The sound was small but satisfying. “Then here’s to postponed suffering.”

He smiled at that. Not the polished kind, but something a little crooked.

God, he was sexy.

“Rough day?” He asked.

I blew out a breath. “Rough life choice,” I corrected. “But today was the day it finally caught up to me.”

He studied me for a moment, not in that invasive way men sometimes do, but like he was deciding whether to open a door or leave it closed. He looked like he had better things to do than talk about me.

“Want to talk about it?” He surprised me by asking.

“No,” I said immediately. Then, softer, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“That’s usually how it starts,” he said, signaling the bartender for another round—one for him, one for me. I didn’t stop him.

The fresh whiskey burned just enough to quiet the ache in my chest. “I thought love was supposed to be the one thing you don’t lose if you do it right,” I said. “Turns out doing it right doesn’t guarantee anything.”

He nodded slowly. “True.”

I laughed. It surprised me—the sound, the ease of it. It felt like a crack in something solid and heavy. “You sound like someone who’s read the fine print.”

“Divorced,” he said simply. No bitterness. Just fact. “Two years ago.”

“Guess promises don’t mean much either.”

“They mean something,” he said. “Just not everything.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the bar humming around us—low voices, clinking glasses, the smell of old money and regret. For the first time all day, the hurt loosened its grip, just a little.

I glanced at him. “So what are you doing here? Besides surviving conferences.”

His eyes held mine and he smirked. “Avoiding my empty apartment.”

Woah. That was bold. I've never had a guy who was half as bold before. Maybe it was his years of experience that made him cocky. Or simply because he knew how handsome he was. He really has the silver fox thing going on.

I hesitated, then lifted my gaze to meet his. “Is that an invitation?”

He didn't flinch. “If you want it to be.”

That made me pause.

“What makes you think I'm interested in what you're offering?” I asked the man feigning nonchalance as I took another sip of whiskey.

I swallowed. The whiskey suddenly felt heavier in my stomach, warmer in my veins.

Some part of me didn't feel single. I still hoped Ben would chase after me and declare his undying love for me while telling me how Hannah was the biggest mistake he has ever made.

I was being pathetic. Why was I thinking of Ben when I had this very hot man wanting a piece of me?

Maybe it was because he looked a lot like Ben. An older, less of a playboy but just as charming version?

He smiled but didn't answer. Instead, his gaze dropped, heavy and knowing. Heat climbed my neck as I realized the chill of the bar had made my nipples poke visibly through my shirt.He didn’t look away.

If anything, his eyes lingered there for half a second too long before lifting back to my face— unapologetic. But there was hunger in it.

“I didn’t say you were interested,” he replied calmly. “I said I was available.”

That shouldn’t have sent a shiver through me.

It did.

I swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was sitting now. Close enough that I could smell him—something clean and expensive beneath the whiskey. Something warm and subtle. Like a whisper on his suit.

“And what,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even, “exactly are you available for?”

He tilted his head, studying me again.

Silence stretched between us, thick and charged. His gaze darkened.

My chest tightened, my breath hitching just a little. I knew exactly what he was thinking and cowardice made me turn away, focusing on the amber liquid in my glass so my eyes wouldn't drop to his lap to search for an erection the same way people searched for rings. I knew I would find one.

“You,” he said simply.

The air between us tightened.

My breath caught.

I drank long from my glass and cleared my throat. “Too bad I’m already seeing someone.”

“You’re still here,” he said softly.

Silence stretched between us, thick and humming. I could hear my own heartbeat, feel it in my teeth and between my thighs.

He held his tumbler and gently swirled the amber liquid in it. Waiting for my response.

I stared at his hand. The quiet strength in them. Thought of Hannah’s red dress. Ben’s cracked voice. The wish I’d made over a candle that had burned down too fast.

In retrospect, I should have wished for love. True love.

Heartbroken, I reached for my coat. “Lead the way.”

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