Chapter 1

1

"Trey? I'm home!" I shout, stepping into our apartment. "They let the interns go early, so I picked up dinner."

The evening news is blaring so loudly that I doubt he even hears me. I shift the bag of takeout in my hands as I lean back against the door to shut it, then turn to face the empty living area.

Cool, he's not even home.

I swear if he's out with his buddies drinking again, I'm not picking them up. Scrubbing vomit out of the cloth interior of my car is an activity I never want to engage in again.

Walking over to the kitchen, I set the bag down on the chipped Formica countertop and start unpacking the soups and subs from Ricobene's. I heave a sigh as I take in the state of the apartment around me. It's fucking chaos. Trey bartends three nights a week and is home the rest of the time; the least the man could do is clean up after himself. It's not like he contributes to much else these days.

The news goes from the studio to the streets and the high-pitched voice of the on-the-scene reporter is like nails on a chalkboard to my already frayed nerves. I hurry over to the living room in search of the remote, lifting and straightening the couch pillows as I go. I start folding the throw blankets that are haphazardly strewn across the living room in an effort to start to put the place back together. When I snatch a hoodie off the coffee table, the remote clatters against the hardwood floor and bounces under the sectional.

Oh for fucks sake.

I swear the news reporter's voice only grows louder as I crouch down and snake my hand underneath the couch, trying to grab the damn remote.

'Over two dozen new fentanyl overdoses have been reported from area hospitals in the last week. Police Superintendent Gary Douglas believes that a contaminated batch of cocaine is being distri-'

I mash the power button, quickly ending her segment. Without her shrill voice and the sounds of traffic, I can hear the faint sound of the shower running in our bathroom. Trey must be home after all.

Grabbing up more of his discarded clothing, I pad across the apartment and into our bedroom. Just as I drop them in the hamper and turn to leave, though, I hear a moan. And not just any moan- a woman's moan.

My feet carry me to the bathroom door, my hand twisting the knob and pushing it open before my brain can even try to come up with a logical excuse for what I just heard. I don't know what I expect to find, but seeing my boyfriend railing the redhead from 4B in our shower isn't it.

My heart seizes and my stomach drops as I yell, "What the actual fuck, Trey?!"

The redhead screams, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the shower wall. She knocks shampoos and body washes off the shelf as Trey drops her thighs and spins around to face me through the clear plastic curtain. "Shit! Wren, it isn't-"

"Isn't what? Isn't what it looks like?" I spit, turning on my heels and stomping back into the bedroom.

I hear the curtain tear open, the redhead mumbling something as Trey shushes her. His wet feet slap across the tile as I slip into the closet, grab the first tote bag I see, and start shoving clothes inside of it.

"Wren, baby, it was an accident-"

He's still naked and hard when I whip around to face him. "Oh, this is going to be good," I scoff bitterly, pushing past him to get to the dresser. "Go on, Trey, tell me how our neighbor accidentally impaled herself on your dick in our shower."

He scrubs a hand down his face, his cropped blonde locks plastered to his forehead. "Wren, just let me explain."

"For fucks sake, Trey!" I slam the dresser drawer shut. "Explain already, then." I twist around to face him, arms folded tightly across my chest as I gnash my molars together in an attempt to keep from crying. I refuse to let him see me cry.

"Baby," he coos, his fingers curling around my elbows as he tries to tug me closer. The heavy scent of his sandalwood body wash floods my senses as I stumble forward, but I don't let him hold me when he tries. Especially when he's been touching her. I want so badly to be comforted right now, but I'm fucking pissed at the person who is supposed to be my safe space.

I step back, maintaining the distance between us. His brows furrow together at my retreat, like I'm the one who's hurt him. Red-hot tears prick at the backs of my eyes and a lump forms in my throat as I stare him down. Trey's tall and lean, with an easy grin and two perfectly placed dimples adorning his ivory skin on either side of his mouth. His eyes are the same shade of gray the sky gets when a storm rolls in over Navy Pier. I suppose that should have been a sign from the get-go; our relationship has seen more dark clouds than bright rays these days.

"You've been working so much lately, it's like I never see you. I was lonely, Wren. Stashia needed help moving in her new couch, and you were working late doing that audit and it just happened. I'm sorry, she doesn't mean-"

"Wait." I put my hand up to stop him, anger boiling in my belly. "The McAdams audit was three weeks ago Trey. You've been fucking the whore next door for THREE weeks?!"

Trey's jaw goes slack when he realizes he's just said too much. He makes another attempt to grab for me, but I slam my palm into the center of his chest, catching him off balance and sending him toppling backwards onto the bed. Then I march into the bathroom to grab my cosmetic bag, my eyes meeting Stashia's green ones in the mirror.

She's sitting on the lid of the toilet wearing nothing but my plush gray robe and a smug smile. Bitch. I'm so damn tempted to rip the robe right off her body and humiliate her just like she has me, but I push away that intrusive thought and snatch my toothbrush from the holder, eager to just get the hell out of this apartment. I shove it and my cosmetic bag into the overstuffed tote and head to the front door.

The first tears slip down my cheeks as I slam the door shut behind me, heading towards the elevators. By the time I slide into the drivers seat of my Honda Accord, I'm full-on bawling. I toss the tote down in the passenger seat and snap on my seat belt. And I can't help but roll my eyes at the irony when I see what tote I grabbed- it's the "Chicago is for lovers" one Trey bought me over spring break earlier this year when we went and played Tourists on the Riverwalk. My fingers tremble as I stab the key into the ignition and crank the engine to life.

Maybe I have abandonment issues. Actually, I'm sure I do. But is it really so crazy to want to be wanted? Is it such a big ask that someone chooses me and they keep choosing me simply because I'm enough?

I zone out on the way over to Drea's, which admittedly isn't the safest thing to do while driving, but Drea's my best friend- I could navigate to her house with my eyes closed. I can feel my bottom lip quivering as I pound my fist against the door of her condo in Pilsen.

"Christ! I'm coming!" I hear her call out, but the anger that's rippling through me is battling the waves of hurt thrashing around and I can't physically stop beating on the door.

"What do you want!" The door swings open, Drea's face dropping instantly when she takes me in. "Wren?"

She steps back, widening the space and letting me step inside before asking any questions. I drop my bags at the door and head straight to her couch, burying my face in the pillows. I hear her lock click back into place on the door, then feel the cushions by my head dip down as she seats herself beside me.

After a beat, Drea finally breaks the silence. "Did he hit you again?"

I press up on my elbows, wiping my nose across the shoulder of my satin blouse as I meet her gaze. "No," I sniffle.

Her shoulders relax as she twists to face me. "Then what happened? You're still in corporate Barbie mode, so it had to come on out of nowhere."

"I caught him cheating."

Her eyes widen. "Absolutely not. Go change, I'll get wine, and then I want all the details so I can properly plot revenge."

I do as she says, plopping back down on the couch in my faded purple Northwestern t-shirt and gray snowman sleep shorts just as Drea comes back with a half-full bottle of tequila in her hands.

"That's not wine," I say, eyeing the bottle.

"And it's almost August, not Christmas." She points the bottle at my shorts before tipping it back and taking a pull.

Her eyes scrunch as she shakes her head, her messy brown waves falling in her face. Dropping down beside me, she passes me the bottle. "Now tell me everything."

My head throbs as bright shards of sunlight stab at my eyelids. The smell of fresh coffee fills my nose and I slowly peek my eyes open to see that I must have passed out in the living room, the almost empty bottle of Jose Cuervo still resting on its side on the glass coffee table.

I massage my temples with one hand as I push myself up to sit. "Never substitute wine with tequila again," I groan.

"You're being dramatic," Drea says with a roll of her eyes, placing a plate of conchas and a mug of coffee down in front of me. She leans back on the couch, crossing her tanned legs underneath her and sipping on her own mug of coffee.

My hands curl around the warm ceramic mug, wisps of steam tickling my nose as I bring the cup to my lips. The sweet and bitter liquid instantly improves my mood as it heats my belly. I tear off pieces of the concha and dip it in my coffee as Drea gives me the details of her disastrous blind date her parents set her up on last night.

"How can someone who makes such delicious food, have such terrible taste in picking out guys for you?"

"Right?" she sighs. "But as long as they're paying the rent here, I'll go to dinner with whatever son of their friends they want."

"You're lucky, you know," I say, placing my empty mug on the glass tabletop.

Drea gives me a tight-lipped smile and nods. We don't talk much about me growing up in foster care and not knowing my parents. We've been best friends since freshman orientation, and her family welcomed me with open arms when she brought me home on Thanksgiving break.

"You know, that second room is all yours. You should have just moved in with me at the start of senior year instead of with he who shall not be named."

I grab the dishes from the table and pad off towards the black-and-white contemporary kitchen. "I know, but half the rent is still twice as much as at my place."

"His place," she corrects as she opens the dishwasher for me. "He conned you into paying for his shit after he got fired, remember? Then didn't put your name on the lease."

I slowly let out a breath as I load the plates and cups into the lower rack. She's right. And after our talk last night, I realize my relationship with Trey was over long before he slipped and fell into Stashia's vagina.

"And you know ma and papá don't want your money. They're still hoping your responsible nature will rub off on me."

I purse my lips and shoot her a look as I close the dishwasher and press 'start'. Our eyes meet and we both burst out laughing. Drea isn't irresponsible necessarily, she's just enjoying being twenty-three and single right now. Something I guess I should try, too.

We spend the rest of the lazy Saturday afternoon on her roof, lounging in deck chairs and soaking up the sun. It's nice. Like Trey said, I have been working a lot lately, even if he tried to use that as an excuse for his wandering dick. My summer internship at Daniels Financial will be ending soon, and I still haven't found a full-time accounting job yet.

I'm just stepping out of the shower and sifting through the random array of clothing I managed to bring with me when Drea waltzes into the room. "Ya got some black slacks and a white button-up in that pile?" she asks as she flops herself down on the bed.

"No, why?" I ask, still searching for my favorite black bralette.

"Jeff called and asked if I could rope you into working an engagement party tonight. Rachel called in with a sick kid at the last minute. Said he tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail."

"Shit," I mutter, digging my phone out of my purse. It's dead. "I forgot my charger."

"Grab some clothes from my closet and finish getting ready. You can charge it at the club, we need to leave in twenty minutes."

The Monarch Club is filled to the brim with guests in elegant black outfits and sleek black masquerade masks when we arrive. There's one couple that catches my eye, the girl in a tight white silk dress with a slit up the side and her date in a crisp white button down with dark gray slacks, silver masks adorning both of their faces. I'll bet this party is for them.

"Rachel, I need you to switch to drinks."

Drea bumps me with her hip as she switches out trays. "That's you, babe."

"Huh? Oh," I say, glancing down at the borrowed black vest I'm wearing with the name Rachel embroidered in gold on the left breast. "Sorry," I murmur to the bartender as I balance the tray of champagne flutes and head back towards the party.

I forgot how quickly the night can pass working catering events like this. Drea and I both worked for Jeff throughout college, and I'd only stopped when I got the internship with a stipend. I'm glad to fill in tonight, though- I can always use the extra cash, and the large variety of masked eye candy at this event makes it easy to forget about my breakup.

Trey who?

The party is winding down and the busboys are clearing the tables when Drea pulls me into one of the back rooms reserved for the catering crew. 'Padam Padam' by Kylie Minogue is playing in the background and the rest of the waitstaff is hanging around a table filled with half-drank bottles of champagne and limoncello.

"The couple the party was for told us we could finish the rest of the alcohol off, they didn't want it," Drea provides when she sees me eyeing the table.

Still wearing the staff-issued gold masquerade masks, a scrawny blonde guy with a man bun motions to the bottles on the table. "Pick your poison, Rachel."

I'm on my second glass of champagne, riding a great buzz when my phone starts ringing. Trey's picture flashes across the screen as I deny the call. I'm just slipping it back into my pocket when it vibrates with a text.

Trey

Come out back.

What? How?

I excuse myself, Drea arching a brow to ask whether she should tag along or not. I shake my head, pushing out the door and towards the employee entrance to the alleyway where I find Trey pacing beside the dumpster. He lowers the navy hood of his sweatshirt as I step out into the warm night air.

"Wren, can we talk please?" he bristles nervously.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Find my iPhone," he shrugs.

Note to self, delete myself from the cloud account.

"There's nothing to talk about Trey. We're through," I spit, folding my arms across my chest and popping my hip.

"I made a mistake!"

"Fucking someone who isn't your girlfriend more than once isn't a mistake, Trey, it's a choice!" I throw my hands up as I swivel around to go back inside. I don't know why I bothered- he's not sorry, he's only sorry he got caught.

Before I can get out of reach, he catches me by the wrist and pulls me back so harshly that I trip on the cracked asphalt. Falling back, I smack my head against the corner of the dumpster as my ass meets the ground. "Ow! Fuck!" I scream, louder than necessary as my hand instinctively goes to my face.

"God damnit! Why do you have to be such a stubborn bitch?!" Trey yells, his pupils blown wide as he towers above me.

A warm, sticky wetness graces my fingertips when I pull my hand back from my forehead. "Just leave me alone Trey. Please," I implore him, my voice breaking.

"Not until you fucking talk to me!"

The heavy metal back door of the building slams shut, catching my attention. I whip my head in the direction of the sound to see an intimidatingly tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair striding towards Trey.

"She said to leave her alone."