Chapter 1

Danica

Two Years Later

As I stare at the headstone in front of me, I feel a sense of tranquility like I’ve never felt before. Even though I think I should be afraid, I’m not. I feel safe here, grounded. When I come here, I forget about everything in my past- all the things that haunt my mind and leave me feeling like a broken shell of a person. I pause, realizing that I don’t even remember how I came to be here. I just know that this is where I’m meant to be.

I’ve been in this cemetery before, although I’m unsure how or when. There’s just an overwhelming sense of familiarity. Like a long-lost memory. A memory of home, of belonging somewhere. Anywhere. A place I was always meant to be.

Sitting on the grass with my back pinned against a man’s lean chest, his hand wrapped around my throat, I am not afraid. Instead, my body thrums with excitement and anticipation. His grip isn’t cutting off my oxygen, just tight enough to hold me firm against his body. I rest my hands on his legs, digging my nails into his ripped black skinny jeans as I arch my back and lean into his touch, resting my head on his shoulder. I feel his breath on my ear as he leans in to speak, his voice low and laced with seduction. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to come to me, Danica. Do you trust me?”

My heart clenches in response to his question, my breathing quickening -pulse hammering. His other hand travels slowly down my abdomen, reaching towards my skirt. My breath hitches as his hand pauses, and I nod slowly, finally giving an answer to his question. His touch makes me shudder, shock waves of pleasure echoing through my body, and I writhe against him. My body sings at his touch, desire tangling in my core, leaving me wet for this dangerously alluring mystery man.

I don’t know his name. I don’t know what he looks like. The only thing I do know about him is that he smells like leather and musk, with a hint of whiskey on his breath. The scent traces across my face while he speaks, what I can only assume is filth, into my ear since I can’t even understand what he is saying to me anymore. And I know that I feel alive with him, overcome by an intense connection that I can’t explain. I feel safe.

Both of his arms are covered in tattoos that I don’t recognize. Swirls of color mixed in with black ink dominate the length of his arms. They’re beautiful, but they start to blur together when my eyes lose focus as his hand slowly drifts lower to where I’m absolutely desperate for him.

He gently tightens his grip on my throat as he lifts my skirt and places his hand between my legs. My lips part as a breathy moan escapes me. I want this man to touch me. No. I need him to touch me. I need him inside of me. With him, I don’t feel lost or broken anymore. I am found. He is the missing puzzle piece to my shattered porcelain heart that will reassemble me, the man who will take the scattered remnants of my soul and thread me back together. Piece by piece, he will rebuild me until I’m whole again.

* * *

I wake to the tumultuous sound of my alarm clock ringing in my ears. After letting out a deep sigh, I crack one eye open reluctantly, slamming my hand onto the machine to shut the horrendous sound off. As I lie in bed, I stare at the ceiling, contemplating the dream I just woke from. It’s always the same dream: the same mystery man, the same cemetery, the same arousing play.

I started having the dream two years ago after my boyfriend, Oliver, disappeared off the face of the earth. It doesn’t come consistently, and I never know what will trigger me to have this dream. Sometimes it happens once a month; sometimes it’s weekly. It’s always completely random, even though it’s the same dream every time.

I have no idea who that man is or why I am doing such things with him, in a cemetery of all places. What I do know is that when I’m inside this dream world with my fantasy man, I start to feel again. Feelings of comfort. Belonging. Safety. Things I haven’t felt in two years, since Oliver’s betrayal, begin to resurface and consume me. It’s not unwelcome, just confusing.

Running both hands down my face, I sink back into reality. Emptiness courses through my body once more. I don’t want to get up and start my day. I just want to lie in bed and exist as no one, as nothing. Saying that I’m depressed is the understatement of the century. Two years ago, I fell apart, my heart beating but in a constant state of despair and loneliness. Longing for someone I don’t think I’ll ever see or talk to again. Begging for answers that I fear I’ll never find. So I just lie here every day, wallowing in pity and torment, wanting to forget it all.

Every morning is the same routine. I force myself out of bed. Fake a smile to appease those who care for me all while, deep inside me, there is a never-ending pit of agony that is eating me alive. I can’t bring myself to care for anything or anyone, except for maybe Elijah, my best friend and my number one supporter. Most of all, though, I don’t care about myself anymore. Nothing in this life brings me any semblance of happiness or peace like it once did when he was still here. Oliver. All of this because of Oliver fucking Shaw.

Okay, so he wasn’t the best boyfriend in the end. He cheated on me, betrayed me, and disappeared without a trace. But, even though he had the rock star persona, Oliver was always so much more to me. He was my everything, the air I breathed, the touch I craved; his smile was my undoing and would bring me to shambles whenever it appeared on his face. Our love happened fast and was filled with so much passion, warmth, and deep affection.

He was the new mysterious kid at school. So handsome and charming, all the girls at school wanted to get to know him. But he was interested in me and pursued me until I agreed to be his. Not that it took him a lot of convincing. When I first laid eyes on him, before I knew he was the Oliver Shaw, before I had ever heard of Soulstorm Serenade, I had to know who he was as just himself. As Oli Shaw. I wanted to know what made him tick, what he loved and hated, all the things that made him Oli. He was my first everything. My first love, the first man I ever made love to. He was perfect, and I trusted him with every fiber of my being. While we were together, I thought I was the only one receiving his attention, but, god, how wrong I was.

I loved him so deeply, and I was such an utter fucking fool for it. The day he disappeared from my life, from the whole world, he ripped my heart from my chest and stomped on it. I never even got an explanation; no fucking reason why it was so easy for him to ruin everything we had. Did he ever really love me at all? So many questions burn the back of my throat and eat at my mind, and I will never have any sense of peace. I’ll never be able to get any closure because he isn’t fucking here anymore.

Oliver said I was his muse. That I inspired one of their best songs, which he dedicated to me. Over the years, I’ve listened to that song until my ears bled, coincidentally matching my bleeding heart. I’ve never forgotten the day when Oliver introduced me to the rest of the band, his best friends, and saw the noticeable shock cross their faces when he called me his girlfriend. That should have stood out as a huge red flag, but, you know, young, dumb, and in love—all of that. It never even occurred to me to doubt Oliver.

Even with their surprise, his band welcomed me into their inner circle with open arms, becoming like a family to me. I spent so much time with them in the recording studio or Oliver’s bedroom where Noah, the biggest goofball I’ve ever known, would have all of us rolling on the floor in tears. He loved pranking us. A small smile breaks free as I remember the time Oliver was recording lyrics, and when they played it back, Noah had used some type of voice changer, making Oliver sound like Elmo belting out metal lyrics.

But it wasn’t just Noah that I bonded with. I connected with them all in different ways. Matthew, I swear, could eat his weight and not gain a single pound; he was my snack buddy, and it wasn’t at all unusual for us to sneak away to pack on unnecessary calories. The more serious one that kept everyone in check was Travis; he always made sure to get the boys back to business when Noah got too out of control. Getting Travis to join in on the fun was a rare occasion, but we celebrated the hell out of it when he graced us with a smile, much less joined in with us getting into trouble. Then there was Adrian. Sweet, chill, funny, Adrian. Outside of recording, whenever Adrian visited the States, he was attached to Elijah and I like an extra limb. I really thought there was something there—romantically—between those two, but Elijah swears up and down that nothing ever happened. When the news broke that the band disappeared, the loss of Adrian shattered Elijah and I, almost as hard as losing Oliver.

Everything went south on the day of his band’s release party for their newly recorded album—which was, admittedly, a huge deal for them after their first album took off online. They had a massive following and were on the brink of becoming stars in the heavy metal scene. That night, I caught him in bed with Hannah, a bitch we knew in high school who had tried her slutty best, even in front of me, to get with Oliver. She didn’t care that he was my boyfriend; she wanted him, so she would do anything to try and get into his bed. And I wasn’t the only one whose boyfriend she had her eyes on. She had a horrifying reputation, when we were in school, for ruining people’s relationships. Even one year after graduating, she still tried her hardest to get with Oliver—or really any man who was already in a committed relationship. God, I fucking hate Hannah.

Granted, it was Oliver who deserved my ire. He was the one who let her wrap her tainted mouth around his cock while I was downstairs at this party, completely oblivious that my world was about to implode. The minute I saw him with her, pure rage filled me, and I wanted to make him hurt. But I couldn’t bring myself to destroy him the way I wanted to, so I went after Hannah instead, pulling on her hair and throwing insults at her. In my rage, I couldn’t see anything but the color red until the exact moment Oliver pulled me away from her.

In that second, when he turned me to face him, the reality of everything that had just happened started to come into focus, and that is when I started to crack. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I could do was look into his eyes, tears of shock welling behind my own. I could see it on his face, the shame and regret that he felt, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I had to get away. Out of that room, out of that house. I just needed to learn how to fucking breathe again. My heart was shattering into millions of pieces, my lungs had stopped functioning, and I couldn’t hear over the blood racing in my ears. I didn’t know how to make it stop. So I ran as fast as I could out of his bedroom.

When he caught up with me downstairs, he begged me to listen to him. The room was crowded with other people, but it was deadly silent as everyone wanted to watch the destruction of Danica and Oliver. He apologized and begged me for forgiveness. But he was a cheater—a liar. And I couldn’t bring myself to listen to more of his wicked words. His betrayal was a fucking disease, rotting me from the inside out. I didn’t care about anything he had to tell me in that moment. I just wanted him to go away. When I turned to him to say just that, he began to reach for me. And that made my skin crawl. I didn’t want him to fucking touch me after what I just saw him doing.

So, with all of my strength, I shoved him, which normally wouldn’t do anything- Oliver was taller and heavier than me. But that night, he was so drunk that he stumbled and lost his footing, the sickening thud of his head colliding with the corner of the countertop ringing through the quiet room. Almost in slow motion, I saw his eyes roll into the back of his head, his body going limp as he slumped to the ground.

Seeing him lying on that cold tile floor, blood pooling around his head, sent me into a panic. What the hell did I do? This was my Oliver, no matter what happened. I heard a high-pitched scream in the distance, minutes passing before I realized that I was the one making the horrendous noise. By the time I stopped shrieking, people were already shouting for someone to call 911—an overwhelming chorus that I joined. Even though I had just caught the love of my life cheating on me, I would never be able to live with myself if he died, especially not by my own hands. I still loved him, and this couldn’t be how we ended.

The last time I ever saw Oliver Shaw was when he was being carried out of the house on a stretcher by the paramedics. Noah, his best friend and drummer of his band, told me they were all going to the hospital to be with him. He asked me if I wanted to come with them, but I told him no. I was drunk and distraught, with too many thoughts racing through my mind. I needed quiet so I could think.

My best friend, Elijah, found me and held me tightly, promising me he would be there for me and that I wasn’t going to be out of his sight. I turned to Noah and begged him to please call me as soon as possible.

With a sad smile on his face, he touched my shoulder and told me that he would. The phone call never came. Early the next morning, I went to the hospital, desperate for news. I got more than I bargained for, since the place was surrounded by reporters and news vans camping outside the building. Swiftly pulling my phone out of my pocket, I searched online for our local news website. It was all over the news, blasted to the world. Oliver Shaw and the rest of Soulstorm Serenade vanished without a trace from the hospital room a few hours after their arrival. There was no evidence that they had even been in the room, save for the hospital staff who had treated them. They were simply gone. It was like they just evaporated into thin air.

And that was the day when my whole life fell into complete disrepair and became total shit. That day, I lost a piece of me that I never got back. I don’t see how I ever could.