1. Nat

Rick's eyes are glazed with drink. "What the fuck are you wearing?" he sneers, casting a derisory look down at my pale blue dress. It picks out the blue in my eyes, hugs my curves, and offers a tempting glimpse of cleavage.

Yes, the dress is fairly tight-fitting, but compared to some of the women in this bar, I look like a nun.

Rick has different standards, though. He prefers it when I wear loose-fitting, ugly clothes that hide my figure because he doesn't want other men to look at me.

He was supposed to be working this evening. Like me, he's a journalist, but whereas I write mostly lifestyle articles, he interviews celebs and attends red carpet functions. As he frequently likes to brag, he's paid to go where famous people hang out.

I assumed he'd be at the opening of a celebrity restaurant when I organized this night out with Amanda and Jane, too busy schmoozing with influencers and Z-list actresses to care what I was up to.

I may have lied and said I was watching reruns of Friends and catching an early night.

What I failed to account for was bumping into one of our mutual friends, who posted a selfie on Instagram with me in the background.

Fuck my life.

And because Rick is a controlling asshole with narcissistic tendencies, he stormed out of the event and caught an Uber to the bar where he's currently berating me for having the audacity to meet my two remaining friends for a *gasp* alcoholic drink.

I lower my eyes and mumble, "I'm sorry."

Truthfully, I'm more sorry I ever swiped right on Tinder when I was lonely and horny.

And I'm definitely sorry for ignoring all the red flags.

It's too late now.

Rick won't ever let me go. He's told me multiple times.

"Such an ugly color," he tells me. "It makes you look fat. I can see every lump and bump."

The words sink in and I slowly curl up into myself. When I looked in the mirror earlier, I liked what I saw. The girls told me I looked amazing too. Now, though, Rick's acidic words feed into every insecurity I have.

I'm curvy. Always have been. Whereas Amanda is nearly six foot and slender, and Jane is petite, like a tiny doll, I'm 5'6" with big boobs and a generous ass, thanks to my Italian heritage. I thought Rick liked my curves when we met, but as time's gone on, he's become more and more critical.

"I'm not fat," I mutter behind the curtain of long dark hair hiding my face.

"You're a fat, ugly bitch and that dress is disgusting," he hisses. "What the fuck were you thinking? I'm embarrassed to be seen with you."

If that is the case, I wonder why he's standing at the bar fat-shaming me, but I know better than to voice my thoughts.

"I should have known you'd lie to me and be out whoring the minute I turn my back!" Spittle hits my face and I cringe away. The bartender nearby ignores us. Thank God this part of the bar is nearly empty, with most people on the level below, where the band we came to see is finishing their set.

The only other person in here is a tall guy in a suit, but he's looking away, too busy staring at a phone to care about some random woman arguing with her boyfriend.

"I just wanted to see my friends." The minute the words slip out, I know I've made a huge mistake. Rick's eyes darken and he looms over me. The fingers gripping my wrist squeeze harder.

White hot pain shoots up my arm and I whimper. The man a few stools away looks up and frowns.

He's gorgeous. Thick, dark hair, broad shoulders. The way his pants hug his muscular thighs is positively indecent. It briefly distracts me from the fact I think Rick may have broken my wrist.

Rick is spewing more vile, misogynistic bullshit in my ear but I've tuned out. The pain is so bad I think I might vomit. It isn't the first time he's hurt me but it is the first time he's done it in public.

"Another, please," the hot guy says, raising his glass in the bartender's direction.

"Wait here while I use the bathroom, then we're leaving." Rick releases me. All I can do is nod while cradling my throbbing wrist.

It's pointless arguing with Rick. He'll only hurt me more. I feel like I should message the girls to let them know I'm leaving, but what's the point? They're already sick of me canceling every arrangement we make. Me leaving early would piss them off even more.

I'll call them tomorrow and explain. Say I got sick or something.

"Are you OK?" I look up to see the hot guy standing next to me. He's so tall, I have to crane my neck to see his face. And what a face it is. Whereas Rick is good-looking, this man is on a whole different level.

He's handsome but in a more dangerous kind of way. A thin scar runs along his jaw, cutting through dark stubble. Thick lashes frame black eyes, which right now, are burning with something that looks a lot like concern. Then he glances down and sees my bruised, swollen wrist.

"Did he do that?" he asks in a low voice.

I nod once. Rage flares briefly in his eyes before a blank mask falls.

"Stay here," he orders. I shiver when he reaches out and strokes my cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. For the first time in forever, I feel safe.

Then he walks away.