Prologue

PROLOGUE

Poison

Four Years Ago…

"Where the hell are you, Dad?" I mutter, pacing my tiny living room.

The clock ticks louder with every passing second, a constant reminder of how unreliable he is.

I glance at the broken shelf leaning against the wall, its screws and brackets scattered on the floor.

He promised he'd be here by noon to help me fix it. It's now six o'clock, and there's no sign of him. Typical.

"He's not coming," I say out loud, more to myself than anyone else. Anger bubbles up inside me, hot and fierce. "Why do I even bother asking him for help?"

I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts, hovering over his name. Should I call him? Give him another chance to let me down? No. Screw that.

"Polly, you're better than this," I tell myself, tossing the phone onto the couch. I can't rely on anyone but myself, and it's time I accept that.

With a sigh, I plop down on the floor and start sorting through the screws and brackets. Might as well try to fix this damn shelf on my own. How hard can it be?

"Stupid, useless piece of crap," I mutter, struggling to fit the pieces together.

My hands are shaking, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

"Just once, it'd be nice if someone actually followed through," I grumble, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Just once."

My mind drifts back to all the times he's made promises and broken them. Missed birthday parties, school events unattended, countless moments where I needed him, and he wasn't there. It's always the same story.

"Why do I keep expecting anything different?" I ask the empty room. Silence is my only answer.

The doorbell rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. I scramble to my feet, hope fluttering in my chest. Maybe he finally showed up.

I yank the door open, but it's just a delivery guy holding a package.

"Polly Cozallo?" he asks, glancing at the label.

"Yeah, that's me." I take the package, trying to hide my disappointment. "Thanks."

"Have a good day," he says, walking away.

"Fat chance," I mutter, closing the door behind me.

I tear open the package, finding a new pair of high-heeled boots I'd ordered weeks ago. At least something's going right today.

"Guess it's time for a change," I say, slipping off my sneakers and pulling on the boots. They fit perfectly, hugging my calves like they were made for me.

I go back to being a furniture builder and struggle a little more trying to put this piece of shit together, until I finally give in and accept the fact I need help.

I grab my phone and dial Asher's number.

Asher, my boyfriend of two years.

My fingers tap impatiently against the counter as it rings.

"Hey, Puddin'," he answers, sounding a little distracted. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine," I lie, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "It's just... my dad didn't show up again. He promised he'd help me fix some stuff around the apartment."

He sighs, and I can almost see him running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Can I call you back? I'm in a meeting with a record label right now."

"Why do you need to call me back?" I ask, feeling a twinge of annoyance. "Can't you talk for a minute?"

He didn't even tell me he had a meeting with a label. Isn't that something someone would normally tell their girlfriend?

Asher is an up and coming rockstar. One who I think will do amazingly if someone ever gives him the chance.

"Polly, this is important," he says, his tone growing firm. "It's make my career kind of important. I'll be there in a couple of hours, okay?"

"Fine," I say, swallowing my irritation. "Good luck with your meeting."

"Thanks, Puddin'. I'll see you soon."

I hang up and toss the phone onto the couch, feeling more frustrated than ever.

The shelf still needs fixing, and now I have even less patience to deal with it.

"Guess it's time to get productive," I mutter, heading to the laundry room.

For the next few hours, I throw myself into cleaning. Scrubbing the kitchen counters, vacuuming the living room, folding laundry—anything to keep my mind off the fact that once again, I'm left to handle everything on my own.

Hours pass, and the sun dips lower in the sky. I glance at the clock. Five hours have come and gone, and still no sign of Asher.

"Figures," I mutter, tossing a pile of clean clothes onto the bed.

I flop down beside the laundry, staring up at the ceiling.

The silence of the apartment feels heavier than usual, pressing down on me like a weight. It's not just about the shelf or the broken promises—it's about feeling like I'm always waiting for someone else to make things better.

"Enough of this," I say, sitting up and grabbing my phone.

I shoot Asher a quick text: "Still waiting. Everything okay?"

No response.

"Great," I say, tossing the phone aside.

Determined not to let my mood sink any lower, I decide to tackle one last chore. The bathroom mirror has been streaked for days, and I've been meaning to clean it. I grab some glass cleaner and a rag, heading to the bathroom.

"Maybe I don't need anyone to save me," I say to my reflection, spraying the cleaner onto the mirror.

As I wipe away the streaks, my own face comes into sharper focus.

The silver blonde hair that frames my face, the determined set of my jaw—I'm stronger than I give myself credit for.

"Maybe it's time to stop waiting," I tell my reflection. "Time to take control."

With the mirror sparkling clean, I feel a small sense of accomplishment. It's not much, but it's something.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I snatch it up, hoping it's Asher. But no, it's my best friend. Lila.

"Hey girl! Party tonight? Need some fun in my life, and you're coming with!" her text reads.

"Why not?" I say aloud, typing back a quick response: "I'm in. When and where?"

"9 PM at Jake's place. Be there or be square."

"See you then," I reply, feeling an immediate lift in my spirits. Screw waiting around for Asher. I've got my own life to live.

"Time to get ready," I announce to no one, heading straight for the shower.

The hot water hits my skin, washing away the day's frustrations. I let it soak in, cleansing more than just the grime. It feels like it's rinsing away the disappointment, the anger, the constant waiting.

"Tonight, it's about me," I murmur, lathering my hair with my favorite citrus-scented shampoo. The scent envelops me, invigorating and fresh.

I step out, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel. My silver blonde hair drips onto my shoulders, but I don't care.

I'm too busy rummaging through my closet, searching for that one dress.

"Ah, there you are," I say, pulling out the little black dress that always makes me feel like a million bucks.

It's tight in all the right places, accentuating my curves and giving me that boost of confidence I desperately need tonight.

"Let's do this," I whisper, slipping into the dress.

Next, I tackle my hair. I blow-dry it until it's sleek and shining, cascading down my back in shimmering waves.

I remember the first time I had it bleached. My father was furious.

He couldn't understand why I wanted to change my hair color from the raven black locks he has, but that was the point. I didn't want to look anything like him.

A touch of makeup—just enough to highlight my cheekbones and make my eyes pop—and I'm almost ready.

"You're not going to recognize yourself," I tell my reflection as I apply a final coat of mascara.

With one last look in the mirror, I kick off my new shoes and grab my favorite pair of high-heeled boots from the closet.

They're black leather, edgy and perfect for dancing the night away.

"Ready or not, world, here I come," I declare, grabbing my purse and keys.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Lila: "Leaving now. See you soon!"

"On my way," I reply, locking the door behind me.

As I head out, I can't help but smile. Tonight, I'm going to relax and have the time of my life with my best friend.

The bass thumps through my car as I pull up to the house party.

Lila's already outside, waving at me with a wide grin.

"Polly! Over here!" she shouts, her voice barely audible over the music blasting from inside.

"Hey, girl!" I yell back, strutting over in my black dress and high-heeled boots.

She wraps me in a quick hug, her excitement infectious.

"Let's get in there and have some fun," Lila says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.

The moment we step inside, we're hit with a wave of bodies moving to the beat, laughter, and the scent of alcohol mixed with perfume. It's chaos, but it's exactly what I need.

"Drinks first?" Lila suggests, raising an eyebrow.

"Definitely," I reply, following her to the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen.

We each grab a cup of something fruity and strong, clinking them together before taking a sip.

"To forgetting shitty days and living our best lives!" Lila toasts.

"Cheers to that," I agree, downing half my drink in one go.

The alcohol warms me from the inside out, melting away the disappointment of the day.

"Come on, let's dance!" Lila tugs me toward the living room where the real party is happening. The music pulses through my veins as we find a spot in the middle of the crowd and start to move.

Lila's energy is contagious. She's all hips and laughter, and soon enough, I'm matching her rhythm, losing myself in the music. It's liberating, shaking off the weight of everything that's been dragging me down lately.

"You're killing it, Polly!" Lila shouts, twirling around me.

I laugh, spinning her back, my hair flying in wild waves.

"Just trying to keep up with you!" I yell back, feeling lighter than I have in weeks.

We dance through a couple more songs, my body moving on autopilot, my mind blissfully blank.

This is exactly what I needed—a night to just let go.

"Another drink?" Lila asks, leaning close so I can hear her.

"Yeah, let's do it!" I nod, and we head back to the kitchen for a refill.

As we pour ourselves another round, a familiar song starts playing, and we both shriek in delight.

"That's our jam!" Lila exclaims, grabbing my hand again. We rush back to the dance floor, our drinks sloshing slightly as we weave through the crowd.

Back in the thick of it, we raise our cups and sing along at the top of our lungs. For a moment, there's nothing but the music, the lights, and the freedom of the night.

Until someone taps me on the shoulder.

"Hold on," I say to Lila, turning around.

My smile drops the second I see who it is.

"Rachel."

"Polly wanna cracker?" she says, her tone dripping with condescension. God, I hate that dumb nickname she gave me. It's not even like we're friends.

Her eyes flicker over my outfit, and I can see the judgment there. "Didn't expect to see you here, especially dressed like that."

"Likewise," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

Rachel's never been one of my favorite people, mainly because she's always hanging around Asher like a lost puppy.

Sure, they've known each other since they were small children, but I couldn't care less.

"Having fun?" she asks, a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Actually, yeah, I am," I say, lifting my chin defiantly. "Why? You lookin' to ruin my night?"

"Not at all," Rachel says, her smile turning into a smirk. "Just curious if Asher knows you're here."

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, he doesn't," I say, my voice sharp. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Just looking out for him," she says with a shrug. "You know how protective I am of my friends."

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "Protective. Sure."

More like she wants to fuck my man.

"It looks to me like you're out here scoping for guys," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting an eyebrow in that infuriating way she always does.

"Please," I scoff. "I have enough man to handle at home."

Rachel's eyes narrow, and I can see the gears turning in her head.

She's looking for a way to dig deeper, to twist the knife. "You know what, just admit it," I say before she can get another word in. "You want to be with Asher. That's the reason you hate me so much. That's the reason you always have to meddle in our relationship."

"You're delusional," Rachel snaps, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes. Guilt? Jealousy? Who knows, and frankly, who cares?

"Am I?" I step closer, my voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. "Because every time I turn around, there you are, trying to play the loyal friend. But it's not loyalty, Rachel. It's obsession."

"Shut up, Polly. You don't know what you're talking about." she says, her voice trembling slightly.

I can tell I've hit a nerve.

"Face it, Rachel," I continue, my confidence growing with every word. "Asher could never be with someone like you. You're too busy sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"You're wrong," she whispers, but her voice lacks conviction. I've won this round, and we both know it.

"Are you serious right now?" I manage to choke out between giggles. "He seems pretty damn happy when I'm on top of him."

Rachel's face contorts with rage. Her hand flies across my cheek before I can even register the movement. The stinging slap echoes in my ears, leaving a burning imprint on my skin.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" she screams, her voice trembling with fury.

I take a step back, rubbing my cheek. My laughter dies down, replaced by cold, hard anger.

I lean in close, my voice low and dangerous. "Touch me again, and you'll regret it," I hiss. "You're not his keeper, Rachel. Stay out of our lives."

"You're trash, Polly," she spits, her voice shaking. "And one day, Asher will see it too."

"Keep dreaming," I say, turning away from her. "Now get lost."

Rachel glares at me for a moment longer before storming off into the crowd.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

Lila appears at my side, concern etched on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asks, glancing at my reddened cheek.

"Fine," I mutter, forcing a smile. "Just a minor inconvenience."

"Let's get another drink," Lila suggests, linking her arm through mine. "Forget about her."

"Good idea," I agree, letting her lead me towards the bar.

The night is still young, and I'm determined to enjoy it, no matter what.

We weave our way back through the throng of people, the bass from the music vibrating through the floor and up into my bones.

The living room is packed, bodies moving and swaying to the rhythm.

Lila pulls me toward the makeshift bar where a couple of guys are mixing drinks with practiced ease.

"Hey ladies," one of them says with a grin, his eyes lingering on my dress. "What can I get you?"

"Something strong," Lila replies, leaning against the counter. "We need to forget about some drama."

"Coming right up," the guy says, winking at us before turning to grab bottles from the shelf behind him.

"Who knew a house party could have its own bartender?" I joke, trying to shake off the lingering tension from my encounter with Rachel.

"Only the best for us," Lila laughs, nudging me playfully. "Besides, a few drinks never hurt anyone."

"True," I say, watching as the guy pours our drinks with a flourish.

He hands us each a red solo cup filled to the brim with a potent-looking concoction.

"Enjoy, ladies," he says, smiling as we take our first sips.

"Thanks," I reply, feeling the burn of the alcohol slide down my throat.

It's strong, but that's exactly what I need right now, especially after dealing with Rachel's psychotic ass.

"Cheers," Lila says, clinking her cup against mine.

We both take another long sip, the warmth spreading through my body.

"Let's get back on the dance floor," I suggest, feeling the buzz start to kick in.

The music is infectious, and I want to lose myself in it, to forget about everything else.

"Lead the way," Lila agrees, and we move back to the center of the living room where the crowd is thickest.

The beat pulses around us, and we start to dance, our bodies moving in sync with the music.

"Dang girl! Look at you!" Lila shouts over the noise, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Girl!" I yell back, laughing as we twirl and sway.

For a moment, everything else fades away—the disappointment with my dad, the frustration with Asher, even the confrontation with Rachel. There's just the music, the lights, and the feeling of being alive.

"Hey, mind if we join you?" A voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see the two guys from the bar standing beside us, drinks in hand.

"Why not?" Lila answers for both of us, sending me a mischievous grin.

I give her a quick glance, a silent warning that I don't really want to be too close to these guys.

Lila is single, while I am very much in a committed relationship.

Before I know it, they're right against us and I'm biting my tongue, trying to be a good wing woman for Lila.

"To new friends," one of the guys says, clinking his cup against ours.

"To forgetting about old problems," Lila giggles, taking another drink.

The guys are decent dancers, their movements fluid and confident.

It feels good to let loose, to laugh and flirt without any expectations.

"Having fun?" One of the guys asks, leaning in close so I can hear him over the music.

"It's all right. Just wish my man was here to enjoy it with me," I reply, politely dropping the hint I'm in a relationship. "You?"

"Best night I've had in a while," he admits, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Glad to hear it," I say, taking another sip of my drink.

The night stretches ahead of us, full of possibilities. And for once, I'm ready to embrace whatever comes next.

"Want another round?" The guy offers, nodding towards the bar.

"Sure," I say, feeling bold. "But I'm not getting off this dance floor,"

"I'll get it for you." he laughs, heading back to the makeshift bar.

The room is a blur of flashing lights and bodies moving to the beat.

The guy brings me over my drink and his buddy has one for Lila. We thank them and then someone calls one of their names. They both head over to their friend and the two of us are dancing together.

"Polly! Look at you!" Lila slurs, giggling as she stumbles into me.

Her arm wraps around my shoulder for support, but it feels more like she's using me as a human crutch.

"Having fun?" I ask, my words slipping out more slurred than I intend.

My head feels heavy, and the floor seems unsteady beneath my feet.

"Totally," she says, her eyes half-closed. "But... I'm so tired."

"Me too," I admit, glancing around the crowded room.

We've been drinking and dancing for what feels like hours.

My legs are jelly, and my vision swims every time I turn my head.

I thought I was pacing myself, but now I'm not so sure.

"Let's sit," I suggest, but even that sounds like an effort.

The wall behind me looks like the most inviting thing I've ever seen. I lean against it, letting its cool surface steady me.

"Hey, you okay?" One of the guys from earlier asks, suddenly appearing beside me.

His face is fuzzy around the edges, but his concern is clear.

"Yeah, just... dizzy," I mumble, closing my eyes for a moment. The world spins even when I do that. "I think I need to lie down."

"Okay, let's get you somewhere quiet," he says, placing a gentle hand on my arm. His touch is warm, comforting. I nod, trusting him to guide me through the chaos.

"Come on," he says softly, leading me away from the noise.

Lila follows, her own steps unsteady.

"Where are we going?" she asks, sounding as dazed as I feel.

"Somewhere we can rest," he assures her, his voice calm and reassuring.

"Good," she mutters, leaning heavily on my other side.

Together, we make our way through the crowd, each step a small victory.

"Almost there," he says, his grip tightening slightly as we navigate a set of stairs.

My feet feel like lead, but I force them to move, one step at a time.

"Here we go," he says, pushing open a door.

The room beyond is dimly lit, the noise from the party muffled by the walls. It feels like a sanctuary.

"Thank you," I whisper, my legs giving out as I sink onto a nearby bed.

The mattress is soft, welcoming. I close my eyes, letting the darkness take over.