Prologue

PROLOGUE

Zoe

Three Months Ago…

The door swings open, and the sight before me is like a punch to the gut. Jacob, my Jacob, has Sassy pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around him as he thrusts into her.

The dim light of the room highlights every sickening detail.

My heart stops, then starts again with a vengeance.

My voice erupts like a firework, raw and uncontainable. "Jacob, you fucking bastard!"

Red-hot rage blinds me as I charge at him, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails dig into my palms.

Two years—two goddamn years—and this is how he repays me?

The taste of betrayal is bitter, acrid in my mouth.

His pathetic excuse barely registers over the roaring in my ears. "Zoe, wait! It's not what it looks like!"

Sassy scrambles around the room, her eyes wide with panic.

She grabs at her discarded clothes, fumbling to cover herself as if that could erase what I just walked in on.

Her frantic movements only fuel my anger, but she's not my priority right now.

Jacob is.

Right now, my fury is laser-focused on Jacob.

"It's exactly what it fucking looks like," I scream back, my voice breaking. "You're screwing someone who isn't me at the club's 4th of July party. How stupid could you be?"

I don't wait for an answer.

I lunge at him, every inch of me vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage.

I spit out, calling him every vile name I can think of. "Fuck you, Jacob. You're just a limp dick bumblefuck bitch!"

My heart feels like it's being torn apart, piece by agonizing piece.

We were supposed to be building a life together.

Just last week, we were talking about moving in with each other.

Only to find out they were all lies. Every single word.

"Fuck you, Jacob," I spit, my voice trembling with both hurt and rage. "We're done."

My hand flies through the air before I can even think, the crack of my palm against his cheek echoing in the room.

Jacob's head snaps to the side, and for a heartbeat, he just stands there, frozen.

His eyes meet mine, wide with shock, but something darker flickers underneath—anger.

"Go ahead, fucking do it," I spit out, my voice trembling with rage.

His hesitation lasts only a moment. Then, as if on some twisted autopilot, his hand clamps down around my wrist, yanking me closer.

The next instant, my cheek stings with the force of his slap.

My vision blurs, and the room seems to tilt on its axis.

The sting of his slap reverberates through my skull, but it's nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

"Get the fuck out of here," I manage to say, my voice shaking. "Get the fuck off the club's property, now!"

Jacob's nostrils flare, and for a second, I think he's going to hit me again.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he releases my wrist, shoving me back a step as he does.

Without another word, he storms toward the door, each step heavy with unspent fury.

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.

I stand there, my body trembling uncontrollably.

My face throbs where he hit me, a stark reminder of how quickly everything can fall apart.

My hands are shaking so hard I have to clench them into fists just to keep from falling apart completely.

I stare at the spot where Jacob stood, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing over me: anger, betrayal, heartbreak.

"Fuck," I whisper to the empty room, the word barely audible.

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my legs no longer able to support me.

My mind races, replaying the events in an endless loop, each iteration cutting deeper than the last.

The pain is almost too much to bear, a relentless ache that gnaws at my insides.

I thought we were building a life together.

We had plans, dreams—things that now feel like cruel jokes at my expense.

How could I have been so blind?

"Stupid," I mutter, tears welling up in my eyes.

I fight them back, refusing to give in to the weakness.

I need to stay strong, need to reclaim some semblance of control.

But it's hard when everything feels so shattered.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

The room still feels like it's spinning, but I force myself to focus, to ground myself in the here and now.

One step at a time, Zoe. You can do this.

"Get it together, Zoe," I mutter, reaching for my makeup bag.

Each stroke of concealer feels like plastering over a wound, but it's necessary.

I won't give anyone out there the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Not tonight.

I tidy up my hair, swipe on some mascara, and dab my lips with a neutral gloss.

The act of fixing my makeup is almost meditative, each small action bringing me closer to some semblance of control.

Finally, I take a deep breath and smooth down my dress.

I can do this. I have to. I have to get out there and face everyone.

I step out of my trailer and make my way toward the clubhouse.

The sounds of laughter and music hit me like a wall as I push open the door, but hardly anyone is in here.

The 4th of July party is in full swing, so I make my way out back.

Fireworks light up the sky, casting colorful shadows over the revelers.

For a moment, I feel like an intruder in my own life, a stranger among friends who have no idea my world just imploded.

My eyes scan the crowd until they land on Spark behind the bar, his dark brown hair catching the flicker of the fireworks.

He's mixing drinks with a practiced ease, his Elvis tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

I make a beeline for him, needing the distraction, needing something strong to dull the edges of my pain.

"Hey, Spark," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

He looks up, concern flashing in his eyes as he takes in my appearance. "Zoe, you good? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Something like that," I reply, leaning against the bar. "I'm in dire need of a drink. Think you can help a lady out?"

"Say no more," he says without missing a beat, reaching for a bottle. His movements are fluid, almost hypnotic, and for a brief moment, I'm grateful for the normalcy of it all.

The clink of ice against glass, the pour of liquor—it's a symphony that drowns out the chaos swirling around in my mind.

"Here you go," Spark says, sliding the drink towards me.

Our fingers brush briefly, and I look up to meet his eyes.

There's something there—something warm and reassuring that makes me feel just a little less alone.

"Thanks," I say, lifting the glass to my lips.

The first sip is a burning trail down my throat, but it's exactly what I need.

Spark leans his forearms on the bar, giving me his full attention. "Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about how fucked up my day's been?" I scoff, swirling the drink in my glass before taking another gulp. "How Jacob was a boy pretending to be a man? How he was screwing Sassy right under my nose?"

Spark's eyes flash with anger for a moment before settling into something softer, more understanding. "What? You deserve better than that piece of shit."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, shaking my head. "Two years of my life wasted on someone who couldn't even keep it in his pants."

"He's not worth your tears," Spark says, placing a comforting hand over mine. His touch sends a jolt through me—unexpected but not unwelcome.

"More like he's not worth anything," I laugh bitterly. "And you know what? He was bad in bed too."

Spark raises an eyebrow, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh really?"

"Really," I confirm, feeling a strange sense of liberation wash over me. "I mean, it's almost laughable how terrible he was."

"Zoe," Spark says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that makes my pulse quicken. He leans in closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "A man like me would make sure you're always satisfied."

The words hang in the air between us and fuck, I don't know how to take them.