NATHAN JANG
Vanessa's fingers traced lazy circles on my chest, her touch feather-light. I sighed, sinking deeper into the pillows, the sweet press of her body against mine. The warmth of her breath against my neck was steady and comforting, a silent rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
Her presence filled every corner of my awareness. Her breath hitched when my fingers brushed her skin. Time stretched, infinite and fragile, and I wished I could freeze this moment forever.
"Vanessa," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Don't leave me."
"You're thinking of her? Damn you, Nathan!"
The irritated voice of Fiona snapped me out of the dream.
My fingers froze on the curve of her hip.
My eyes flew open.
Fiona's face hovered inches from mine. "Morning, lover." Her voice was syrup poured over broken glass.
I recoiled so violently my back slammed against the headboard. The room tilted, my stomach lurching as last night rushed back in jagged fragments:
The phone call. Fiona's panicked voice about a stalker. The whiskey she'd poured. The way the ice cubes had clinked like warning bells in my glass.
Then... a void where memories should be.
"Wh—" My tongue felt swollen, my mouth sour with the aftertaste of cheap liquor and something medicinal. "What the hell happened?"
Fiona stretched like a satisfied cat, the sheets slipping to reveal the lacy edge of a black bra. "You don't remember?"
Every muscle in my body locked. No, I didn't touch Fiona. Did I? I couldn't remember much after a vague recall of Fiona helping me stagger toward her bedroom.
Had I betrayed Vanessa? If I had, it wasn't of my own free will. Nausea crawled up my throat. How could I touch Fiona? I thought of her like a sister. I didn't want to sleep with her.
Damn it.
I threw off the covers and got out of bed. My head throbbed with pain. My clothes lay in a heap by the bed, reeking of stale whiskey—or was that Fiona's heavy perfume clinging to the fabric?
I grabbed my pants with shaking hands, my fingers fumbling as I put them on. The floor tilted beneath me, and for a second, I had to brace myself against the nightstand, swallowing back the sour taste of bile.
God, what the hell had happened last night?
Fiona's laugh was a razor slicing down my spine. "What's wrong, husband?"
"Don't call me that." I put on my shirt and started buttoning it. "You drugged me."
She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement and malice. "So what? You still have to take responsibility for me."
"I have a fiancée." The words came out hoarse, my throat dry. It felt like I'd been chewing on cotton balls.
Her hand shot out, nails digging into my wrist hard enough to leave crescents. "After everything I've done for you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "After everything you've done to me?"
The guilt hit like a sucker punch. This was my fault. If I hadn't come running when Fiona crooked her little finger, she wouldn't have had a chance to drug me. In the last two months, from the day she arrived, I'd chosen Fiona over Vanessa.
I should have seen it sooner—but I was too wrapped up in Fiona's chaos, her endless storms of drama that demanded attention. Vanessa never asked me for help. She handled her own problems, alone, without support. Standing in the wreckage of her trust, I wondered how many times she had swallowed her pain while I rushed to soothe someone else's.
"I'll transfer money to you. Book your travel to France. After today, you and I are done."
Her smile turned feral. "You think this is about money?" She reached under her pillow and my blood turned to ice—but it was just her phone. The screen lit up with a photo that stopped my heart:
Me. Passed out on her bed, my shirt unbuttoned, her hand on my chest.
And just like that, I understood.
This wasn't a mistake.
It was a trap.
"This might be enough to cancel that marriage contract," she purred. "Shouldn't you be happy?"
The walls closed in. My pulse roared in my ears. What did you do, Fiona?"
"I told Vanessa the truth. You want me, not her."
"That's not the truth!"
Strength wasn't the same as invincibility. I had always prided myself on being resilient, on weathering storms without breaking—but now, I felt like shattering.
Vanessa needed me, loved me, trusted me to be her shelter when the world turned cruel, and I had failed her. The memory of her voice, trembling with hurt, played in my mind on an endless loop. I should have been there. I should have seen the cracks before they became chasms. Instead, I had been blind, too wrapped up in Fiona's struggles to notice hers.
Here was a crushing realization: Some mistakes could never be undone. Couldn't be apologized for. Couldn't erase pain. Regret coiled around me like a serpent, its grip tightening with every what if that flickered through my thoughts.
Despite the shame gnawing at me, I forced myself to face what I had done. Would Vanessa understand? Would she forgive? Would she hate me?
My phone rang.
Malone's name appeared on the screen, and I answered the call. My assistant's voice sliced through the static in my head, but not the ache in my heart. "Madame has been in an accident with Carver Haynes. He made it out of the wreckage, but..."
"But what?"
"Madame has been kidnapped."
The world fractured.
Fiona was saying something, her fingers tightening on my arm, but her all I heard was the echo of Malone's voice, threading through my aching skull.
The memory of Vanessa in the hospital bed, her skin too pale except for the feverish flush high on her cheeks.
And I left her.
The truth was simple and ugly: I had chosen to walk away. And while I'd been gone, trapped in a situation of my own bad decisions, she had left the hospital and disappeared.
Worse than that, she'd been in a car wreck with Carver. Carver who picked her up to take her home. Carver who seemed to be there for her when I wasn't.
We weren't in love, I told myself. We were a contract marriage.
And it didn't matter. Because we could have something real if I would stop running away from her and toward Fiona. Fiona, a woman so selfish and cruel she was willing to drug me just to get what she wanted.
Now I didn't know what had happened to the woman I'd promised to wed ... and I wanted her back.
But ... where was she?
And was she still alive?