I stared at that last message, a weight pressing against my chest. Then, I laughed. The sound was sharp and empty. What a joke. He wanted to own me while pledging himself to someone else? What a bastard.
The cab stopped in front of a neon-lit bar, bathed in glowing red. I paid the fare, stepped out, and walked straight into the thrum of music and late-night noise. The beat pulsed through the air, syncing with my heartbeat, momentarily drowning out the chaos inside me.
The bar was packed, full of people whose faces meant nothing. I moved through the crowd, grateful for the anonymity.
That’s when I spotted him.
Ryan.
There he was, at the far end of the bar. His dark hair was a little messy, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, that same cocky half-smile playing on his lips. Marcus' ex-best friend, now bitter enemy. The man he despised more than anyone else in the world.
A dangerous idea bloomed in my mind.
I didn’t have to approach him—not yet. I didn’t even need to speak to him.
I pulled out my phone, framed the shot just right, and snapped a photo of Ryan looking relaxed and unaware. Perfect.
No hesitation this time—I typed the message to Marcus:
Meet my date.