chapter 1: The Glass Shatter

The rose gold ring sparkled on Amelia Hart's finger, still warm from the sunlight that filtered through the high windows of her London apartment. She turned it slowly, watching the diamond catch the light. It was perfect—just like how her life was supposed to be.

Until today.

The air smelled of lilies—her favorite. Her stepsister, Celeste, had sent them just yesterday with a note that read, "To the bride-to-be. I'm so happy for you." A lie that now felt venomous in her hands.

Amelia's hands shook as she stood frozen outside the door of her fiancé's luxury penthouse. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to hear what she heard. But something had felt off for weeks, and now, her instincts screamed louder than reason.

"I thought you were going to tell her," Celeste's voice purred from behind the slightly ajar door.

"I will. Just… not yet. She's been through a lot. And with the wedding so close…" Daniel's voice trailed off.

"You've been saying that for six months." A pause. Then a laugh that made Amelia's blood run cold. "What are you going to do? Marry her and still sleep with me?"

Silence.

Then a whisper she wasn't meant to hear.

"Maybe."

The air left Amelia's lungs in a single, violent rush. The kind that comes when your world breaks apart without warning. She staggered back from the door, bile rising in her throat. She didn't remember how she got outside. She didn't remember walking to the street. But suddenly, she was there, surrounded by strangers, with tears streaking her face and rage boiling under her skin.

Daniel. Her fiancé. The man who said she was his world.

Celeste. Her stepsister. The one she protected when their parents remarried. The one she stood up for, even when her mother warned her not to trust too easily.

Amelia had trusted too much.

And now she had nothing.

She hailed a cab with a shaking hand and gave the driver an address she hadn't visited in years—an exclusive rooftop bar in the heart of the city. One where the rich drowned their guilt in aged whiskey and expensive silence. She didn't know what she was doing there. Maybe she wanted to disappear into the crowd. Maybe she wanted to become someone else for just one night.

The bar smelled like old money and secrets. She wore nothing but her simple dress and heartbreak, but heads turned when she entered. She didn't belong here—not really—but the pain in her eyes made her untouchable. She walked to the bar, ordered something strong, and downed it without tasting.

"You look like you could use something stronger than that," a voice said from behind her.

It wasn't Daniel's voice. It wasn't kind or soft or familiar. It was low, older, dangerous in a way that made her spine stiffen.

She turned.

He was older—late 30s or early 40s—maybe even more. Dark suit. No tie. Clean cut. Unapologetically powerful. His eyes met hers with the kind of control that didn't ask for permission. He wasn't beautiful, but he was striking. Commanding.

"Maybe I could," she said.

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. "Follow me."

The part of her that was Amelia—good, careful, obedient—screamed in protest. But the part of her that had just lost everything? That part followed him.

She didn't ask his name. He didn't ask hers.

The suite was nothing like Daniel's place. There were no fake smiles or carefully arranged flowers. Just shadows, silence, and the smell of expensive cologne.

He poured her another drink. They sat. The silence stretched between them like a dare.

"You don't want to talk?" he asked.

"No."

"Good."

And then it happened. Not violently. Not sloppily. It wasn't romantic, either. It was… raw. Fast. Real. The way broken people crash into each other because it hurts less than falling alone.

Afterward, she stared at the ceiling of the unfamiliar hotel room. Her skin still burned where he'd touched her. But her heart? Numb.

He hadn't asked for her name, and she didn't give it. Just like she didn't ask for his. He watched her quietly, and she knew—even without words—that this was a man who didn't believe in attachments.

Good. Neither did she.

"Thank you," she whispered, surprising herself.

"For what?"

"For not pretending it was something it wasn't."

He smirked, but didn't reply. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

And Amelia, heart shattered, life unraveling, lay beside a stranger and said goodbye to the girl she used to be.