3

 Ciara Mendes

          Micah Richmond is not just my best friend; he is also a talented twenty-four-year-old photographer at Flare Magazine. He began his career there as an intern, and our boss, Mrs. Florence, was so captivated by his work that she offered him a full-time position immediately after he graduated from college.

The handsome man with gray eyes sat across from me at our reserved table in the bar at Davinche Restaurant in Midtown Manhattan, not far from the Roosevelt Hotel where we were both staying. After meeting him earlier that morning, he had told me he made a reservation for us, hoping to lift me out of my melancholy state for a while.

Of course, he emphasized the meaning of the word "melancholy" while encouraging me to put on a tight black dress from Forever 21 and rose gold heels. He wanted me to get back out there, especially since he wasn't a fan of my ex-fiancé.

"She looks like my type, don’t you think?" I looked up from my glass and followed his gaze to the bar. There stood a short woman with red hair, wearing a form-fitting cobalt dress that accentuated her figure. Her navy blue heels spoke volumes.

"She seems to have a good taste in fashion, but I don't think she's your type—unless you’re into redheads now?" I raised an eyebrow, and he nodded in agreement, a playful grin forming on his lips as he contemplated the idea.

He took a sip from his scotch and nodded, "You're right. So, have you talked to Evei since what happened with that bastard?" His tone shifted, reflecting genuine concern, as memories of the fallout hung heavy in the air between us.

Eve Malhamie, my best friend since high school, was set to be my maid of honor; the twenty-four-year-old model had always been a source of inspiration. I fondly recalled my first trip to New York three years ago, all because she needed someone to accompany her to a photo shoot. The experience was nothing short of magical, filled with laughter and unforgettable moments that I still cherished to this day.

"I left her a message; I'm sure she'll get back to me once she sees it," I answered him, trying to stay casual.

"Good, and just for the record, she wasn't a fan of Fisher either," Micah replied, a knowing look in his eyes that hinted at the shared disdain they had for the guy who had broken my heart.

I nodded at him as I reminisce on the time she said that she saw him flirting with the bartender at her birthday party a couple of months ago but still she wasn't sure because she was a bit tipsy. If he can cheat on me with my blood sister why wouldn't he flirt with a bartender?

     I nodded at him, memories flooding back of the time Eve confided in me that she had seen Fisher flirt with the bartender at her birthday party a few months ago. She had been a bit tipsy and uncertain, but the thought lingered uncomfortably in my mind—if he could betray me with my own sister, what was stopping him from flirting with someone else?

Playing with the olive in my drink, the image of Bridget and Fisher locking lips flashed through my mind, tightening the knot of betrayal in my stomach. Big sisters were supposed to be the ones who stood by you when you needed support, or at least the ones who would punch the guy who dared to break your heart. Yet here was mine, siding with the man who had not only hurt me but had helped him cheat, leaving me feeling utterly abandoned and betrayed.

I tried to convince myself that I shouldn't be surprised by Bridget's betrayal; she'd always been self-centered, and Mom had never failed to take her side in everything, leaving me feeling like an outsider ever since her divorce with Dad. It was a painful realization that the sister I once admired had never truly been there for me, and that her actions now only reinforced the distance I felt growing between us.

Giovanni Haynes

           After calling my cousin Mateo Haynes to explain my situation, he suggested we meet at Davinche Restaurant and Bar. Mat and I were practically kindred spirits; he was more of an older brother to me than Bentley ever was. The only distinction between us was that Mat had gone through three divorces in the past five years, while I wouldn't even consider proposing to a woman. At thirty-four, Mat was the owner of the Montego Hotels chain and was currently paying child support for his son, Dontaé, whom he wasn't even allowed to see.

After his first two divorces, he had been drained of billions, and his third wife, a twenty-one-year-old, didn't receive anything because the security cameras around his mansion caught her cheating on him. Mateo was the perfect example of why I should avoid marriage altogether.

His eyes roamed around the bar as he took sips of his whiskey, likely searching for wife number four. It was chaotic to think about why he even bothered marrying these women in the first place.

"When I say I wanted to go out, I meant to one of the best nightclubs here," I scoffed, eyeing the formal atmosphere of Davinche Restaurant and Bar. It was a classy place, suited for business meetings and after-work drinks, but not for picking up women who were willing to give themselves up within an hour—especially not for someone like Giovanni Haynes.

Mateo let out a chuckle, his grey eyes scanning the bar with amusement. "I don't understand why you won't get over her already; it's been four years. It took me two months, several whiskey bottles, and an arrest to get over Anika." His laughter was infectious, but the weight of his words hung in the air, a reminder of how long I'd been trapped in the past.

I downed the rest of my drink, the liquid burning my throat as I met his gaze. "She cheated on you, man; it shouldn't have taken all of that to get over her." My words hung between us, a mix of incredulity and concern for my cousin, highlighting just how deeply the scars of heartbreak can run.

There are plenty of females out there, so why sit and drown your sorrows when you can get back on your feet and find a new one.

"You will never understand what it feels like to love," Mateo tells me.

I let out a derisive snort at that. "I know what love feels like, and I’m damn sure it doesn’t take two months to fall out of it."

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs. "You're right. It was all about her performance—that's why I proposed to her. She was my addiction."

"Isn't she the prettiest thing?" I heard him mutter under his breath. Ignoring him, I took another sip of my drink, lost in my thoughts about Jasmine, when suddenly, someone flicked my forehead.

Mat ignored my glare and continued to grin. "Chill, man. Like I was saying, that woman looks like a deal breaker. You should go talk to her."

"Did I tell you I want a deal breaker?" I shot back, frustration boiling beneath the surface. All I craved at that moment was a damn one-night stand—someone skilled at using every part of her body to drive me wild.

He drained the last dregs of his drink, his gaze steady on me. "I meant you should spend more time with one woman for a while instead of switching them every night, because that pattern isn’t getting you anywhere."

This was unbelievable coming from him. "Like you," I shot back, knowing full well that women often get attached after just a few hours in a man's presence or even through a handful of exchanged messages.

Again, a wide grin spread across his face. "Precisely! Just use her until you get over that crazy scheming gold-digging bitch."

I narrowed my eyes at him, incredulous. "You want me to use her?"

He nodded, looking like an innocent child despite being a grown man. "She's over there," he said, pointing casually.

Sitting all alone four tables away was a woman in a black dress, her raven hair cascading to one side as she stared intently at her drink, lost in thought. She exuded elegance and beauty, and the way she carried herself suggested she was far from the type to casually come home with someone like me, though I couldn't help but entertain thoughts of my own charms.

"Forget her, man; she seems like another Jasmine Lavigne mixed with a touch of Mitchell Garcia and a whole lot of problems," I said, quickly looking away just as she glanced in our direction, my instincts kicking in to avoid her gaze.

"Are you serious?" Mateo exclaimed, shaking his head with exaggerated disbelief. "If you are, you're dumber than we thought—‘we’ meaning Bentley and I. You can't judge a woman just by her appearance!"

"Whatever, she seems problematic, that's all," I said dismissively, shrugging off Mateo's criticism and trying to focus on something more worthwhile.

"She seems like a challenge," he said with a smirk, clearly intrigued by the idea of me unraveling her complexities.