Chapter 2

The night before the party, the night before he shattered my world, he had been mine.

He came to me late, the scent of expensive whiskey on his breath and a strange, restless energy in his eyes. He pulled me into his arms, his hold tight, almost desperate. It felt different. Not just passion, but something sharper, like a final, frantic claiming.

"You' re quiet tonight, Scar," he murmured against my hair, his hands mapping the curve of my spine.

I leaned into him, trying to ignore the knot of unease in my stomach. "Just thinking about tomorrow. The big day."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the bedroom. "Are you happy for me?"

"Of course," I said, my voice a little too quick. "This is everything we worked for. A legitimate life."

He traced my jawline with his thumb, his touch sending a familiar shiver through me. "What if... what if we broke up? What would you do?"

The question was so casual, so out of the blue, it felt like a slap. I searched his face for a hint of a joke, but there was none. Only a cool, calculating curiosity.

"Why would you ask that?" I asked, my own voice now laced with a chill.

"Just a hypothetical," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "We' ve been through a lot. People change. Things end."

I felt a prickle of alarm. This wasn't the Liam I knew. The Liam I knew was possessive, territorial. He never spoke of endings, only of conquering. A coldness spread through my chest, a dawning horror that something was fundamentally wrong.

"If things ended," I said slowly, choosing my words with the care of a bomb disposal expert, "I would be fine. I' m a survivor, Liam. You taught me that."

My answer seemed to please him. He nodded, a flicker of something-relief?-in his eyes. "That' s my girl. Always tough."

He pulled me back against him, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was deep and consuming, yet felt strangely hollow. It was a performance of passion, not the real thing. It was a goodbye.

He suggested we should go our separate ways. He said it softly, as if he were suggesting we order different takeout. "Maybe it' s time, Scar. For us to close this chapter."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I felt the floor drop out from under me, the air sucked from my lungs. Ten years, and he was ending it like he was closing a business deal.

I pulled away from him, forcing a lightness I didn't feel into my voice. "Okay, Liam. If that' s what you want."

I stood up and started to gather my clothes from the floor, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe.

"Wait," he said, his hand catching my wrist. His grip was like iron. "Don' t go yet."

He was letting me go, but he couldn't stand for it to be on my terms. The pull of his control was as strong as ever, a suffocating, familiar chain.