Chapter 2 The Stranger in the Suit

SUSAN BROOKS' POV

By the time the clock ticked past three, the late afternoon light spilled gold across my bedroom floor, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. I had promised myself I'd make this day productive-cook a warm meal for Dad, acquire a thoughtful gift for Isla. They were my constants. My safe harbor in a life that had been anything but calm lately.

I thought I'd had Jackson, too.

The name alone pulled something raw in my chest, like a string tied too tight around my heart. He had once been the center of my world, the reason I smiled when the day felt grey. Now the thought of him made my stomach churn.

I tried to drown the ache in the black-and-white text of the newspaper on my lap. If I could focus on job listings, maybe my mind would stop replaying the betrayal.

The door creaked open without a knock.

Speak of the devil. Chloe.

She leaned casually against the frame, arms folded, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Hey, Suzy. Still reading those boring things? Pathetic, really. You should throw them in the trash."

I didn't even lift my gaze. I had discovered firsthand that she thrived on attention.

Her smirk tightened. "Wow. You've gone deaf since Jackson dumped your ass, huh?"

I kept my eyes on the print, even though my jaw was clenched. "What do you want me to say, Chloe? You wanted him, and now you have him. Congratulations. I wish you both all the luck in the world. Now, please, leave me alone."

Her laugh was sharp and hollow. "What a shame."

When she was gone, the silence felt heavy but merciful. My eyes scanned the classifieds until something sparked-three vacancies, each description sounding like they'd been written with me in mind.

Yes. This could be my start. A better job. A better me. I want money, independence, and to no longer depend on anyone who could betray me.

Chloe might have been my sister, but she had always fed on my misfortune. I never expected her to sink so low as to sleep with my boyfriend. And then to flaunt it-posting pictures online, kissing him as if she'd won some prize.

No more tears. No more weakness.

My phone buzzed, and a smile bloomed instantly when I saw Isla's name. My best friend since college, my one true constant.

"What's up, girl?" she greeted, with warmth in every syllable.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Please tell me you're not still crying over that good-for-nothing son of a-"

"Not a chance," I cut in. "I deserve better. I'm done shedding tears over a man who cheated with my sister. Not again. Not ever."

"That's my girl."

We talked until she mentioned her father's upcoming charity event. She wanted me there, but I hesitated. Crowds weren't appealing right now. She brushed off my excuses, the way only Isla could, then insisted she'd send me some money.

"You've done enough," I protested.

"I'll be offended if you refuse," she shot back. "Do you want me to be offended?"

I sighed. "Fine. But I agree only because you are impossible to argue with.

By five, it was time for my shift at the coffee shop. The familiar smell of roasted beans and cinnamon was oddly comforting. Mr. Baker greeted me with a warm smile. "Susan, you look radiant today. Work hard, and there's a tip waiting."

Halfway through the shift, a man at one of the tables started watching me in a way that made my skin crawl.

"Hey, pretty," he drawled when I passed. "Give me some sugar. I'll take care of you."

I forced a polite smile and turned away, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" His breath was sour, his eyes greedy.

My heart pounded. "Let go of me," I said firmly.

Before I could wrench free, a voice cut through the noise-calm, low, and dangerous. "You don't treat a woman like that."

In a flash, the stranger had the man on the floor, groaning and clutching his jaw.

I turned to my rescuer. He was... striking. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored suit that whispered money. His scent was clean and expensive, his eyes sharp but softened when they met mine.

"You're shaking," he said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders.

He offered to drive me home, but I shook my head. "No, thank you."

He followed anyway, catching up as I stepped outside. "I insist. My car's right there. I promise I'm a gentleman."

I hesitated, studying him. His smile was genuine, disarming.

"I'm Susan Brooks," I said finally, extending my hand.

"Mark Peters," he replied, his grip warm and steady. "Now, please, let me take you home."

This time, I didn't argue.

He opened the passenger door for me with old-fashioned chivalry. On the short drive, we exchanged numbers.

By the time I stepped out of his car, the weight on my chest felt just a little lighter. I discovered, against my better judgment, that I liked my new acquaintance.