Chapter 3 Not Her. Never Her.

It had been over an hour, but it felt like the world was slowing down to mock me. The car moved like it was crawling. I stared out of the window, but I wasn't seeing anything, not really.

Derek, Annie, my father, and my stepmother. All of them, spinning around in my head like a cruel joke that wouldn't stop.

The anger had dried up, and the sadness had turned stale. And all that was left was something cold and hollow.

And I knew exactly what I needed.

A drink.

When the driver pulled up to a neon-lit club on the edge of the city, I handed him a crumpled bill and stepped out without a word.

It was a chilly Saturday evening and the club was crowded. The place was loud. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, sweat and perfumes curled in the air.

The bass thudded against my ribs, squeezing through the crowd as I made my way to the bar and slid onto a barstool.

"Whiskey," I muttered.

The bartender gave me a look. "Planning to drown yourself tonight, or is this just foreplay?"

"If it works, bring it on."

He chuckled.

The bartender returned and dropped the glass in front of me. I threw it back with no hesitation, downing every content until I felt the fire roll down my throat, bloom in my chest, and settle behind my eyes.

"Another," I said. I was far from done.

By the time I was four shots in, I was slurring, I think. My limbs were no longer mine. But it was better this way. Thinking hurts more than the burn.

I didn't want to think about whatever might be happening back at home.

I raised my empty glass again, clumsily pushing it across the table for more.

"One... more... glass..."

Before the tumbler could touch the point I wanted it to be, a hand caught my wrist.

"She's done."

A deep voice resounded from above my head, stirring a sudden anger that was soaking in my veins.

I raised my head to see the 'unfortunate' person. I blinked hard, trying to focus, but my head was too heavy.

For a split second, I thought it was him. I thought Derek had come to drag me home and finish what he started.

"Derek..." I whispered, confused, a tremor in my voice.

The man scowled. His eyes flicked across my face like he was judging me. His brows pulled together in a familiar way. A grimace on his lips.

And then he said something strange. "Is that the guy who did this to you?"

That voice wasn't Derek's.

I blinked again, clearer this time and I finally saw him.

No, this wasn't Derek. This was someone else entirely.

The stranger had brown eyes, unreadable and almost hidden beneath a fringe of messy, dark hair that curled over his brow. His lips were curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. He was wearing a jacket with black leather, and his sleeves were pushed up. His arms were lean but solid, lined up with tattoos that disappeared into the fabric.

He looked like trouble.

Deliberate trouble. The type you don't come back from.

"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped, yanking my hand away. "I don't need a savior."

He raised a single brow at me. "Good. I'm not applying for the job."

"Then give me my drink."

"I don't hand whiskey to women who look like they've just had their soul stepped on. Bad optics."

I scoffed. "You think I care about optics?"

"No," he leaned in, grinning slightly. "I think you care about something you won't say out loud."

"I don't know you. Why are you bothering me?"

"Because you're interesting." He tapped the rim of my empty glass. "You're drinking like pain is a destination."

I should've walked away. I should've said something snarky and rolled my eyes. But something about him made me stay. Or maybe it was just that I had nothing else to do with my life at that point.

"I lost everything today," I said, the words tumbling out, unexpectedly. "My husband. My way. My worth."

"Sounds like they weren't really yours to begin with," He replied easily as if we were talking about some romcom. Not my life.

I stared at him. "You know what? Men are scum."

He laughed. The sound was deep and unexpected, and a little wild.

"Correction," he said, his lips curling. "You only think men are scum because you love them. Don't love them-use them. Then you'll see that they're just tools. Tools don't disappoint."

That sentence hit me like a slap dressed as a sermon.

I blinked, stunned. "What's your name?"

He leaned in a little, like he was sharing a secret. "Ryker."

"That supposed to impress me?"

He grinned, looking lazy and proud. "Did it?"

I hated that it kinda did.

He glanced down at my bruised wrist, then back at my face, his expression unreadable.

"You ever heard of the power of jealousy?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Jealousy," he said. "Pain breaks you. But Jealousy? now that drives you. And when it burns in the right person, it becomes power."

I stared at him, my heart thudding against my ears.

"What do you mean?"

"Get yourself another man."

His words stunned me into speechlessness. It sounded ridiculous. It was ridiculous. And I can't... I can't cheat on Derek.

'He has done that already.' A voice whispered in my head in a mocking tone.

Even so....

"I'm a married woman," I announced.

Ryker scoffed. "Married?? I don't think so. You're shackled. There's a big difference."

"You know nothing about me!" I snarled.

"I know you've been crawling after someone who wouldn't crawl an inch for you," He said. "You have so much fire in you. You should put it to good use."

My eyes dimmed. His words weren't just close to the truth...

They were it.

He leaned down until we were nose to nose. Our breathing mixed, somehow, it didn't feel bad...

" You shouldn't wait on a man. You're too beautiful for that." Ryker told me. "Stick with me. Let him see you in someone else's arms and he'll come running. They always do when they think you've moved on."

My breathing caught. Was that hope I was seeing??

My curiosity was piqued. "What if he doesn't? "

"Then, he was never worth the chase."

My throat tightened.

"You're chasing a man who's not choosing you and that's your mistake. But it's not too late to fix it."

I stared at him. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or collapse into his chest.

"You don't know me." I hissed, sliding off the stool. "Don't talk to me like you've got me figured out."

Ryker just tilted his head, watching me like I was some sort of puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the picture.

"Don't walk away mad, sweetheart," he drawled. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" I scoffed, my voice rising. "By calling me pathetic? Telling me to parade around like some bait?"

"By reminding you who the hell you are."

I turned to leave but his hand grabbed my wrist.

"I didn't even get a name,"

"You don't need it," I snapped, yanking my hand away. "You'll forget it by morning."

"I won't," he said, softly.

I turned to walk away again but Ryker moved faster. He stepped in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. He leaned down until his face was barely inches from mine.

I should've shoved him.

My whole body screamed for it. My hands curled at my sides like I was going to swing.

But I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything.

"I'm not Derek," he whispered.

I clenched my jaw.

His hand dipped low and before I could react, he slipped something into my back pocket.

"That's my contact card."

I felt my breath catch.

"Find me... anytime you need me," he said. "I'm always available to play a husband role for you."

I blinked.

Ryker pulled away slowly, like he was savoring the last second of tension between us.

"Don't look so offended," A grin crossed his face. "You're not the first married woman who's needed a better man."

I stepped forward, ready to slap the stupid grin off his handsome face.

But I didn't because he was right. Maybe not about everything. But about me.

He saw me and I hated it. I hated him.

So instead, I brushed past him, my shoulder bumping his. But the card was in my pocket like a sin I hadn't committed yet.

And maybe, just maybe...

I was curious what kind of man Ryker was.