Twice burnt, Once Loved

SUSAN BROOKS' POV

Today was meant to be unforgettable.

I woke up early-too early. The sun had barely started to rise, casting soft golden streaks through my worn-out curtains. My limbs ached with exhaustion, but I pushed past it. I had something more important to focus on.

It was Jackson's birthday.

The man I loved. The man who made me believe in forever.

Despite juggling late-night shifts and my stepmother's endless chores, I stayed up to bake his favorite chocolate cake. I poured every ounce of affection into it, added strawberries and whipped cream the way he liked, and wrapped the small gifts I had been saving for months to buy. I gifted him a watch that he had once admired. His favorite cologne.

And a handwritten note that took me an hour to write because my fingers wouldn't stop shaking:

To the man who makes my heart feel safe. Happy birthday, love.

I smiled, hugging the card to my chest.

Then I picked up my phone and called him.

No response.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I frowned but stayed calm. Maybe he was still sleeping. Or maybe his phone died. I texted instead:

"Happy birthday, my dearest. Can I come see you today? I want to celebrate with you."

Ten minutes. No reply.

I stared at the screen until my chest felt tight. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

However, I refrained from hastily drawing conclusions. I refused to be the insecure girlfriend.

So I made a decision. I'd surprise him. After all, he loved surprises-especially mine. Right?

With the cake box in hand, I headed to his apartment. My heart fluttered with nervous anticipation. But when I knocked, there was no answer.

That's when I noticed the door was... unlocked.

My smile faded.

"Jackson?" I called softly, stepping inside.

Silence.

Then my eyes caught something on the floor. A woman's dress and a pair of boxers were scattered like an afterthought. It was a woman's dress. The woman was wearing a pair of boxers. Then-my breath caught-

There was a red lace bra on display.

Matching panties.

My fingers clenched around the cake box until the edges caved. My heart pounded fiercely.

And then I heard it.

Moaning.

Soft, rhythmic. From upstairs.

I stood frozen. My soul already knew. But my body moved-slow, heavy steps toward the truth.

Each creaking stair felt like a scream in my ears.

I pushed open the bedroom door.

There they were.

Jackson Cornwell. Naked. He was entwined with a person who should never have crossed that boundary.

Chloe.

My stepsister.

She arched her back, her voice a twisted melody. "Yes, baby... just like that..."

I stood at the door, paralyzed.

Then my voice burst out-raw, shaking, loud enough to crack the heavens.

"You are such a jerk!"

They froze.

Jackson's head snapped toward me, face drained of color. "Susan?! What the hell-you weren't supposed to be here!"

Chloe didn't even flinch. She turned to me with a slow, satisfied smirk.

"Oh, sweetheart." She rose-naked, unapologetic, radiant in her cruelty. "You really thought he loved you?"

She walked over to him and ran her fingers down his chest. "It was only a matter of time before he realized who the better woman was."

She kissed him. Deep. Deliberate.

I wanted to scream. Throw something. Tear the entire room down.

But I just stood there.

Shattered.

Jackson looked away, pulling the sheet around him awkwardly. "Susan... I liked you, okay? But you were always too innocent. Too emotional. You never wanted to take the next step. I needed more."

"More?" I whispered.

"I needed passion," he said, not even meeting my eyes. "Someone like Chloe."

My soul cracked in that moment.

I turned. Ran.

I sprinted down the staircase. I ran down the stairs and into the cold street. My vision blurred. My chest burned. My heart-God, my heart-felt like it had been ripped out and stomped on.

I walked for miles. No money for a ride-I'd spent everything on his gifts.

And when I got home...

A different nightmare waited for me.

"Where's that useless girl?!" Stella's shrill voice rang from the kitchen.

My stepmother.

I collapsed on the floor the moment I stepped in. My body gave up. I must've blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, the morning light stabbed at my skull, and a wave of nausea hit me. My head pounded. My clothes were soaked.

She had dumped a bucket of ice water on me.

"Get up, you worthless thing!"

"Good morning... Stepmother..." My voice cracked.

Slap.

The sting bit into my cheek.

"No food for you today," she snapped. "If breakfast isn't ready for me and my daughter by eight, you'll wish you were never born."

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered, still trembling.

She left, and I sat there in silence, drenched and humiliated.

I looked over at the photo of my mother on my nightstand. Her warm smile met my eyes, and I whispered through clenched teeth, "I'm trying, Mama. I'm trying so hard."

I stood. Cooked. Served. Cleaned.

I carried out my duties as usual.

But this time... something inside me had changed.

When I entered my father's room, I forced a smile. "Good morning, Daddy."

His voice was weak but kind. "Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

I leaned down and hugged him, hiding my swollen eyes.

"I wish I could give you the life you deserve," he murmured, his hand brushing my cheek. "But I love you, Susan. Always."

"I love you too, Daddy."

And I meant it.

I loved you more than anything else.

In that moment, I made a promise to myself.

I resolved to stop crying for those who have broken me.

I pledged to abandon loyalty in the face of betrayal.

I will no longer hide behind hope.

I would rise.

For me. For my father. This poem is a tribute to the girl I once was-before they attempted to destroy her.

Because one day soon... they'll all regret thinking I was weak.

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.

David's POV

The host greeted me with the deference I had come to expect, stepping forward with a practiced smile and presenting a bouquet of pristine white lilies. The flashbulbs from the photographers caught the flowers' delicate petals, but they were meant for me. After all, I wasn't just another guest at the charity gala-I was the guest.

David Lexington. The richest man in New York City.

At the mention of my name, industries recalibrated their futures. Stocks shifted. CEOs and senators aligned themselves to my vision because they understood the simple truth-New York City was my kingdom, and I was its king.

The grand ballroom glittered under a constellation of chandeliers, every facet of crystal scattering the light like shards of stars. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, expensive whiskey, and the quiet tension of power plays. I moved through the crowd with deliberate ease, shaking hands with presidents of corporations, exchanging clipped pleasantries with governors.

Some asked for advice. Others hinted at partnerships. I made promises I would keep only if they benefited me.

I donated ten trillion dollars to a set of "upcoming projects," because it would appear in the press and solidify my influence in circles where influence was the only currency that mattered.

But my mind was elsewhere.

She had caught my attention.

Across the room, framed by the soft glow of golden light, was the most exquisite woman I had ever seen. She wasn't draped over a man's arm or vying for attention like so many others. She stood slightly apart, champagne flute in hand, humming softly to the orchestra's melody as though she belonged to a world far removed from the scheming and greed around her.

Her beauty was... disarming. It was a kind of beauty that didn't shout-it whispered.

I continued my rounds, allowing the city's elite women to press against me with their sugared voices and too-bright laughter. Their perfumes clung like smoke, cloying and suffocating. None of them stirred anything in me. I excused myself from a conversation with the CEO of a luxury watch brand and slipped away toward the balcony doors.

"Good evening, my lady?" My voice was low and confident.

She turned.

And I was struck. Her eyes-clear, deep, and impossibly magnetic-held me still for a heartbeat. Her skin glowed under the moonlight spilling in from the balcony, and her figure, graceful and poised, seemed carved to tempt the divine. There was an innocence in her gaze that made her all the more dangerous to me.

"Good evening, sir," she replied, bowing her head slightly, a gesture almost shy.

"May I know your name?"

"Susan Brooks." Her voice was soft, with a lilt that curled in my chest.

"I'm David." I didn't offer my surname. I wanted her to meet me, not the Lexington Empire. My family name made people tremble, but my face was known only to the inner circle of power-a deliberate choice. I preferred it that way.

"Would you enjoy dancing?" I asked, extending my hand.

"Yes," she said simply, placing her hand in mine. Her touch was warm, her skin impossibly smooth.

The orchestra played something slow and intoxicating. She moved with elegance, her hair brushing her shoulders, her lips curving into a smile that I felt in my chest. I found myself memorizing her-the soft arch of her brows, the faint sparkle in her emerald eyes. Each step, each turn, was a slow unraveling of my control.

By the time I realized we had drifted onto the balcony, the music was distant. The city sprawled beneath us, its lights flickering like fallen stars.

She looked up at me, and for a moment, there was no sound-only the quiet hum of connection.

And then we kissed.

It was not tentative. It was a magnetic pull neither of us resisted, a merging of breath and heat that seemed to confirm something unspoken between us. The moonlight caught on her lips as we parted briefly, only for her to pull me back in, deepening the kiss. I was lost in it, in her, in the inexplicable hunger she had awakened.

When I finally pulled back, it was only to whisper against her mouth, "Come with me."

She answered with another kiss.

Minutes later, we were in my penthouse suite, a space of glass and marble overlooking the endless city skyline. The world beyond those windows ceased to exist.

Her laughter was soft as I drew her closer, her lips parting under mine with a sweetness that burned. My hands found the delicate curve of her back, her body arching into me as though she had always belonged there. Her moans were quiet, almost hesitant, but the way she clung to me told me she wanted this as much as I did.

She gave herself to me that night-completely.

The rhythm between us was intoxicating, every movement, every sigh, every whispered gasp weaving a bond I hadn't known I was capable of forming. Somewhere in the haze of heat and touch, I murmured, "I love you."

She didn't speak, but her hands on my face and her lips on mine told me she felt something too.

We fell asleep tangled together, her head resting against my chest, her breathing steady. She slept like a child, peaceful and unguarded, and for the first time in years, I didn't want the night to end.

But morning came.

And she was gone.

The sheets beside me were cold, the faint scent of her perfume lingering like a memory I couldn't shake. On the pillow was a single silver bracelet, delicate and understated. My eyes shifted to the bed, and that's when I noticed the bloodstains-small and undeniable.

She had been untouched before me.

And I hadn't used protection.

I wasn't a man given to casual encounters. I was work-driven and calculating, my life a precise machine. Women had tried, and failed, to seduce me into their orbit. However, Susan managed to penetrate every defense I had and every wall I had built in just one night.

She had left without a number, without a note.

But that didn't matter.

I was David Lexington. The King of New York. Finding her wouldn't be a problem.

I held her bracelet in my palm, its weight light but its significance heavy. My lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.

Susan Brooks had walked out of my suite, but she had taken something with her-my desire, my focus, and my control.

She didn't know it yet, but she was already mine.

And kings do not lose what is theirs.