I stepped into the mansion, and my patience had already left the building. Let's be real—if I were keeping track of gratitude, this so-called fiancé of mine would be bankrupt. When I'd been flat on my back, staring death in the face with tubes sticking out of me, he hadn't even shown up. Not a visit. Not a call. Not even a smoke signal. Nothing.
Why the old Rue tolerated him? I'll never know. But the new me—oh, I'd burn bridges just for fun. I wouldn't crawl to a man who wouldn't lift a finger to check if I was still breathing.
The mansion felt too quiet, like someone had hit mute on life. And then I saw him. Jayden Lopez. Sitting at the long dining table like he owned every square inch of air.
Eating.
Fucking eating.
Yes, eating. While the world—or at least my world—had been falling apart.
Around him, his cronies lounged like a frat poster come to life. And there she was. Jane. Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect everything. Like she had been plucked straight from a rom-com set. My eyes wanted to roll, but my blood was hotter than molten metal. Rage doesn't roll—it burns.
And Jayden? He didn't even glance at me. Not a flicker. I might as well have been a ghost haunting the wrong dinner party.
I didn't bother with drama. I walked past him, up the stairs, letting every step scream, I don't need you.
Turns out, it was some so-called "friendship celebration"—whatever that meant. Kean was there, grinning like a fool in a marketing ad, and some other guy I didn't bother to register. I wasn't here to make friends.
I had no clue where my room was. But luck—or maybe karma—was finally on my side. A maid opened a door just as I passed, and I slipped in like a shadow. The bed was massive, like a throne carved out for someone who actually deserved to sit in it. And sit I did.
Blissful silence. Finally.
And then, because life has a sense of humor, the universe decided to add insult to injury.
A soft knock. A maid's timid voice:
"Miss Rue, the young master requests your presence for dinner."
Ah. Now he wanted me there. Let me guess—probably to flex in front of Jane. Show off how patient and generous he was to the "dramatic little villainess."
I smiled, slow and dangerous. Tooth for tooth. Fire for fire. Or whatever the hell the saying was. I'd never been a fan of clichés, anyway.
If he wanted a performance… oh, I was about to become the headline act.