Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Me
It’s just… him being him. He knows exactly where to hit me, and he never misses.
Her reply is immediate.
FragileLikeABomb
That’s brutal. You don’t deserve that.
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction more, her words cutting through the haze of anger and frustration. I don’t respond right away. Instead, I stare at her message like it’s something solid I can hold on to.
Me
Thanks. You’re good at this, you know.
FragileLikeABomb
At what?
Me
Making me feel like I’m not completely falling apart.
The pause before her next message feels longer than it probably is.
FragileLikeABomb
That’s because you’re not. Falling apart, I mean. You’re stronger than you think.
I let out a breath, some of the weight lifting from my shoulders.
Me
You’re good people, Fragile. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Her reply comes with a virtual eye roll.
FragileLikeABomb
Says the guy who is the definition of “good people.” Don’t even try to argue.
For the first time in hours, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. She always has a way of turning the worst days into something manageable.
Other than my cousin, she’s the one person I can always count on to be there when shit goes south. She’s become important to me. Ironically, I have no idea what she looks like or the sound of her voice. We could pass each other on campus and not even know it. Every so often, I find myself scanning the crowd, my gaze landing on a random girl before wondering—is that her?
Or is it the chick she’s standing with?
Me
Fine. You win this one. But don’t get used to it.
FragileLikeABomb
Too late. I’m already celebrating.
I chuckle under my breath, the sound foreign after the day I’ve had. For the first time since I left my father’s office, I feel like I can breathe again.
Me
I should go. Talk soon?
FragileLikeABomb
Anytime you need.
I log off, a strange cocktail of emotions lingering in my mind. The hurt and anger have finally abated, and I know that has everything to do with this girl from the chat app. The one I don’t even know in real life.
The one I wish I did.
Would meeting up ruin our relationship? Or make it that much better?
I have no idea.
As soon as that thought pops into my head, an auburn-haired spitfire with a sharp tongue forces her way back into my thoughts.
And suddenly, all I want to do is see her.
Touch her.
I really hope she’s telling the truth and isn’t involved in these messages.
Only time will tell because, one way or another, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
I just hope Holland isn’t the one I find there.
17
Holland
The bass reverberates through the floor, pulsing up my legs and settling in my chest like a second heartbeat. The lights shift, casting a soft, golden glow across the stage, and I feel the crowd’s attention sharpen, homing in on me. It’s a high I’ve learned to control, a blend of power and vulnerability that keeps me balanced as I move.
My heels click softly against the polished stage as I take one final turn around the pole, the silk ribbons of my costume fluttering with the motion. My body follows the rhythm, every movement choreographed to leave an impression without revealing too much. It’s all an illusion, a performance where confidence masks everything hiding beneath the surface.
I slide down to a graceful crouch, my fingertips brushing the stage as I arch my back in a deliberate tease. The applause swells, and the corner of my mouth lifts in a small smile. They love the act, the persona I’ve created, the woman who isn’t afraid to demand their attention.
The music fades as I push to my feet, my chest rising and falling with a controlled exhale. I step to the edge of the stage, letting the golden light spill over me one last time. My final glance into the crowd catches the faint gleam of expensive watches, tailored suits, and top-shelf liquor in crystal tumblers.
I turn away before slipping backstage as the roar of the applause dulls and the adrenaline that carried me through the set begins to fade. It always feels like stepping from one world into another.
A huff escapes me as I slip my arms into a robe and drop onto my chair. The mirror is surrounded by soft, warm lights that make everything feel more glamorous than it actually is. My reflection stares back at me, framed by brushed gold edges. I focus on the smudge of mascara under my eye instead of the girl in the mirror.
I grab a makeup wipe and swipe it across my cheek, erasing the last traces of Lavender Smoke. Adrenaline still hums through my veins, making my hand tremble as I clean my face. I’m not sure if it’s the aftermath of the performance or the fact that I spotted Bridger loitering near the bar, attention glued to me.