Chapter 36: A Wrecked Mess

The air felt like it had been carved into sharp pieces—every sound jagged, every breath heavy with something toxic. I could barely make sense of the words being thrown between them, just the rhythm of anger and contempt, like the world was tilting between their voices. Kevin’s low growl, Stephen’s rising pitch—both of them circling each other like wolves ready to tear something apart.

My body moved before my brain did. I pushed myself off the ground, palms stinging, knees trembling as I tried to get between them, tried to speak through the storm that was already too loud. “Stop it, both of you,” I wanted to say, but my voice came out small, useless against the weight of testosterone and betrayal in the air.

Kevin’s eyes cut toward me—cold, sharp, unfamiliar. “Go home, Abby.”

The way he said it knocked the air right out of me. That tone—so detached, so final—didn’t belong to the man who had just kissed me like I was the last good thing in a burning world. I blinked, stunned. My chest hurt like something had cracked open there. “I have to speak with Stephen in private. So go home.”

For a second, I couldn’t even move. Then anger—hot, humiliating anger—clawed its way up my throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Kevin!” I hissed, running my hand through my hair like I could pull the frustration out by the roots. My pulse was a wild, aching drum in my ears.

I turned to Stephen, desperate, searching his face for something—reason, maybe, or forgiveness, or even the old familiarity that used to make me feel safe. But all I saw was bitterness. “Stephen…” My voice cracked as tears welled up. “I know you’re confused with what you saw…”

“I’m not confused, Abby.” His tone was flat, cold in a way that made me want to sink into the floor.

“B-but… the thing is…” My mouth felt dry. I wanted to explain, to make sense of the mess, to find some clean version of the truth that could make both of them see I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But there were no right words. There never were. The truth was ugly no matter how I tried to wrap it. No one was ever supposed to find out about me and Kevin. That secret was supposed to stay locked away with all my guilt, hidden in the dark corners of us. And now… now it was laid bare under the worst light possible.

“Fuck, Abby, listen to me and go the fuck home!” Kevin’s voice thundered, shattering whatever was left of my fragile composure.

The sound hit me like a slap. My lips trembled. I bit down hard to stop the sob threatening to escape, but it clawed its way up anyway, leaving a burn in my throat. My hands balled into fists so tight they hurt. Anger, fear, shame—they tangled together until I couldn’t tell one from the other.

I glanced at Stephen, just once. His expression was a mess of betrayal and disgust, and that look gutted me more than anything Kevin could’ve said.

So I turned away. Before the tears spilled, before my legs gave out, I grabbed my bag with shaking hands and walked out. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the ground was dragging me back to the mess I was leaving behind.

The hallway swallowed me up—thick with noise, with people laughing, dancing, pretending the world wasn’t as cruel as it was behind those doors. The music thumped in my chest, mocking the chaos inside me. The lights blurred, too bright, too loud. I pushed past sweaty bodies and spinning lights until the air outside hit me like ice.

I didn’t even think—I just screamed.

The sound ripped through me, raw and cracked and painful, echoing against the walls of the club. My throat burned, but it didn’t matter. It was the only thing I could do—the only way to let out everything I couldn’t say in there. The heartbreak. The humiliation. The loss. It all spilled out into the night until I was nothing but a shaking breath and a hollow ache in my chest.

I fell to the ground like all the weight I’d been carrying finally gave up holding itself together. My knees hit the pavement, and I barely noticed the sting. Everything in me just… broke. The tears came before I even reached for my phone. My hands were shaking, fumbling through my bag, fingers slipping against the leather and metal.

When I finally found it, the screen blurred through the haze of my tears. I scrolled, half-blind, until I saw Samuel’s name. My father's most trusted chauffeur—he seldom acts like a father figure whenever he comes around. I need him in moments like this.

“Can you come get me from the club?” My voice cracked. I tried to sound steady, like I wasn’t falling apart, but it came out small, cracked open. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to drive. Please…”

The line went quiet for a second, and then his calm, fatherly tone came through, grounding me just a little. “Will be there soon.”

The second I hung up, I dropped the phone into my bag and pressed my hands to my face. But that didn’t help. The tears slipped through the cracks between my fingers, hot and relentless. I tried to breathe, to pull myself together, but every breath came out uneven, and shaky. The music from inside the club was still thumping in the distance—mocking, cruel, like the world was still spinning while mine was stuck in a storm I couldn’t escape.

People walked past me, their shadows stretching under the dim glow of the streetlights. Some glanced, some didn’t. I could hear heels clicking, laughter, slurred voices, car doors slamming. The night smelled like cheap perfume, smoke, and regret. I didn’t even care that I looked pathetic, sitting there on the dirty ground in my wrinkled clothes with mascara probably running down my cheeks. I was too tired to care about anything anymore.

Then I heard that voice.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen bee of the Anderson empire weeping her eyes out on this dirty ground.”

Venom. That was all I heard in her tone—sharp, bitter, and poisonous. My whole body stiffened before I even looked up.

And when I did, I wished I hadn’t. Sarah.

She stood there like some ghost from a past life, her expression twisted in disgust and satisfaction all at once. Two girls flanked her—strangers, younger, the kind that fed on gossip and drama. They looked at me like I was something they’d stepped in.

For a second, I saw the Sarah I used to know—the friend who used to braid my hair in college, who used to cry on my shoulder after breakups, who knew all my secrets. And now she was standing here, spitting poison at me like I was her favorite target.

I didn’t even recognize her anymore, right from our last conversation at the office. Or maybe I didn’t recognize myself.

My throat tightened. I didn’t even have the energy to defend myself. “Just leave me, Sarah,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t want this. Not now. Not her.

But of course, Sarah wasn’t the type to walk away quietly. She never had been. “And why should I,” she said, crossing her arms with that same cruel smirk that used to amuse me once, “when you’re obviously disgracing your family’s name?”

The girls behind her giggled—shallow, empty sounds that scraped against my nerves. I sniffled and forced myself to my feet. My body felt heavy, like it belonged to someone else. My legs wobbled, but I stood anyway because I refused to let her see me broken.

Sarah’s eyes swept over me, from my tangled hair to the wrinkled hem of my dress. Her lip curled. “Why do you look like you were roughly fucked?”

The words hit me like a slap I never saw coming. My breath caught in my throat. The sting wasn’t just from the insult—it was from the precision of it. She saw through me, saw the mess, the shame, the guilt I was already drowning in, and she twisted the knife deeper.

I felt the blood rush to my face, a mix of humiliation and fury.