Chapter 3

I locked the bathroom door behind me and finally let the tears fall. They came hot and fast, blurring my vision as I gripped the edge of the powder-blue tiled sink. The fluorescent light overhead was merciless, highlighting every crack in my carefully composed facade.

"Traditional." The word echoed in my head, each repetition like a slap across my face. Three years of my life reduced to something dirty and shameful in a single moment.

I caught my reflection in the mirror—mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes, lipstick slightly faded at the corners. The woman staring back at me looked broken, nothing like the composed graphic designer who had walked into this party determined to survive the night with dignity intact.

"Get it together, Jessica," I whispered to my reflection. "You knew what he was from the beginning."

But that was the lie I'd been telling myself, wasn't it? I'd always believed that somewhere beneath Ryan's carefully constructed walls was a man who could love me completely. That eventually, my devotion would be enough to heal whatever had broken inside him.

I splashed cold water on my face, careful not to completely ruin my makeup. The chill against my skin helped clear my head. I straightened my spine, took three deep breaths, and practiced the smile I'd perfected over the years—pleasant, unbothered, revealing nothing of the storm raging inside me.

"You can do this," I told myself firmly. "Just a few more hours."

When I emerged from the bathroom, the party had shifted. Music played louder now, and people had broken into smaller groups. I scanned the rooftop, spotting Ryan and Charlotte in deep conversation with Mark's business partners. Ryan's arm was draped casually around Charlotte's waist, his fingers splayed possessively against the ivory fabric of her jumpsuit.

I turned away, making my way to the bar instead. Two glasses of wine later, I felt steadier, the alcohol creating a comforting buffer between my raw emotions and the reality of watching Ryan play the devoted fiancé.

Someone bumped into me as I stood near the edge of the terrace, sending my drink sloshing over the rim of my glass. Cursing under my breath, I set the glass down on a nearby table and grabbed a cocktail napkin to clean the spill that had splattered across the concrete floor.

"Let me help," a server said, appearing with a small towel.

"It's fine, I've got it," I insisted, kneeling down to wipe the liquid. I didn't see the broken glass until it was too late—a jagged shard from someone else's dropped drink, hidden beneath the spilled wine.

Pain shot through my palm as the glass sliced into my skin. I gasped, pulling back my hand to see crimson blooming across my pale skin, bright and shocking in the soft glow of the string lights.

"You're hurt." The voice came from above me, concerned and warm.

I looked up to see Nathan Sterling, Ryan's younger brother. I'd met him only a handful of times over the years—Ryan had always kept his family and our relationship carefully separated.

"It's nothing," I said automatically, pressing the now-ruined napkin against my palm.

"That doesn't look like nothing." Nathan knelt beside me, already rolling up the sleeves of his navy button-down shirt. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, I extended my hand. The cut wasn't deep, but it was still bleeding steadily. Nathan examined it with a gentle touch that surprised me.

"Wait here," he said, disappearing momentarily before returning with a first aid kit. "Mark keeps this behind the bar for emergencies."

With practiced movements, Nathan cleaned the cut with an antiseptic wipe. I winced at the sting, and his eyes met mine apologetically.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Almost done."

Unlike Ryan's dark, impenetrable gaze, Nathan's eyes were warm and expressive. They crinkled slightly at the corners as he concentrated on bandaging my hand, his touch gentle but sure.

"Where did you learn to do this?" I asked, watching him work.

"Eagle Scouts," he replied with a small smile. "Some skills stick with you."

As he secured the bandage around my palm, I became aware of a shift in the air around us. Looking up, I saw Ryan approaching, his expression darkening with each step. His eyes fixed on where Nathan's fingers still lightly held my bandaged hand, and something possessive and dangerous flashed across his face.

Nathan must have felt it too. His hands stilled on mine, but he didn't pull away.