Hey there! Thank you so much for over 40k reads! Omigod it still feels like I'm being pranked or something. And though we've gone down the tag ranks, I'm very happy with how far TWE has come.

On that note, here's the first chapter of this book in Parker's POV to celebrate, be sure to vote.

And check out my brand new book, Rotten. I'm entering the Wattys this year with it and I'd love to see your feedback on it.

Again, thank you. Sorry for the long author's note. I love you all!

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0 1

Rejection was supposed to be the most dangerous emotion to exist.

That feeling one got when you wanted something so bad that you could do anything to have and keep that thing. And then, just as you're about to finally have it, you heard the mighty N-word. "No."

The whole world crumbles in that moment, you start sweating, air gets thicker. . .and your heart gets broken.

But, looking at the emotion behind rejection, you would know that rejection isn't the real culprit.

Love is.

The beginning of this heartbroken take was a jewelry store, the one my mother had recommended for me. She wasn't too keen on my relationship with Clare, my girlfriend. However, the second she heard I wanted to propose, she knew she couldn't change my mind about her.

So, she'd directed me to go here. Glam nation: the most expensive jewelry store in Los Angeles. It was only fitting, as we were one of the biggest families in the state.

"It's beautiful."

The eyes of the attendant seemed to glimmer as she stared at the ring between my fingers. It was golden but had lots of diamonds all over the band and a central one. The attendant wiped her palms against the material of her black skirt, looking very spent. Like she'd had a long day.

To avoid stressing her any further, and because I'd been at this store for almost an hour now, I offered the brightest smile I could. "It's is, isn't it? You think my girlfriend  would like it."

She seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to go searching for another ring, the fifth one since I'd entered this store. Her lips tugged up into a wide smile that reached her eyes and lifted her cheeks.

"I'm certain she'd love it," she said.

I exhaled, feeling exhausted from a long day at work. I had to get off early to get this ring.

"Okay then," I said, handing her the ring. She collected it from me and gave me a smile.

"I'll put it in a box for you," she said then pointed to the counter at the front of the shop. "You can pay there, Mr Garth."

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The drive back to our lounge was spent by me anxious to get to Clare and get I over with. After being with her for three years, I was sure her answer to my proposal would be yes. We both loved each other, so there wasn't need for any excessive formalities.

Get in, get the "yes" answer, kiss my fiancé.

Good life.

The excitement in me heightened when I got to the elevator. I was alone in the metallic box. The music leaving the speakers which was supposed to be "soothing", failed at doing just that. For some reason, I couldn't stop imagining the look on her face when I showed her the ring.

A ding announced that I'd reached my destination, and there were just a few steps left till I got to my lounge, to my Clare. I touched the fabric over my pocket, sighing when I felt the obvious bump caused by the velvet box in there.

I ran my hands through my hair and swallowed, silently scolding myself for being like this. Then I started walking to our suite. People casted looks my way, most wondering why the CEO of Wells and Co was returning from work with his tie in a weird position and his shirt untucked.

I smiled at my neighbor who was just coming out of her own room. In return, she smiled back. My attention went back to the door. Behind it, my girlfriend was waiting patiently for me to come back to her. She was probably on the bed with her legs crossed over each other, her hair in a messy ponytail and her lips puckered, like they always were when I returned late from work.

Unconsciously, a chuckle left my lips. I was done for here.

With one sudden burst of courage, I placed my hand on the doorknob, twisted and pushed it open.

In a few nanoseconds, I was going to have my mindset revamped. Rejection wasn't the worst or most dangerous emotion because there was some other force driving rejection. Love was that force.

A person's love for something would make him or her strive to get that thing, to protect and keep that thing. The moment that person fails at doing just that, rejection comes to play.

The first thing I felt when I saw Clare clinging to the body of a—quite older—man, was shock. Then I felt pain and rejection when I heard her draw out his name in a moan. But all these didn't hurt as much as my broken love for her did.

That hurt very badly. I couldn't breathe. A sweat broke out on my forehead and I gripped my suitcase real hard, questioning everything I knew. With a gasp caused by a sudden pang in my heart, the suitcase I'd been holding on to slipped from my grip and fell to the floor, successfully startling the couple before me.

Both Clare and her partner scrambled to cover themselves up with the sheets of our bed. The bed where I'd held on to the woman I loved and thought loved me. The bed where she'd promised to be everything I wanted and more. The bed where she had just cheated on me.

Her eyes widened by the minute, as if the realization of what she'd just been caught doing was finally dawning on her. Clare parted her lips buy words didn't come out, just blubbering.

My glare went from her to the scared man beside her who is now identified as the hotel manager—

Fuck.

Was I so bad to her that she decided even an aging, bald man was better than I was.

My breaths became ragged. From the moment my gaze fell back on Clare hugging the sheets to her body to try and cover up, I knew I was going to cry.

Men weren't supposed to cry. But heartbreak wasn't supposed to hurt like this.

This felt like I was dying, slowly.

"Garth," I heard Clare say finally. Her eyes brimmed with tears, guilty tears. She parted her lips it say something, but it seemed stuck in her mouth. At last, she sighed solemnly. "I'm sorry."

In the process of uttering those words, Clare stomped on my heart for the last time. If I understood Clare at all, she wasn't sorry for cheating. She was sorry I caught her. And I was sorry for myself.

I left the room in anger and with a broken heart. My mind raced to find a solution to this pain, to find a cure that would rid me of this torture.

Pet of my considered going back in there and strangling the hotel manager to death, or  dragging Clare out naked so she could feel some shame equal to my heartbreak. But even at this point, I couldn't do that to her.

There was a jazz club nearby, I remembered driving past it on my way here. I got into my car quickly, started the engine and zoomed off at a speed I was going to be arrested for if I got caught but I didn't care.

I was going to get drunk for the first time in my life.

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I couldn't get Clare out of my head. And it wasn't the good memories of her that I couldn't get rid of. It was the memory of her on my bed, under the hotel manager.

I held on to the bottle of vodka I'd gotten from the jazz club. The place was too noisy, it was for that reason that I'd left there and was currently leaning against the hood of a stranger's car. But even from this distance, the blaring music could still be heard.

The bottle was in my hand, my mind was racing, heart aching, yet, I couldn't bring myself to pop it open and take a swig. Maybe this was how it was for everyone who was about to take alcohol for the first time.

I sighed heavily and stared at the lit up jazz club. Neon lights drew out the name "Gaddy's Jazz" right beside the club. Drunk couples held on to each other, grinning like complete idiots. I wanted to be like that, to be so high on happiness that nothing could bring me down. At least for a few hours.

Bringing my gaze back to the bottle of vodka, I casted all fear away and popped it open, taking a large gulp at once and feeling the burn in my throat afterwards.

More memories of Clare and the hotel manager flew past my shut eyes, causing me to wince and curse under my breath. My shoulders sulked, the gold watch on my wrist felt like it weighed a tonne. And I wasn't even drunk yet.

I was shoved out of my sad thoughts when the sound of metal hitting the floor cut through the air. When I looked up, I locked gazes with a woman.

Her dark hair was scattered in every direction, while mine was stuck to my forehead by sweat. Her eyes were bloodshot and looked teary. Her entire appearance looked like she was going to burst out in tears at any moment. For some reason, I felt my own brokenness reach out to hers.

Our gazes locked for a couple of seconds until I broke it to take in her entire appearance. She had no shoes on her feet and her dress had a few wet spots here and there. Obviously, there was something wrong, and no matter how much I wanted to know what it is, we were strangers to each other.

My eyes widened when she gripped her keys tighter and suddenly started towards me. Was this her car?

I knew I was supposed to go away and drown in my sorrows elsewhere but I couldn't not watch her. I noticed something: she didn't sway her hips while walking, infact she looked like she was going to fall to the ground at any minute. Clare did that a lot—

Cursing myself, I moved away from the front of her car. She obviously wanted to leave—

Wait, was she going to drive drunk?!

She started the ignition and sighed, then lifted her eyes to where I stood in front of her car a moment ago. Her eyebrows seemed to pull together in confusion, but she snapped out if it quickly.

I didn't know what I was expecting when I went to knock at her car window, probably a scoff. But I certainly wasn't expecting her to be startled in a second and bring the glass down in the next.

Her eyes, no matter how sad, were dating as she almost glared at me. It made my skin tingle and for a second, I forgot what I was here for.

"What?" she asked, voice stern.

"You can't drive drunk," I muttered, feeling more drunk than I'd felt when I'd taken the vodka.

Her gaze flickered from the bottle to my face and she scoffed.

"Says the guy who just swallowed vodka like his life depended on it."

"I'm not drunk," I replied, unsure of why I was arguing with a stranger about my drunkenness. I only had one gulp. The next words practically fell from my lips. "But what if I said yes?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"

"What if I said that my life indeed depended on it," I clarified. The picture of Clare and the hotel manager flashed before my watering eyes. "Would you care enough to come out and ask why?"

She blinked at him. I blinked back. She certainly saw me as crazy now. Id lost my marbles!

"I don't know you," she stated.

"Neither do I," I shrugged, "but as the gentleman I am, I can't let you drive home drunk without at least giving you a warning." A broken-hearted gentleman, might I add.

She stared at me for a moment longer, a slight pout gracing her lips while all my head could see was Clare, Clare, Clare. The engine of her car purred in the background.

This was stupid. I was being stupid. Embarrassing myself before a stranger.

With a huff, she shut off the engine and climbed out of the car. Once her bare feet met the familiar cold grass, she put out her hand.

"Hand the bottle over." I couldn't resist the urge to arch my brow at how snappy she was being. She was certainly going through something, I wanted to know what it was. But I couldn't just give her the bottle. I hadn't even drowned out my sorrows yet.

Then again, she was standing there, hand stretched out to me, eyes practically begging for my source of relief. The source of relief that wasn't doing any good.

Eventually, her glare won and I handed her the bottle. Then I stood and watch her, apparently the pro between us, take the vodka like she'd been doing it all her life. Her eyes were shut tight, her fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle.

How wasn't I supposed to gape at that?

The stranger brought down the bottle and stared right back at me. And in one bizarre moment, her eyes twinkled brighter than the stars above, her lips spread into a wide drunk smile.

For a second, I could have sworn my heart skipped.

Probably just the alcohol.