Chapter 33

My phone buzzes for what feels like the hundredth time today. Amelia's name flashes across the screen, but like all the other times, I ignore it. She's been blowing up my phone since yesterday.

I wasn't in the right headspace to talk to her. She was still tied to the world—and the people—I desperately wanted to escape. That left me at a crossroads.

"Another one," I tell the bartender the second my phone stops ringing.

Today was my birthday, and this was how I was celebrating it. Alone in a dimly lit bar, drowning my sorrows in some overly sweet cocktail, still reeling from Daniel's cruel words.

I've tried to push them out of my mind. I've tried even harder to forget every venomous syllable he spat at me, but it's impossible. They're seared into my brain like a brand.

We'd been married for years, yet it never once crossed my mind that he saw me as nothing more than a cheap replacement for Isabella in bed. My heart had shattered over and over again since that day at my house.

I should have been shocked that he believed every word out of Isabella's mouth, but I wasn't. Of course he'd trust anyone over the woman he'd spent nine damn years with.

Whoever said words cut deeper than fists was right. This time, I feared Daniel might have broken me beyond repair.

"Here you go," the bartender says, sliding another drink toward me.

His gaze lingers with sympathy, like he knows exactly why I'm here. He must see heartbroken women like me every night.

I take the glass without meeting his eyes. I didn’t need his pity. What I needed was a new heart—one that wasn’t stained with pain. A soul untouched by Daniel’s cruelty.

If I’d known this was my future years ago, I would’ve run. If I’d known loving Daniel would destroy me like this, I would’ve fled to another country—hell, another planet—just to escape him.

I wish I could shake some sense into my younger self. Maybe then I could’ve avoided this agony.

Sipping my drink, I stare blankly ahead. My mind is numb. I wasn’t drunk yet, but the buzz was creeping in. That’s what I wanted—a temporary escape from the constant ache.

I down the rest of my drink and glance at the dance floor. People moved in sync with the music. I hadn’t danced in forever. Tonight, I just wanted to let go. After all, it was my damn birthday.

I push off the stool and weave through the crowd. Closing my eyes, I let the bass take over. My body moves on its own, and for a moment, the pain fades. Here, in this fleeting second, I could pretend I was whole.

Song after song, I lose myself in the rhythm. Men press against me, whispering invitations, but I shake them off. I wasn’t here for that.

When exhaustion finally seeps into my bones, I stumble back to the bar and collapse onto a stool. Just as I order another drink, my phone rings again.

I almost ignore it, assuming it’s Amelia—but then I see Liam’s name.

I answer.

"Sophia?" His voice is sharp with concern. "Where the hell are you? Amelia’s been losing her mind trying to reach you. She called me at three in the morning."

I frown. How did she even get his number? Then I remember—I gave it to her. She’d insisted, just in case.

"I’m fine," I mutter, my voice too loud over the music. "I just don’t want to talk to her right now."

"Are you at a club?" he demands as someone shrieks in the background.

"Something like that."

"Are you drunk?"

"Just buzzed." (Though I fully intended to drink until I forgot my own name.)

"Do you have a ride home?"

I laugh at that. His cop instincts were kicking in, and part of me liked it. Liked that he cared.

"No, but I’ll grab a cab."

"No, you won’t. Give me ten minutes."

Then he hangs up.

I blink at my phone. What did he mean by that? Shrugging, I push the thought aside. Tonight was about forgetting.

I don’t know how much time passes before someone slides into the seat beside me. I look up—and freeze.

Liam.

His blue eyes lock onto mine.

"Liam? How are you here?"

"I told you I’d be here in ten," he says, frowning. "Don’t you remember?"

I stare at him like he’s a hallucination.

"I remember. I just didn’t think you were serious."

He studies me, and I study him back. Don’t get me wrong—I liked him. But tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight was about me and my pain.

"What are you doing here, Sophia?" His voice is tight. "You don’t strike me as the type to drink alone at two in the morning. Don’t you have work tomorrow?"

I didn’t. After what happened with Daniel, I couldn’t face it. I’d extended my leave, lying that I wasn’t fully recovered.

"It’s my birthday," I say instead. "I just wanted to celebrate."

The music had died down, so I didn’t have to shout.

"Alone? In a bar at this hour?"

How could I explain that no one remembered my birthday? That even when I was married, Daniel forgot every year? That my family stopped acknowledging it nine years ago?

I shrug. "There’s no one left to celebrate with me."

His expression flickers with shock before he schools it. Without a word, he helps me off the stool and leads me to a private booth.

He turns to me, his gaze intense. "What happened?"

The question feels like a blade. If I wanted this—wanted him—I had to be honest. Even if it ruined everything.

I take a shaky breath.

"It’s because when I was eighteen, I slept with Isabella’s boyfriend and got pregnant."

Don’t hate me. Sophia’s past will be fully revealed next chapter.