Chapter 2Never Give a Cheater Second Chances

When I remained silent, Dean reached into the center console and produced a small, velvet-wrapped box. He held it out toward me.

"Your anniversary present," he whispered. "Part one."

I didn't reach for it.

At the next red light, he brought the car to a complete stop. He held the box in both hands, leaning over to rest his forehead gently against my upper arm, swaying slightly like he used to do in college when he knew he was in the doghouse.

"You already slapped me," he murmured softly. "I know I screwed up. But the gift didn't do anything wrong. Please... don't take your anger out on the velvet."

Dean wasn't conventionally striking in a harsh, angular way. He had a clean, classic boyishness—bright eyes, soft hair, and a warm smile. When he dropped his eyelids and put on that puppy-dog expression, it was almost impossible to stay mad at him.

Especially when the right side of his jaw was already swelling red from where my palm had landed.

I took the box and snapped it open.

Inside lay a simple, unadorned silver bangle. It wasn't designer. It looked remarkably like the silver bracelets young girls received from their families when they were growing up—plain, timeless, polished to a mirror shine, only sized for an adult wrist.

My throat tightened. My eyes burned.

He remembered.

Growing up, my parents had made it abundantly clear that my brother came first. Every milestone he hit was celebrated; every need I had was an inconvenience. No matter how successful I became as an adult, no matter how much money I saved in my bank account, I always carried a quiet, ache-filled regret: I had never been given the simple, cheap silver bracelet that every other little girl in our neighborhood wore.

Dean looked sideways at me, noticing the soften in my features.

He seized the moment instantly. "Lola, I booked that corner table a month ago. Just give the chef a chance, okay? Do it for the ribeye, if not for me."

A small, involuntary laugh escaped my lips.

It was a minor incident, I told myself. A misstep. I could let it go.

Except those minor incidents didn't stop. They multiplied.

Three weeks later, Dean mentioned a department dinner. Spouses and partners were invited. He promised to swing by my office to pick me up, but half an hour before we were supposed to leave, he called to say something came up and he couldn't make the drive.

Through the receiver, I could hear loud laughter, clinking glasses, and the ambient roar of a crowded restaurant. A subtle, cold knot tightened in my stomach.

I took a rideshare to the steakhouse downtown.

When I pushed open the doors to the private dining room, I immediately understood where that cold knot had come from.

Dean was surrounded by his junior team, laughing as they cheered him on to take another shot. Sitting directly to his right was Kayla.

She was leaning in, her eyes wide with starry-eyed admiration, watching him with an expression that went far beyond professional respect. As Dean drained his glass, Kayla naturally reached over and handed him her tumbler of fruit juice. Without skipping a beat, Dean took it from her hand and drank it all down.

The interaction was smooth, practiced, completely instinctual.

"Come on, Boss!" one of the guys chimed in, laughing. "You can't keep taking drinks for the intern!"

Dean waved a hand defensively, like a mother hen guarding a chick. "Kayla can't drink heavy liquor, you guys know that. Stop pressing her. Anything you want to pour for her, pour for me instead. One of hers equals three of mine!"

Watching them from the doorway, my stomach churned.

My instinct was to turn around, walk out, and spare myself the headache. But as my hand rested on the brass door handle, a cold, sharp anger took over. Why should I retreat?

I smoothed my skirt and walked straight into the room.

Dean caught sight of me and immediately stood up, clearing his throat to introduce me to the table. "Everyone, this is Lola. My girlfriend. We’re getting engaged next month."

A chorus of polite "Nice to meet you" and "Welcome, Lola" filled the room.

I smiled, my voice calm and clear. "Hi, everyone. I'm Lola Cross. Dean's girlfriend."

I shifted my gaze toward Kayla, letting my eyes linger on her pale yellow dress before looking back at the group. "Though, to be precise, I'm the girlfriend who might actually become a wife—not a 'female friend' like Kayla, who's setting herself up to never get married at all."

The room plunged into absolute silence. Colleagues glanced awkwardly at one another, suddenly deeply interested in their cloth napkins.

I had been brutal. Usually, women preserved decorum in professional settings, saving the confrontation for the car ride home. But I was tired of playing nice. If I swallowed this rage, I wouldn't sleep tonight. And if I couldn't sleep, why should anyone else enjoy their evening?

Kayla's face flushed crimson, then drained to an ash-white.

Dean blinked, visibly flustered by my lack of tact. He tried to laugh it off, waving his hands. "Lola has a very dry sense of humor, everyone! Please, sit down, babe, sit down."

I took a chair directly across from Kayla. I leaned forward, looking her dead in the eye.

"I heard you don't drink," I said quietly.

Kayla kept her head down, her hands tightly clutching her napkin. "Lola... I'm just fresh out of school. Strong alcohol doesn't really agree with me..."

I reached for the decanter in the center of the table and poured two full glasses of cabernet, filling them nearly to the brim.

"How about I teach you?" I said, sliding one glass across the wood toward her.

The air in the room was suffocating. Under the weight of everyone's eyes, Kayla didn't dare refuse.

"Okay..." she whispered weakly.

She reached out a trembling hand, lifted the glass, and braced herself to swallow it down. Before the rim reached her lips, I reached across the table, plucked the glass right out of her hand, and set it down in front of Dean.

I smiled sweetly at her. "On second thought, sweetheart, if you end up in the ER tonight, I'd have to deal with the paperwork. Your life might be cheap, but my time isn't."

The insult hung in the air like smoke.

Kayla’s pathetic facade wobbled. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure, dark malice flashed in her eyes. Her fingers curled into tight fists against her lap, knuckles turning white.

I waited for her to snap. I wanted her to.

Instead, Dean snapped first. He grabbed my wrist, yanked me out of my chair, and pulled me toward the hallway.