Chapter 1

• Los Angeles
• Ann’s POV
• Help
• This is pure deceit, but I couldn't care less. I watch the message tick sent before grabbing the bottle of vodka and gulping it all down, hoping it will help drown out all my thoughts.
• Help
• I send again, this time with desperation and frustration tugging at my heart.
• When I watch the message go, my heart crashes against my chest at the realization.
• He wouldn't reply to me. He would never reply.
• He is probably somewhere with his bride-to-be, having the time of his life, while I am here, in nothing but a bathrobe, drowning myself in alcohol in a cheap hotel close to his apartment.
• We were here once, when he claimed he had friends over at his apartment, three months ago. I was suspicious, but his sweet words overruled my suspicions.
• When a hot tear slips through my cheek, I wipe it away quickly, remembering the vow I made.
• I won't cry for him anymore.
• I won't beg him anymore.
• And I won't fight for us anymore.
• He isn't worth it anyway.
• But why do I keep feeling this burning sensation in my chest? Why does it feel like my lungs are short of air? Why do I find it difficult to forget him and all the joyful memories we've shared? Why do I keep hoping he will come back and apologize to me so I can take him back without hesitation?
• He is not worth it.
• Before grabbing the next bottle of alcohol, I dump the empty bottle on the stool in front of me.
• The burning hits my throat, and I let out a whimper. It doesn't stop me from downing the liquid until I'm halfway through.
• I slam the bottle on the stool and shoot to my feet.
• I won't cry. I would rather sink myself in a bathtub or drown myself in alcohol until dawn than cry for that selfish, egoistic bastard.
• I won't let him get to me.
• When I sway on my way to the bed, I realize I am drunk and my thoughts are messed up.
• I laugh. Like a maniac.
• When I sober up, I twirl around to grab the rest of the bottle so I can continue drinking while bathing, just in time to hear a knock at the door.
• Ryan?
• Is that you?
• Hastily, I rush over to the door to see if he is there.
• Pulling it open, I see no one at the doorway. I step forward and look down the hallway to see a man's back to me. He is wearing black pants and a sweater with a hoodie.
• I can't see his face.
• When he turns around, our eyes meet, and I realize he is covering every part of his face with a mask, leaving only his eyes.
• I shake my head.
• This isn't Ryan.
• When he takes a step forward, terror slices through me, and I back away. Ryan doesn't wear black. Ryan wouldn't disguise. Ryan can't even be here.
• Who is this?
• An intruder? A thief?
• For a moment, I regret my impulsive decision to stay in a cheap hotel like this. There are no guards or cameras in sight.
• This is probably a thief, going from door to door to see if he can get in and cart away some valuable possessions.
• He continues to step closer, and I find myself turning around and rushing inside before slamming the door shut.
• Panic courses through me, and my eyes widen in fear, my drunkenness gone in a flash, even though my steps are still flattered.
• Ryan. I need you now.
• Perhaps I shouldn't have pretended to be in need of his help. Now I need it, and I have no one to call for help.
• With my hands full, I kick open the bathroom door, rush in, and securely lock it behind me.
• I drop the bottle and begin to type furiously on my phone.
• You jerk, I f**king need your help! I am in that cheap hotel close to Austin Avenue. There is an intruder in here. Just help this once, and I promise never to bother you again. Pick up the fucking call or come help me. Goddammit!”
• Unable to continue with my inner rambling, I tap on the send button, and it successfully delivers. With raw hope, I watch the message tick and turn green.
• I almost jump up in excitement when he reads the message. And I wait.
• Stamping my feet and trying desperately to ignore the raw devastation streaming through me, I continue to wait for him to type back and send a reply.
• I need someone to reassure me that everything is well.
• Our lives were so beautiful and filled with happy moments, and we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.
• I believed he was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be his.
• But he left. He left me for her. Because his parents wanted her. He left me.
• Because I was extremely mad at him when he told me about his decision to marry that woman instead, I blocked him everywhere.
• I blacklisted him.
• He'd never be able to reach me, and I wouldn't either.
• Until last night.
• I unblocked him and tried calling him, but to no avail. Which is why I am sending him these texts, just to get his attention.
• When something crashes in the distance, I scoot backwards in fear.
• My biggest fear is about to come to realization.
• Betrayed by the man I love more than life itself is not my biggest fear.
• My biggest fear isn't about losing all the privileges of being in a relationship with a man who promised to get me the job of my dreams.
• My biggest fear isn't about living life in misery.
• My greatest fear is becoming a victim of sexual assault. Left broken and beyond repair. It awakens memories I thought I had long buried—my near-rape experience.
• When a bang hits the bathroom door, I squat backward and fall on my buttocks with a scream piercing through my throat.
• My breathing becomes hard as I watch the door being banged from outside.
• The stranger wants to get in. If he was here to steal, he wouldn't bother to come after me. And that explains only one thing.
• He wants to take advantage of me or get rid of me.
• Perhaps he thought I saw his face and that getting rid of me was the best course of action.
• How did he even know I was in here?
• Waving the silly thoughts running through my head away, I rise up again, determined to escape being raped or killed in a strange neighborhood. I glance around to find a weapon, or at least a shield.
• I don't mind escaping him and running out onto the streets in nothing but my bathrobe. I just want to escape this.
• My eyes catch the toilet brush, which is the only thing present I can use as a weapon.
• I grab hold of it and almost begin to cry when it dawns on me that this can't hurt him.
• I can't escape.
• He would kill me.
• I don't deserve this.
• With horror and the brush still raised in my hand, the door finally breaks down, giving me a view of the stranger whose face is still hidden.
• We stare at each other for a second before he stalks forward, and I summon up enough courage to hit him with the brush, a shout leaving my mouth.
• He yanks at my hand, and the brush falls to the ground. He spins me around, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me, and then he pushes me to the floor, revealing my thighs as my robe rolls upward.
• His eyes leave mine and settle on the exposed thigh.
• I am right. This man is a rapist.
• Get up, Ann. Do something. Hit him in the groin and run out. Slap him hard on the face so you can get your pepper spray.
• Suddenly, I remember the bottle of wine. It isn't empty but I can make do with it. I turn my face to see it is inches away from me.
• I make an effort to stand up, but he strandles me, as though he could hear and read through me.
• His hands pin mine to the floor as I continue to struggle with him. I can't raise any of my legs to hit him, either. He is very strong and determined to rape me.
• “Get off me, you jerk! What do you want?!” I yell in frustration, wanting to try my luck at negotiating with him.
• He lets out a sardonic chuckle and starts to rub his hands on my thighs.
• I shut my eyes, shame coloring my face.
• “Open your eyes,” he mutters, making me flutter my eyes open slowly. “Watch me.”
• A low whimper leaves my mouth. I want to beg him. I want to tell him that I can give him every single gift that jerk gave me, just to make him think twice about raping me.
• But I can't find my voice.
• Suddenly, a surge of energy fills me up as he takes his hand off me, giving me the chance to lean up and kick his groin with my knee.
• A groan leaves his mouth, and I hurry to my feet.
• Just then, a gunshot rings out nearby, making me scoot backward as the rapist looks towards the living room, fear in his eyes.
• When the shot rings again, my mind reels back to the text I sent to Ryan. Is he here to save me? Where did he get a gun from?
• What is happening?
• As soon as I see him eyeing the door, I sprint towards it, determined to stop him.
• Ryan could be here to assist me. To save me from this jerk.
• I need to do my part.
• He rushes at me, and I punch his face, making him stumble back, surprise in his eyes. I signal to him to come closer. And I ball my fist for another punch.
• Pure rage fills his eyes.
• When he takes a step forward, I attempt to strike him from a distance, but he pulls me closer to him before throwing to the ground.
• I force back a wince.
• With our hands interlocked, I yank him closer to me before shoving the mask off.
• Horror mixed with disbelief slices through me when I see his face.
• Carter.
• Before I can process what I just saw and say something, he runs out, leaving me sprawled on the floor with tears rolling down my eyes.
• Instead of sitting up, I start to cry until his hurried footsteps fade out.