CHAPTER ONE
1205 Words
POPPY
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Mascara streaked down my cheeks as ink spilled in water, blurring my eyes until I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. My lips trembled as another sob tore out of my chest. I still couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It felt unreal, like my body was there, but my heart had been ripped somewhere else.
My boyfriend of six years got engaged today.
And not just engaged, he invited me out, made me dress up, made me believe it was a date… only to propose to another woman at the very same restaurant.
The realization hit again, sharp and merciless.
My heart shattered, and I burst into tears all over again.
I slid down the tiled wall slowly, my back scraping against the cold surface until my legs gave out. I sank to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, my cries echoing softly in the bathroom. My chest hurt so badly it felt like I couldn’t breathe, like pain had wrapped itself around my ribs and refused to let go.
How could Damian be so cruel?
How could he make me come out, dressed up and hopeful, just to sit there and watch him drop to one knee for another woman?
She was beautiful. Elegant. Expensive-looking.
Her black silk strapless gown clung perfectly to her toned body, the fabric shimmering softly under the restaurant lights. She looked like she belonged there, as if she belonged beside him. Damian hovered around her, eager and attentive, laughing at everything she said, handing her gift after gift like she was made of gold.
It was torture to watch.
I felt eyes on me as I rushed into the bathroom, some filled with pity, others with thinly veiled disgust. I didn’t look elegant or expensive. I was just… plain. Plain Jane with smeared makeup and a broken heart.
My makeup had been done earlier by my roommate and best friend, Sharon. She should be here any minute.
As if summoned by the thought, the bathroom door swung open.
Sharon rushed in, her red mini gown hugging her curves, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail. She looked bold, confident, everything I didn’t feel. Her boyfriend followed closely behind her. Lucas. My personal nemesis.
“Oh, girl…” Sharon breathed, her voice already filled with sympathy.
That did it.
Another wave of sobs crashed over me. I folded into myself, crying harder as Sharon wrapped her arms around me, pulling my head to her chest and rubbing my back gently.
My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, piece by piece. Memories of Damian flooded my mind, every smile, every promise, every moment I had believed was real.
Where did I go wrong? Where did I lose him?
“Instead of wailing in here,” Lucas suddenly said, breaking the moment, “why don’t you come with us to the club? A few drinks might patch you up.”
I lifted my head slowly and stared at him, my mind spiraling with dark possibilities.
If I stayed back, I might drink myself into oblivion…
or hang myself in the middle of the night…
“Yes, babe, come with us,” Sharon added quickly, nodding. “Please.”
I loved Sharon with everything in me, but Lucas was never the kind of guy I imagined her with. He was rough around the edges, too street-smart, too rugged for a multimillionaire’s daughter like her.
Still… he loved her. He protected her. He spoiled her. He made sure she was always okay.
Things I had never truly known.
Not now. Not ever.
The club was alive, loud music vibrating on the floor, flashing lights cutting through the smoke, and laughter. Everywhere I looked, people were dancing, touching, and kissing. Couples pressed together like heartbreak didn’t exist.
Perfect. Just what I needed.
I went straight to the bar and ordered a bottle of tequila. If pain wanted to sit with me tonight, I’d drown it.
Sharon and Lucas disappeared into the crowd, lost in each other. I watched them bitterly as I poured my first shot and swallowed it in one go. Then another. And another.
Why couldn’t I have a good love life?
Why did I always fall for men who used me… then replaced me?
Why did I choose people who never chose me?
It was stupid.
By the fifth shot, the room tilted slightly. The lights blurred. But I didn’t stop. I lifted the bottle again, ready for my seventh drink, when a hand stopped me.
“Hey. Slow down, ma’am,” the bartender said gently, taking the bottle away. “You could hurt yourself.”
I scowled at him, my vision wobbling.
“Hey! I paid… for that,” I slurred. “Give me back… my bottle.”
“I can’t do that,” he replied calmly.
I tried to sit up straighter. “I’ll… report you. Yeah. To management. Who’s your boss, huh?”
Before I could protest further, he lifted me off the stool.
“What are you doing?” Panic flared as I weakly struggled.
“Unfortunately, pretty,” he said, “I’m the management.”
I blinked up at him.
Blue eyes. Or… Sapphire?
The word pretty hit me harder than alcohol. No one had called me that in a very long time.
My throat tightened. Tears welled up again as emotions surged uncontrollably.
He carried me into a quiet room and laid me gently on the bed. When he noticed my red, swollen eyes, his expression softened, not pity, not amusement. Just calm.
“What’s wrong, pretty?” he asked again.
That was it.
I broke.
My tears fell freely as I clutched the fabric of my purple mini-dress, sobbing into myself. Memories rushed back: childhood laughter, compliments, love, before Damian taught me to hate my reflection.
I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did.
He flirted with every girl he could, and I let it slide. I told myself I was his favorite. He called me ugly. Said I was too fat. That my hips were too big, my legs too thick, said I looked like a hippo.
And I still loved him.
“I—I just can’t…” I cried. “I’m too fat.”
He watched me quietly for a moment, his blue eyes steady.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Anyone who says otherwise is a loser.”
Then he stood and headed for the door.
“Wait,” I sniffed, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Neither did I,” he replied with a faint smile. “I’ll call you Pretty for now. I’ll check on you later.”
The door closed behind him.
I lay back against the bed, my heart racing, not from alcohol this time, but from his words.
You’re beautiful.
I buried my face into the pillow and let out a muffled scream. My cheeks burned with embarrassment… and something dangerously close to happiness.
I couldn’t believe a stranger had made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years.
Wanted. Beautiful. Enough.
- Writer
