Tainted Love

Chapter 7

Liam

“Amara…”

The name slipped from my mouth in a whisper, carrying a mixture of euphoria and despair that I hadn't felt in years.

For a moment, everything around me disappeared.

The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of chandeliers reflecting against hundreds of glittering masks—it all blurred into the background.

Because she was here.

Amara.

Of all the places in the world, I never expected to find her here.

This place wasn't her. It was too extravagant, too loud, too reckless. The kind of place she would have once complained about within five minutes of arriving. She used to hate crowded rooms, hated meaningless conversations and people pretending to be someone they weren't.

And yet there she stood, looking as though she belonged to the very heart of it.

I stared at her.

If I said she looked gorgeous, it would be a pathetic understatement.

She looked mesmerizing.

Her dress clung to her figure in all the right places, its dark fabric shimmering whenever she moved beneath the dim golden lights. Her hair fell over her shoulders, soft waves framing a face I had spent two years trying desperately to forget.

Two years.

Two f*****g years.

And one look at her had been enough to tear open every wound I had painstakingly buried.

For a few seconds, I forgot everything.

I forgot the betrayal.

I forgot the sleepless nights.

I forgot the anger, the humiliation, the promises I had made to myself about never letting her affect me again.

All I could see was her.

The woman I had loved more than anything.

The woman who had destroyed me.

Then reality came crashing back.

The warmth in my chest turned cold.

The admiration in my eyes hardened into resentment.

I remembered the pain that came from loving her.

I remembered what it felt like to give someone every vulnerable piece of yourself only to have them crush it beneath their feet.

I had done everything a man could do for the woman he loved.

I had changed myself for her.

I had swallowed my pride, abandoned habits she hated, learned to listen when all I wanted to do was argue. I had tried to become a better man because she had once told me that I could be one.

I had believed her.

That had been my biggest mistake.

Because, in the end, I was the one left looking like a fool for trusting a woman who had never deserved my trust.

My jaw clenched.

I should have walked away.

That would have been the sensible thing to do.

Instead, I remained exactly where I was, hidden at the far end of the ballroom, partially swallowed by the darkness.

Perhaps she sensed someone watching her because suddenly she turned.

My breath caught.

Her eyes moved across the room.

For one terrifying second, I wondered if she had recognized me.

Then she looked away.

Of course she couldn't find me from here.

A cruel smile tugged at my lips.

Good.

Because I knew exactly what I was going to do.

At least, I thought I did.

Then I noticed him.

My smile disappeared.

Amara wasn't alone.

A man stood beside her.

He was tall, dressed in a black suit, his face concealed behind one of the elaborate masks worn by everyone at the party. The lighting was too dim for me to make out his features.

But I didn't need to.

I could see the way he held her.

Too close.

Far too close.

She laughed at something he said.

Then the music changed.

He pulled her closer.

My fingers curled into fists.

I felt irritation first.

Then anger.

Then something far uglier.

Jealousy.

I had no right to feel it.

I knew that.

She wasn't mine anymore.

She hadn't been mine for two years.

But knowing that didn't stop the primitive part of me from wanting to drag that bastard away from her.

My mind stopped functioning rationally.

The champagne in my glass suddenly seemed irrelevant, so I placed it on the nearest table.

My gaze dropped to the black mask in my hand.

A masquerade.

Perfect.

No one needed to know who I was.

I slipped the mask over my face.

And then I walked toward the stage.

I didn't know what I was doing.

I didn't know what I expected to gain from confronting her.

Perhaps revenge.

Perhaps an explanation.

Perhaps nothing more than the satisfaction of seeing the fear in her eyes when she realized who had returned to her life.

But one thing was certain.

I wanted to ruin the perfect little world she had built without me.

I wanted her to feel even a fraction of the pain she had left behind.

I wanted her to regret ever meeting me.

The music grew louder as I approached the dance floor.

Couples moved beneath the dim lights, masks hiding identities and making everyone strangers for one night.

How ironic.

For two years, I had tried to become a stranger to Amara.

Tonight, I was going to become one again.

Only this time, she wouldn't know it was me until it was too late.

The music suddenly stopped.

A collective murmur moved through the ballroom.

The host's voice echoed from somewhere near the stage, instructing everyone to switch partners.

My opportunity.

The lights dimmed further.

People laughed and moved around, searching for new partners.

I didn't search.

I knew exactly who I wanted.

I reached her before she could move away.

My hand closed around her waist, pulling her toward me.

Her body collided with mine.

She inhaled sharply.

For one second, she froze.

I felt it.

That tiny hesitation.

That instinctive recognition.

She didn't know my face.

But somehow, her body remembered me.

My heart gave one painful thud.

She went rigid in my arms.

I tightened my hold.

My fingers pressed against her waist, and I felt her breath hitch again.

“Let go,” she whispered.

Her voice.

God.

I had forgotten how much that voice could destroy me.

I leaned closer, keeping my face hidden behind the mask.

She tried to turn.

I caught her wrist.

“Who are you?”

There was fear in her voice now.

I hated myself for noticing it.

I hated that some part of me still wanted to protect her from fear, even when I was the one causing it.

She tried to pull away.

I didn't let her.

The music began again, drowning out the sound of our struggle.

“Please,” she whispered.

That word nearly broke something inside me.

Please.

Two years ago, I had begged her.

She hadn't listened.

Now she was begging me.

The irony tasted bitter.

I pulled her away from the dance floor and toward a secluded corner where the lights barely reached.

She stumbled slightly but followed because I still had her wrist in my hand.

Once we were hidden from the crowd, I released her.

She immediately stepped back.

“Who are you?”

I said nothing.

Her eyes searched my masked face.

There was something familiar in my gaze that unsettled her.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Still nothing.

She took another step backward.

“I'm asking you a question.”

Her voice was stronger now.

That was Amara.

The woman I remembered.

The woman who had once stood in front of me and promised that she would never leave.

The woman who had lied.

My chest tightened.

“You really don't recognize me?”

The words escaped before I could stop them.

She froze.

Her eyes widened.

I watched the realization slowly creep across her face.

“No…”

It was barely audible.

I stepped closer.

She shook her head.

“No. It can't be.”

I reached up and removed my mask.

Her lips parted.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

The music continued somewhere behind us, but it sounded distant now.

Her face drained of color.

“It's you.”

I smiled.

It wasn't the smile she remembered.

“Hello, Amara.”

Her eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.

Shock.

Fear.

Regret.

Maybe all three.

“You…”

She swallowed.

“You're here.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

That question almost made me laugh.

Why?

After everything?

After two years of silence?

After she had walked out of my life and left me to pick up every broken piece?

She really wanted to know why?

I leaned closer.

“You shouldn't have come here.”

Her brows furrowed.

“I didn't know you would be here.”

“Neither did I.”

My voice was calm, but inside, I was burning.

She looked at me for a long moment.

“You've changed.”

I laughed bitterly.

“You should know. You were the reason.”

She flinched.

Good.

For the first time tonight, I felt something that resembled satisfaction.

But it didn't last.

Because despite everything, she still looked beautiful.

And despite everything, some stupid, broken part of me still loved her.

That was the truth I didn't want to face.

I could hate her.

I could resent her.

I could promise myself that I would destroy everything she cared about.

But I couldn't erase what I had once felt.

And that terrified me more than anything.

She took a hesitant step toward me.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

My jaw tightened.

“Don't.”

“But—”

“Don't stand there and pretend you care now.”

“I do care.”

“You had a strange way of showing it.”

Her eyes glistened.

“I made mistakes.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You made a choice.”

Silence settled between us.

For the first time, she looked away.

And somehow, that hurt more than seeing her with another man.

Because I realized something.

I had spent two years imagining this moment.

I had imagined her begging for forgiveness.

I had imagined myself laughing in her face.

I had imagined walking away without feeling anything.

But standing in front of her now, I realized revenge wasn't going to erase the past.

It wasn't going to give me back the nights I had spent broken.

It wasn't going to undo the love I had wasted.

And it certainly wasn't going to make me stop loving her.

I stepped back.

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“Stay away from me,” I said quietly.

She stared at me.

“You came looking for me.”

“No.”

I put my mask back on.

“I came looking for revenge.”

Her expression crumbled.

“And did you find it?”

I paused.

For the first time that night, I didn't have an answer.

Then I turned away from her.

Because if I stayed another second, I knew I would forget every reason I had ever hated her.

And I wasn't ready to forgive her.

Not yet.