Page 60 of Until You Break

But if that’s true, then why do I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to show up again?

He got into my head when we were alone, twisting my memories so much that they’ve changed my dreams. But why is he so adamant that what I’m remembering is wrong? What does he think we did in those cells?

I’m tired of overthinking and I’m not even sure why I said yes when my friend Sam called earlier. She was chirping about some new bar downtown and how I needed to get out of my “funk,” and I almost shut her down on the spot.

But the thought of another night alone, scrolling through Netflix and avoiding my own thoughts, was unbearable. I can’t even bring myself to act happy around Mason, and I can’t bring myself to leave him, either.

Four weeks. Four weeks since I left Dominic’s house, since I climbed on my bike and didn’t look back.

And four weeks of silence from him.

No texts. No calls. No cryptic notes or unexpected appearances. Nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared completely. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? To be free of him? So why does it feel like there’s this constant knot in my chest, tightening every time I think about him?

The bar is packed, the sound of music and chatter spilling out onto the street as we push through the door. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place with sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and a crowd that doesn’t give a damn about personal space.

Sam grabs my arm, pulling me toward the bar, her excitement infectious even if I don’t quite feel it.

“Two vodka sodas,” she shouts over the noise, grinning as she fishes a twenty out of her pocket. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” I manage, offering her a small smile.

I should be more enthusiastic. I should be enjoying this. But my mind feels like it’s stuck on a loop, replaying things I don’t want to think about. The house. His voice. That smirk of his, like he always knew what I was thinking before I did.

The bartender slides our drinks over, and I take a sip, the cool liquid burning slightly as it goes down. Sam is already scanning the room, her eyes lighting up as she spots a group of guys near the dartboard.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my wrist. “Let’s go find a spot to sit.”

I follow her through the crowd, weaving between people until we find a small table near the edge of the room. Sam is already chatting up a guy who looks like he spends more time at the gym than I do anywhere, and I take another sip of my drink, letting my gaze wander.

That’s when I hear it. Laughter. Deep, loud, and so fucking familiar it makes my stomach twist. I turn my head, the sound pulling me in, and my heart stops.

Dominic.

He’s sitting across the room, his brothers flanking him, a beer in his hand and a smirk on his face like he owns the place. And he might as well, the way people are looking at him, like he’s some kind of goddamn king.

But it’s not just him. There’s a woman on his lap, her arms draped around his shoulders, her blonde hair tumbling down her back as she leans in close, whispering something in his ear.

She’s everything I’m not—blonde, impossibly skinny, her perfect legs crossed as she laughs at something one of his brothers says. Dominic’s hand rests casually on her hip, his fingers curling slightly as if staking a claim, and my stomach churns.

I can’t look away, even as I want to.

It takes him a second, but his eyes finally lift, locking with mine. My breath catches again, but he doesn’t react. No smirk. No acknowledgment. Nothing. He just looks away, like I’m not even there.

Like I don’t fucking matter.

My stomach twists, a sick, hollow ache spreading through my chest as I watch him laugh at something Matteo says, his hand tightening slightly on the woman’s hip. He’s so casual, so unaffected, while I feel like I’m about to crumble into dust.

I wanna fucking stab him in the eye.

“Aria?” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back to reality. “You okay? You’ve gone pale.”

I tear my eyes away from Dominic, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just… thought I saw someone I knew.”

Sam frowns, following my gaze, but Dominic’s turned slightly, his back to us now. “Do you want to leave?” she asks, her tone softer now, concerned.

“No,” I say quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m fine. Really.”

But I’m not fine. I’m far from it.

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