Page 8 of Black Lace

My heart feels like it’s bleeding inside my chest, and I can barely stand this. Jasmine’s reply pushes the picture of Ben and Ashley off my screen, which is a welcome relief.

Jasmine Carter: Okay, sis. I’m so sorry. Fuck Benjamin. What an asshole. You know that if you ever need me, I’ll be here.

I send her a thank you, then sigh and pick up the quickly softening ice cream to eat some more. Everything is so fucked up. A wedding magazine Ben and I bought together on Sunday sits on the coffee table in front of me, mocking me. It’s utterly bizarre that I was so happy less than a week ago. So in love and ready to marry the man of my dreams. Blissfully unaware that six days later, I would be betrayed by him.

My phone pings, and I look down to see a message from Jasmine to the group chat with all our friends.

Jasmine Carter: Fuck you, Benjamin Littrell, you asshole. I hate you.

She’s attached the picture for everyone to see. She didn’t even end up telling me where she got it. Myphone starts blowing up immediately. I mute the conversation so it stops sending me notifications, then turn the music up before I scoop the last of the ice cream out of the tub.

CHAPTER 4

FURY

(DECLAN)

Jazz’s messagetakes roughly thirty seconds to blow up my phone. The messages come through on our group chat thick and fast.

Daisy: Is that real?!

Brooke: What the fuck, Ben?????

Teddy: You cheated on Tiff?

Ben: It’s not what it looks like. Whoever took that pic set me up.

My entire field of vision turns red, and my jaw tightens. I know my motivation in taking the picture wasn’t a hundred percent pure, but I didn’t put Ashley on hislap to take it.

Ben: I’ve already spoken to Tiff.

Jazz: Yeah, and told her your a cheating fucking asshole.

If I didn’t know Jazz was pissed, the fact she didn’t fix her typo tells me a lot.

Jazz: *You’re

I give a bitter laugh at her next message because it’s so absurdly normal for Jazz to correct her message. I don’t want to find anything funny right now, though.

My hands tingle as I clench and unclench them, and heat rises in my body. Ben’s apartment is one floor down from mine, and I have the strong urge to pay him a visit.

Ben: Everybody makes mistakes, Jazz.

I’m out of my seat and stalking toward the door before I even realize it. I don’t bother with the elevator, yanking open the door to the stairwell and taking the stairs three at a time down to Ben’s floor.

I pound roughly on his door when I reach it, my breathing is rough, and I struggle to refrain from attempting to kick his door in.

“Fuck off, Dec,” Ben’s muffled voice calls from the other side of the door.

“‘Everybody makes fucking mistakes?!’” I yell, not bothering with the fact that he shares this floor with another penthouse and his neighbors might be home.

“Leave. I know it was you who took that picture.”

I pound on the door again, needing to hitsomething. “A mistake is getting the wrong coffee order. Not fucking someone who isn’t your fiancée.”

There’s silence in response to my words, and I pound on his door again.

“Fuck off. This is between me and Tiff. She’ll get over it.”

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