Page 3 of Cruel Hero

When Alexander returns with the drinks a few minutes later, Tiffany’s tears have dried, and the feverish desperation in her eyes has been replaced by the same distant smile she had earlier.

“Thank you, Olivia. I feel a little better now.” She accepts the drink Alexander offers her with a gracious smile.

I kiss her forehead and tuck a loose curl behind her ear, meeting Alexander’s gaze over her head, silently asking if everything is all right. I nod imperceptibly.

“Anything, anytime, Tiff. You know that.”

She doesn’t know just how much I mean that.

And, for my sake, I hope that she never finds out.

Chapter 2

Tiffany

When I was little, my father would take me to the park every Sunday. It was our special time, just the two of us, away from the chaos at home. He would push me on the swings, higher and higher, until I felt like I was flying. And then we would lie on the grass, watching the clouds drift by as he told me stories about dragons and princesses.

During one of those lazy Sunday afternoons, when I was no more than ten—still two years away from my parents’ death—we laid side by side under the shade of a tall oak tree when I asked him when my prince would come.

He chuckled and ruffled my hair. “Your prince will come when the time is right, my little dove. When you least expect it, when you’re not even looking. And when he does, you’ll know. Just like I knew with your mother. They’ll see you, truly see you, and love you for it.”

I remember clinging to those words, believing them with the unshakable faith of a child. I imagined my prince as someone kind and brave, someone who would protect me and make me laugh, just like my father did. But as the years passed, that belief began to crumble. The princes I met were nothing like the ones in my father’s stories. They were charming, yes, but their promises were as fleeting as their smiles.

Now, sitting across from Lucas, I wonder if the problem is me. Maybe I’m the one who’s broken, unable to recognize love even if it’s staring me in the face.

Lucas is kind enough, his dark eyes warm and his smile easy, but there’s no spark, no pull that makes my heart race or my breath catch. He’s telling me about his latest art project, his hands waving as he describes the colors and textures he’s experimenting with, and I nod along, forcing a smile. Olivia insisted on this setup, her voice filled with so much hope that I couldn’t say no.

But this isn’t what I want. Not really.

Lucas reaches across the table to take my hand in his, a warm smile on his lips. His touch, though gentle and reassuring, doesn’t ignite anything within me. It’s pleasant but hollow. I force myself to return his smile, but my mind drifts, restless and unsatisfied. I feel like a fraud, sitting here pretending to be interested in someone when my heart is elsewhere, tangled in a mess I can’t seem to unravel.

“Tiffany?” Lucas’s voice pulls me back to the present, his lovely brown eyes fixed on mine. “I really like you.”

I look down at my untouched plate of spaghetti bolognese and try to come up with the right words.

He likes me. Of course, he does. I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me.

Lucas Bowler is smart, easygoing, and kind. His dark brown hair, chiseled features, and long, lean body give him the appearance of a model or a movie star. He’s the kind of man most women would be thrilled to have sitting across from them, his attention focused solely on them.

“I like you too, Lucas,” I say softly, my voice catching. It’s not a lie—not entirely. I do like him. He’s sweet, thoughtful, and undeniably attractive. But the words feel incomplete, like a half-truth I’m forcing myself to believe in.

“I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I might be coming on too strong.”

“No, not at all,” I reply quickly. “You’ve been wonderful.”

Lucas’s smile widens, and he leans in. “There’s this new art exhibit opening next weekend, and I thought we could check it out together. The artist uses some innovative techniques I find fascinating.”

The thought of another date, another evening spent pretending to feel something I don’t, makes my chest tighten. But Lucas is looking at me with such sincere hope, his dark eyes shining with expectation, that I can’t bring myself to say no. Not when Olivia went out of her way to set this up. Not when I know she’s only trying to help.

“That sounds lovely.”

His face lights up. “Great! I’ll get us tickets. Maybe you can come over to my place after and we can have dinner? I’d love to cook for you.”

My heart sinks at the suggestion. Dinner at his place feels too intimate, too soon. I’m not ready for that level of closeness. Not with him. Not with anyone.

“Oh, I don’t know if I can do dinner,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “I like you. I’m just not sure I’m ready for more.”

Lucas’s smile falters, but he quickly recovers. “Of course, I don’t want to rush things. We can take things as slow as you need. There’s no pressure.”

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