Page 95 of Mystic's Sunrise

I stood there, breathing hard, my fists aching from how tight I’d been clenching them.

It was over. Finally. Fucking. Over. But the victory felt hollow, because Zeynep was still gone.

And I had no idea how to get her back.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

I DIDN’T KNOWhow far I walked.

The road stretched ahead of me, bathed in pale moonlight, the night sounds barely reaching my ears. My heartbeat was too loud, too uneven, drowning out everything else.

I was trying to breathe. Trying to stay upright.

But my legs felt weak.

I had run out of the clubhouse like I was on fire, but no matter how far I got, the pain inside me didn’t lessen. It was still there, clawing at my chest, wrapping around my throat.

Mystic is married.

The words rang in my skull, over and over, until I felt like I was going to be sick.

He lied. He let me believe. Let me feel safe. Let me love him.

And I was stupid enough to fall for it.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, the hum of an engine growing louder. I ignored it, kept walking, my arms wrapped around myself, holding my fractured pieces together.

Then—the car slowed.

My spine stiffened.

The tires crunched over gravel as it pulled to the side of the road just ahead of me. I barely had time to react before the driver’s side door swung open and a woman stepped out, her.

The wife.

The one who had shattered everything in a single sentence.

She was still wearing that same smirk, the one that had sent my stomach twisting into knots back in the clubhouse. “You look like you could use some company.”

I turned away. I wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t worth my breath.

But she took a few steps closer, her heels not slowing her down. “Come on now, don’t be like that.” She let out a fake, amused sigh. “I wanted to have a little chat, woman to woman.”

I kept walking.

She laughed. “You really thought you had him, didn’t you?”

I stopped and my hands curled into fists. The night air felt too thick, too heavy. I turned my head just enough to see her, standing there in the glow of her headlights, arms crossed, watching me like I was pitiful.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “You think you’re the first one he’s tried to play hero for? The first broken little thing he’s scooped up?” She let out a sharp laugh. “You’re adorable.”

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.

Don’t listen. Don’t let her in.

She took another step toward me, her voice lowering, dripping with faux sympathy. “I get it. He makes you feel special, doesn’t he? Like he actually cares?” She let out a soft tsk. “Sweetheart, he doesn’t love you. He just loves feeling like a savior. Like he can fix something, because God knows he can’t fix himself.”

The breath punched from my lungs.

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