Chapter 4
Clarissa POV
“You’re Clarissa Stone,” Dante said behind me, “The same girl who built a treehouse with me when we were ten. The girl who told off that teacher for calling me dumb. You’re brave. And stubborn. And real. You’re just… buried under years of bullshit.”
I turned back to face him. “Then help me dig.”
“Always.”
There was a silence then filled with old memories and fresh. Dante stepped closer and gently reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like he used to when we were kids pretending not to have crushes on each other.
I didn’t lean in. Neither did he. He pulled back. “I’ll go now. Let you settle.”
“Will you come back?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“I do.”
He nodded once, slowly, and smiled. “Then I’ll bring dinner tomorrow. Something spicy. Something that’ll burn away every memory of that bastard.”
I laughed again, and this time it reached my eyes. As the door clicked shut behind him, I finally let myself breathe. Not just inhale. But breathe. Like I deserved to.
I dropped onto the bed like my bones had given up. The mattress wasn’t a king size foam or anything fancy, but it was clean, and more importantly, it wasn’t his.
Sprawled out, phone in hand, I scrolled mindlessly through reels, muted videos, and pictures of people pretending to be happy. Just as I was about to doze off, a notification popped up at the top of my screen.
One new message from: Sasha Bennett
Sasha?
I frowned, tapped it open, and blinked twice to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. A wedding invitation sparkled across my screen. White roses, golden script, the whole nauseating Pinterest aesthetic.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Sasha Bennett and Nicho Stone.
I stared. Then I laughed. I really laughed. “Oh, he’s so pressed,” I said out loud, sitting up. “Petty doesn’t even begin to cover this.”
The date? Two weeks from now. Two. He didn’t even wait for the ink on our contract to dry.
But what got me the most? It wasn’t Nicho’s face on the invite, smirking like he just won a game I never agreed to play. It was Sasha’s name in the sender box. She sent it to me.
“Girl, you’re desperate,” I muttered, shaking my head.
But then again, I had bigger plans. Ones that didn’t involve playing the jealous ex-wife. I was done crying. Now? I was going to burn him legally.
I tapped Dante’s name.
He picked up on the second ring. “You okay?”
“Oh, I’m peachy,” I said sweetly. “Guess what I just got?”
“I’m scared to ask.”
“A wedding invite.”
He paused. “Wait—what?”
“Nicho and Sasha. Apparently true love couldn’t wait.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish. And guess who sent it to me? Sasha. As if I’d show up and throw rice.”
Dante cursed under his breath. “That man’s unbelievable.”
“Well, I’m done being quiet.” My voice sharpened. “I want to hit him where it hurts.”
“You finally ready?” he asked, voice steady.
“I am.”
“Cass, I need everything. You still have the photos?”
“I’ve got more. I’m sending them all now.”
I opened my gallery and started forwarding the images. The first batch—pictures I’d taken secretly. Bruises on my ribs, the split lip from the wineglass incident, the one where I had a dark handprint on my arm. And the one that always made my chest tighten—the gash on my forehead from when he slammed the car door too fast. Or so he said.
Seconds later, Dante texted:
Got them. I’m saving copies and backing them up. Cass, these are enough to bury him.
I didn’t stop there. I took a screenshot of the wedding invite and forwarded that too.
A few seconds passed before he called me again.
“Why’d you send that too?” he asked.
“Because it shows motive. Timeline. Who gets married two weeks after a divorce unless they were already cheating?”
“Good point,” he muttered. “Cass, with what you’ve sent me, we can open a case. Not just civil—criminal. I’ve got a colleague in domestic violence litigation. I want you to meet her.”
“Set it up,” I said, standing up.
“You’re serious this time?”
“I’m beyond serious, Dante. I want him to pay. Every bruise. Every lie. Every time he made me feel small.”
He exhaled, proud and angry all at once. “Let’s ruin him legally. No more hiding.”
“No more,” I echoed.
After we hung up, I stretched, headed to the bathroom, and turned the tap. The sound of water rushing into the tub was weirdly soothing.
Until I opened the cabinet and realized—it was empty. Not even a bar of soap.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned. “Clarissa, you had one job.”
I grabbed my purse from the floor and checked for my wallet. Still there.
Dante had left me the car keys earlier, just in case I needed anything. I slipped on my sneakers, locked up, and made my way down the stairs.
Indr8ge to the mall listening to country music. I'm a few minutes, I arrived.
The mall was quiet, but the fluorescent lights made everything look too awake for this hour. I grabbed a cart and pushed through the aisles, tossing in everything I needed—soap, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, and then wandered into the groceries. Coffee, frozen meals, some fruit, milk, bread. The basics.
It felt good,, normal—even healing. By the time I made it to the register, my cart was nearly full. The cashier smiled politely as she rang everything up. I inserted my card without thinking.
Declined.
I blinked. Tried again.
Declined.
The cashier cleared her throat gently. “Um, ma’am, it seems—”
I felt the vibration before I even heard the ding. I pulled out my phone and saw a text from Nicho:
“Blocked your credit cards. Let’s see how long you last without my money.”
My jaw clenched. That smug, pathetic man-child.
I slipped my phone back into my purse slowly, exhaled, and gave the cashier the fakest smile I could manage. “One second.”
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