Shattered: A Dark Romance

The estate is decorated elegantly and even though we’re days away from Halloween, there's not one orange or black decoration in sight. No skulls, no roses—absolutely nothing to celebrate Halloween. No reminder of what occured last time a huge party was held here.

Though, this party is larger. Hundreds of people are scattered through the place. Sitting in chairs, standing around high top tables and scattered throughout the formal living room, swaying to the music.

There’s a pianist seated at the black grand piano, his fingers dancing across the keys sending a soothing rhythm out into the room. “Humor me, hmm?” Noah purrs into my ear. “Dance with me.”

I let him lead me. There's not a formal dance floor, just a small space where a handful of other couples are. He wraps his strong arms around my waist, pulling my hips close to his. We sway with the music, nothing fancy, and still it takes effort for me not to lean into him, sink into his embrace.

“Mik,” he whispers, his voice pleading with me. “I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t like this.” He inhales deeply, and blows out a rush of air. “I wanted to keep you safe, I didn’t want to hurt you like this.”

Every other word that leaves his lips is about safety. The desperate pleas are grating on me. What is he keeping me safe from?

What is he lying about?

“What are you talking about?” I whisper heatedly. “What is there to keep me safe from.”

His dark eyes soften as he peers down at me. He leans in slowly, letting his lips graze my forehead. “I just want you to be happy,” he murmurs.

I believe him. Grief radiates from him, but when he says the words his voice is sturdy and I believe him.

“There you are.” Edward's voice comes between us and Noah pulls his head away from mine. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

Noah’s grip leaves my waist and I miss the warmth once it’s gone. Miss him holding onto me.

My heart is ripped right down the middle again. The threads that were holding it together shattered to pieces. I find myself torn between what we were and what we are. No clue what I should be doing or how I should be acting with him.

I’m thankful for Edward’s interruption, something to end that conversation, end those apologies for something I don’t understand.

“The man of the hour.” He says clapping Noah on the shoulder, beaming from ear to ear.

Noah returns the grin, except his is dimmer, less vibrant. “A free man.” Noah says, his eyes directed to his father.

Only they would throw a party to celebrate murder charges being dropped after they bribed someone to do it.

I roll my eyes, and try to spin away, but a hand grasps onto my elbow, dragging me back. “Mikaela,” Edward smiles, and I glance down at his hand wrapped around my arm. “We need a drink to celebrate.”

Edward drags us to his office, reaching for the bar cart where he keeps the more expensive bottles. “We need a good drink.” He pulls the bottle of whiskey out, keeping his back to us while he pours into the crystal tumblers. Spinning around, he slides all three glasses onto the desk in front of us.

“Cheers,” Noah says with a smile, clinking his glass against his fathers. They look at me expectantly, and hesitantly I raise me glass to meet theirs. The crystal clinks against the other glasses before I bring it to my lips, letting the amber liquid slip down my throat. It burns, and I find myself coughing afterward, hating the taste.

“Will you give us a minute, Mikaela?” Edward asks, and his eyes flash between me and his son. Noah gives me a soft smile, gesturing for me to leave them and I happily do.

Taking my glass of pure fire, I leave the two of them in Edward’s office.

I find Laurel in line at the bar, her phone glued to her hands as taps furiously on it. “Hey,” she says once her eyes rise from the device. “How are you doing?”

I was thankful to have her the night before, to have a friendly face that I didn’t distrust. “I’m fine,” I respond. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”

She shrugs, tossing a strand of dark hair over her shoulder. “Don’t mention it. We all have rough patches.”

I want to tell her that mine feels like more than a patch, but I stop myself. I don’t want to scare off the only nice person I’ve talked to in a while.

“What’s in that?” Laurel asks, nudging her finger at the glass of whiskey.

“Ugh,” I groan. “Some fancy ass rich person whiskey. Here,” I push the glass toward her. “Try it.”

Laurel takes the tumbler from my hands, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a sip. As the liquid touches her lips, her green eyes go wide. “You need to throw up,” she says frantically. “Where’s the bathroom?”

I point down the hall, confused, but I follow her to the bathroom as she pulls on my arm leading me down the hallway and into the room, locking the door behind us.