Sweet Temptation: A Trick-Or-Treat Collaboration

She lifts her head, begging me with her eyes. “You think this is my fault? You think that I don’t know that you’re in love with my husband?”

My eyes and mouth freeze wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. My dirty little secret’s exposed. How? Why? Questions ram into my confused mind while she continues to openly attack me.

“For once, you’re second best. He wanted me, not you. Do you know how satisfying it has been to watch you pine for a man who wouldn’t even blink an eye and notice you in the same room?” The shrill in her voice is more than vindictive, it’s downright mean.

“Stop, Morgan! Before I—”

“Before you do what, Scarlett? Ruin my life? It’s already fucking ruined!” Her voice echoes out into the night. The kitchen staff even turn their heads from inside upon hearing this above their own noise.

How dare she.

She’s hurting, I know.

But the stupid little bitch brought this all upon herself.

She had the best thing inside her bedroom each night and ruined it all because of what? Her career? She is, and always has been, so fucking selfish.

“I’m done,” I seethe on the verge of lashing out in some sort of hate rant. “Don’t talk to me. Okay?” Lifting my dress above my ankles, I turn in the opposite direction before the tears escape and run down my cheeks. The little bitch! How dare she call me second best.

“Where are you going? Let me guess… you’re off to find Noah? Persuade him to leave me for good, and fall in love with you?” she mocks, followed by a heartfelt hurtful laugh.

With a rapidly beating heart which is almost killing my breathing on this very spot, I spin around. “You’re doing a damn fine job pushing him away, and as for falling in love with me, just remember who he wanted first. It wasn’t you.”

I turn back at the same time Morgan screams, “You slut.”

Suddenly, my body is pulled backward, her hands latch onto the straps of my dress.

A jolt of electricity ricochets between us, forcing her back and causing me to leap forward.

My breaths are shallow—the shock blinding my vision.

Struggling to open my eyes, the swirl of light begins to focus until I spot Morgan on the ground, lying on her side and breathing heavily.

I extend my arm to help her up, but she turns away. “Just leave me alone. Go do what you do best… homewrecker.”

Her words cut me like a knife, running so deep and leaving a permanent scar where the imaginary blade ran across. We’ve had fights, being sisters, but never name-calling or to this extent.

And this fight, these toxic and harmful words, they can never be taken back.

Walking inside, leaving her to wallow in her own self-pity, my head hangs low as I fight back the tears. Heading straight for the bar while ignoring everyone around me, I have no solution but to drown this mess in some hard liquor.

I sit on the barstool, biting my lip to stop the ugly sobs from surfacing. Without looking at who’s serving me, I ask for a double shot. The bartender pushes it over, and I slam it down, begging for another.

He hesitates, eyeing me curiously. “You might want to slow down. Tequila fixes a lot of things, but I don’t think it’s going to fix whatever you need it to fix.”

I search his shirt for his name tag—Adriel.

“Adriel, is it?”

He nods with a potent smirk, continuing to clean the glass in front of him. Waiting patiently, he raises his eyebrows with curiosity, watching me in silence.

“You’re paid to serve my guests, including me. I don’t need a therapist, nor a Dr. Phil session. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you keep pouring those drinks for me. You understand??

??

I expect him to sharpen up, pour me my goddamn drink, and shut the hell up. But the nerve of this kid. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a kid, but he looked young. A clean crew cut, part of his job description, I assume. His eyes are extremely light hazel in color, a contrast from his ebony skin, and he’s wearing an earring. I hate earrings on men. The gold stud stands out like a beacon of flashing light. Valentino would love him. So, he’s attractive but an asshole for telling me to slow down.

“I may be paid to serve, and if anyone needs this job, it’s me. But I’ll tell you something, miss…” He searches my face, the asshole waiting for me to respond, “Winters,” I grit.