Page 6 of Only Fate

During their time arguing and healing from their loss, they fell in love. Honestly, I think they’d had feelings for each other long before Amelia and Chris even started dating. It took time for her to admit her feelings for him.

Falling for your deceased fiancé’s best friend isn’t exactlyideal. But now, they’re happily in love and run the brewery together.

Callie arranges our empty shot glasses at the end of the table. “You could ask him to refer new clients to you or buy him out.”

“If you can’t join them, beat them,” Mia says, pulling a tube of lip gloss from her Prada bag. “Revenge is best served as competition.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mia tells me when she pulls into the driveway of my parents’ house. “You stood up for yourself.”

I solemnly smile and nod.

The reality of leaving the firm is now fully hitting me, thanks to the tequila.

Instead of making me forget my problems, it only caused me to remember them more, like a nonending movie replay.

Drunk Essie is an emotional Essie, which is annoying.

Which is also why Mia drove me home.

“Do you need help getting inside?” she asks.

I shake my head and step out of her red Mercedes. “Thank you for driving me home.”

“Take two Advil and drink lots of water,” she calls to my back before I shut the door and walk toward my parents’ backyard.

When my parents built their house, they added two pool houses on the back of the property. Though I refer to them as cottages. One for me and one for my twin brother, River. They said we could design them and live here as long as we wanted.

I went with a cute cottage aesthetic with pastel colors. The furniture consists of antique pieces I’ve gathered while estate shopping with my mother. Everything here has character—from the baby-blue chest with hand-painted doves in the entryway tothe asymmetrical, handcrafted forest-green velvet couch to the English oak coffee table.

I kick off my boots and start stripping out of my clothes on my way to my bedroom. I flip on the light, and nausea swirls in my stomach when I look in the mirror.

My scarred skin.

After all these years, I still struggle with the sight of it.

I feel defective.

On the outside, everyone sees me as this confident attorney.

But inside, I’m far from that.

What’s worse is that every time I see myself naked, it’s a reminder of that night.

I hurriedly button my pajama shirt and toss my dirty clothes into the hamper.

Just as I settle in bed, my phone beeps with a message.

I glare at it while reading the text.

Adrian: We need to talk.

He hasn’t texted me in years. I only have his number because the firm required us to share ours with everyone.

I reply.

Me: I never want to talk to you again.

Adrian: Don’t expect for that to ever be a reality.

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