Loving you brings regret

Philip’s voice was icy, his eyes—the ones I had drawn over and over—now completely foreign.

I didn’t answer, just kept walking.

“Apologize to Lauren right now, and I might still think about taking you back.”

Maybe my retreat was too determined. This time, a trace of urgency edged into his tone.

I stopped, looked up, and met his gaze.

“Philip, I’m tired.”

For a second, he seemed startled by my red-rimmed eyes.

Then he stepped forward and grabbed my face roughly, indifferent to the paint smearing his hands.

“Since when did you grow a spine, Elizabeth?”

“So tough now, are you? Then why were you crying and screaming my name back then? And why did you wear that dress?”

An uncontrollable pain tightened in my chest.

At eighteen, Philip had wept and sworn revenge for me.

At twenty-three, he was interrogating me about a dress.

Seeing his bloodshot eyes, a deep weariness washed over me. I pulled my hand free and walked away without looking back.

“You’ll regret this, Elizabeth!”

Yes. I already did. But that dress had been his gift for my eighteenth birthday.

In the days that followed, no matter where I applied, not a single studio would take me. I knew why.

Then, out of nowhere, my mother texted me. A flyer for a high-paying job flashed on the screen.

The phone rang instantly.

“Elizabeth, it’s been days. Your brother is all I have left. If it weren’t for him, *you’d* be the one in that hospital bed!”

She’d said it before. If Dad hadn’t taken my brother that day, my brother wouldn’t be lying in a coma.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles ached. “I don’t want to go begging to Philip again. Just give me a little more time.”

“You’d better hurry. I don’t care if you have to beg him, drink with him, or whatever—get me that money now!”

The call cut off. I looked at the only photo on my wall, the one of me and Dad, and felt my nose sting.

The job was at the largest bar in Ashford.

The manager took one look at me and slid a contract across the table.

“Perfect! A lot of the trust-fund crowd goes for your look.”

His gaze was lecherous, sweeping over me as if I were merchandise.

Nausea churned in my stomach, but the thought of my brother kept me rooted. “It’s just delivering fruit platters, right? Nothing else?”

He nodded, offering repeated assurances. “It’s all in the contract. Nothing else.”

I signed.

He waved a hand, and a girl hurried out from the back to lead me to the dressing room.

Clad in a tight bunny outfit, I carried the platter and walked stiffly to the assigned private room.

The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Lauren seated among a group of men, watching me with smug anticipation.

The room buzzed. I kept my head down, instinctively tugging at the scant fabric. Under all those stares, I tried to make myself invisible.

“Well, if it isn’t Elizabeth Elizabeth? A renowned painter by day, a waitress by night?”

At Lauren’s taunt, my whole body flinched. My fingers on the platter turned bone-white.

“Your order is all here. Enjoy your evening.”

Head bowed, posture submissive, I tried to slip out quickly.

But no one in that room was going to let me leave so easily.