Your Regret Isn't My Problem

"Lena, look!" Briana cooed, dragging out the word like she was on stage. "Isn't the birthday gift Eric gave me beautiful? It's a global LIMITED edition."

The crowd jumped in right on cue.

"So pretty!"

"Eric really knows how to treat her!"

I dropped my gaze, fingers curling into fists.

Eric's smile twitched. He gave Briana's wrist a light tug. "That's enough. Cut it out."

She pouted but backed off. Eventually.

Eric gave me a cold glance. "I brought the bracelet. Just play nice, make Briana happy, and it's yours later."

"Play nice?" I said. "You mean go along with your little humiliation game?"

"Don't be ungrateful," he warned, voice dropping. "I still have the bracelet."

Briana jumped in, all fake-sweet. "Lena, don't be mad. Everyone's just teasing."

Right on cue—

"Yeah, Lena, don't be so sensitive."

"Guess some bumpkins just don't belong in high society."

Every word sliced like a knife.

My hand clenched at my side, palm slick with sweat.

I told myself to suck it up.

That bracelet—my family's heirloom—was still in Eric's hands. I couldn't risk losing it.

Eric looked smug, like my silence was proof I'd stay in line.

"Come on, Lena," he said, handing me a glass. "Give Briana a toast. Wish her a happy birthday."

The crowd started chanting, "Drink! Drink! Drink!"

I took the glass, eyeing the murky mix.

It was clearly a mashup of whatever they had on hand.

But for the bracelet, I swallowed my pride.

Eyes shut, I downed it in one shot.

The taste hit weird—salty, bitter. Almost made me gag.

But I forced it down and held out my hand. "Bracelet."

Eric clicked his tongue and tossed me the velvet case.

As I turned to go, I heard him whisper to Briana, "It's just a bracelet. I'll get you a better one."

I didn't look back.

This time around, I wanted nothing to do with them.

But life doesn't always play fair.

***

I'd barely stepped out of the clubhouse when a black van pulled up, quiet as a whisper.

The side door slid open with a sharp clang. A few guys in baseball caps jumped out—fast, ruthless, eyes like ice.

I clutched the velvet case to my chest. My palm was soaked.

"That's her. Go!" the lead guy barked.

Before he even finished, a fist came flying.

I flinched back—straight into a wall.

Nowhere to run.

A punch slammed into my shoulder, and everything blurred.

One of them grabbed my wrist and slammed me back against the wall.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I spat.

No answer. Just fists and kicks, dull and brutal.

I curled around the case, trying to protect it.

Then someone kicked me in the gut.

I hit the ground, gasping. The case slipped from my arms and hit the pavement.

Crack.

The antique glass-inlay bracelet spilled out—and shattered.

Just like that.

The men froze, eyes flicking to the broken pieces.

"Go," the leader said. Cold.

They disappeared into the night.

I lay there, gasping. Arms, face—everything burned.

My eyes locked on the shattered bracelet. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking.