Before Dawn: a Prequel Novella to Where the Stars Fall

2 Regrets ~ Brian

London, 24 July

National Institute of British Architects Gala

Some say betrayal always comes from the ones you least expect. They're damn right. Trust is a luxury not everyone can afford, that's one of the life lessons I had to learn the hard way. One I needn't be reminded of, not today.

​Then there are those who believe that truly sociable people hate social events. Frankly, right now I'm inclined to think they, too, are right. Yet, here I am, in my black-tie attire, walking up these stairs, the sound of hurried steps mingling with those of distant piano notes and excited chatter.

​I knew I'd regret it anyway, if I hadn't come to tonight's award ceremony. After all, there's a lot at stake here. Besides, regrets are always about bad choices – and I obviously already had enough poor choices for one day.

​As I push through the large door and close it behind me, the vast open space immediately becomes claustrophobic, almost suffocating.

​Though there is a dining table with my name on it somewhere, I stride across the crowded room and head to the bar instead. "I'll have a whisky. Straight."

​With a nod, the bartender grabs the bottle.

"Make it a double, please." I clench my jaw to control the wave of remorse sweeping over me.

A burst of cheering and applause fills the hall, vibrating within me like the rumble of approaching thunder. I turn and scan the room until my gaze rests on her, chatting with a woman I've never seen before.

Utterly elegant, with a touch of sophistication. The off-the-shoulder champagne dress against fair skin. The perfectly etched features. The long blond hair cascading down her back. The sapphire eyes. The slightly parted red lips. An almost ethereal beauty.

Too bad she's a cheating liar, the voice of reason screams inside my head.

I observe them for a moment. Mary, the woman who once meant so much, and Peter Rogers, the man who'd always been like a second father to me. Their intimate glances and knowing smiles. His hand running up and down her back in slow, gentle strokes, tracing the shape of her. The confident expression on his face as he proudly displays her, his latest accomplishment.

Shaking my head in disgust, I tighten my hand around the glass, my throat aching from suppressing the emotions. I stare at the amber liquid in front of me before I gulp it down in one swallow. It's a futile attempt to wash away the anger inside.

Here's the bare truth about deception: it's happened to us all, one time or another. You've put your trust in someone only to find out later they were lying to your face, and you were being played in accordance with their own twisted agenda. It may knock you down and consume you until you crawl onto your feet again. And even when you do, your mind may still occasionally wander back and let it eat at you.

That's exactly what's happening today. 

Since Mary came to my doorstep uninvited, wanting to talk.

I should have told her to leave immediately when she showed up with that nonsense, saying she missed me, that she was sorry and wanted me back. But I didn't. I just sat and listened numbly, not knowing what to say.

The next thing I know, she's kissing me. I didn't react for a second, but then I kissed her back. Hard. Furiously. Hands roaming her body like they had so many times before.

Out of longing? Out of raw lust? Out of pure anger?

I've no idea. My mind was a blur, flooded with frustration and confused thoughts. With the need to punish her. To take revenge on both of them. Some kind of wild justice to make them pay for what they'd done to me.