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Prologue I
Chassie
There are three people in this world that I will never forgive until the day I die. These people have burned me to my core, drowned me in an endless sea of tears, or stolen my happiest moments in exchange for ones filled with heartache.
Their names and offenses are etched onto my “Infinite F.U. List” in permanent marker—with every detail of their betrayal drafted and underlined in bright red ink. This list is currently stashed away in a security box, where my friends and family will find it after they’ve read my last will and testament.
Okay, wait.
Am I being slightly dramatic about this? Of course.
Haven’t I ever heard the phrase “Forgive and forget?” Nope.
Is this list truly necessary? Absolutely.
The first offender is my former stepmother, Laurelin-Rose Viviana Pruitt. In addition to having one of the most pretentious names on the planet, she maintained a new affair for every year that she was married to my father. She broke his heart so terribly that years of intense therapy were never able to set him right again.
The second offender is my best friend since sixth grade, Amy Warren. Well, she was my best friend.
Weeks before my birthday party, she decided to “live her truth” by revealing that she’d been sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back. Not only that, but she let me know that she was pregnant with his baby.
Oh, and apparently, they filmed a sex tape on my bed. (She and my ex-boyfriend are actually sharing this spot on my list; I just refuse to acknowledge the latter’s existence.)
The third and final offender is the worst of all, though.
It’s Mr. Tyler “Cocky as Ever” Hudson.
With his perfectly chiseled jawline and stunning hazel gaze, he fooled me into forgetting that he was Satan in disguise.
He was an utter asshole who couldn’t help one-upping me at every turn when we were in college. Ruthlessly competitive and obsessed with being number one, he wielded his charm like a weapon—stabbing me in the back whenever I was foolish enough to turn around.
To this day, there are specific ‘incidents’ between us that still play in my mind whenever I think about him. They make me wonder why I ever bothered attempting to be his friend when he was always meant to be an enemy.
By the time he became valedictorian and dared to ask, “Would you like to start things over and be friends?” I was far too wise to fall for it.
After graduating and finishing law school, I moved out of the hometown that was far too stifling for me to coexist with people I hated.
I started a new life in Manhattan, made better friends with a brand-new identity, and vowed never to cross paths with any of my enemies ever again.
Or, so I thought.
Prologue II
Tyler
If you believe a single word that the woman before me just told you, then you’re as delusional as she is.
And that’s a damn shame.
Her “Infinite F.U. List” may be written in permanent marker—with the details underlined in bright red ink, but she didn’t stash it away in a security box.
She posted it on Facebook for the entire world to see. She also tagged me to it and talked shit about me in the comments.
When I pointed out that there was a typo in the third line—and that she was as ruthlessly competitive as I was, she blocked me. (This was quite unfortunate because, despite being the queen of exaggerations, the pictures she used to post were always sexy as hell.)
As far as the “specific incidents” she mentioned, there are two sides to every story, and she’s an enemy in my version as well.
You can decide which part you believe at the end, though …
Chassie
Present Day
Manhattan, New York
~For Rent~
* * *
Luxury 2 Bedroom Apt. in the Heart of Manhattan
Beautiful View of Downtown
Deluxe kitchen
Premium Hardwood Floors
Granite Countertops & Glam Galore
Private Soundproof Studio
2.5k/month plus utilities
“Is this the right place?” I refreshed the advertisement on my phone’s screen a few more times, looking around the living room in utter disbelief.
The “beautiful view” gave front row access to a former asylum, complete with prison bars to match. The “premium hardwood floors” were linoleum, and strips of yellow caution tape blocked the kitchen’s entryway.
Is that a cockroach on the ceiling?
“This is totally the right place, Miss Heritage.” The realtor, a short guy who’d flirted with me all morning, nodded his head. “Allow me to show you to the master bedroom.”
I bit my tongue and followed him down a narrow hallway.
The cockroach followed, too.
“This room was originally meant to serve as a parlor, but the owner decided to switch things around at the last minute.” He stepped through a doorway and hit the lights, illuminating a tiny room that looked as if it’d been neglected since 1975.
Layers of dust and cobwebs clung to every space, and gritty grey plastic covered the furniture.
