Kianna Mckinney POV:
My mind went blank. A white-hot shock surged through me, paralyzing my limbs. This was it. The moment I had replayed a thousand times in my teenage fantasies, the kiss I had yearned for, dreamt of, prayed for. But it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.
His hands, rough and clumsy, were no longer the gentle, protective hands of my childhood. They fumbled at my clothes, his drunken kisses growing more insistent, more forceful. A wave of disgust, cold and sharp, washed over me, cutting through the shock. This wasn't love. This wasn't even desire. This was a violation.
"Jordan! Stop!" I gasped, pushing against his chest, my voice a strangled whisper. He barely registered it, his weight heavy, crushing.
"Gwyneth, come on," he mumbled against my lips, his voice thick with lust and alcohol. "Let's go upstairs."
My blood ran cold. Gwyneth. He thought I was Gwyneth. The realization hit me like a physical blow, shattering the last fragments of my broken heart. My dream, my fantasy, was nothing but a drunken mistake, a cruel mockery of the love I had harbored for him.
"No! Jordan! It's Kianna!" I screamed, my voice raw, filled with a pain that ripped through my very soul. "It's me! Kianna!"
He paused, his body stiffening. His eyes, though still hazy, flickered open, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. My name, spoken with such anguish, seemed to pierce through the alcohol-induced haze.
He stared at me, his gaze unfocused, bewildered. But then, to my horror, he just tightened his grip, pulling me into a suffocating hug. "Kianna," he murmured, his voice soft, almost childlike. "Stay. Please. Don't leave."
My body stiffened further. Part of me, the desperate, love-struck girl, wanted to melt into his embrace, to soothe his pain, to stay. But the new Kianna, the one forged in the fires of betrayal and neglect, fought back. I struggled against him, my hands pushing at his chest.
His grip was surprisingly strong. "No, please," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Just stay here. With me." Then, his head lolled to the side, his breathing deepening. He was out cold. Asleep.
I was trapped. Pinned beneath him, his heavy arm draped over me, his head resting on my shoulder. His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and cheap alcohol, filled my nostrils, sickening me. I lay there, rigid, unable to move, unable to breathe. The disgust warred with a strange, perverse comfort. He was holding me. But he thought I was her.
Sleep, heavy and unwelcome, eventually claimed me. I woke with a start, the first rays of dawn filtering through the curtains. My body ached, my limbs stiff. Jordan was still there, his arm still around me, his head buried in my hair.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked, confusion clouding his features. He looked at me, then at his surroundings, his eyes widening in alarm.
"Kianna? What are you doing in my bed?" His voice, rough with sleep, was laced with accusation, with disgust. He recoiled, pushing himself away from me as if I were something vile, something unclean.
My cheeks flushed crimson. The memory of his drunken kiss, his fumbling hands, the agonizing realization that he thought I was Gwyneth, flooded my mind. I scrambled to sit up, pulling the sheets tighter around me, my body trembling.
"Jordan, I-" I tried to explain, to tell him how he had stumbled in drunk, how I had only tried to help him, how he had mistaken me for her. But he cut me off, his eyes cold, his face a mask of anger.
"Don't," he spat, his voice low and menacing. "Don't even start, Kianna. I know what you're doing. You're always trying to worm your way into my life, aren't you? Trying to cause trouble between me and Gwyneth. I warn you, Kianna, stay away from her. Stay away from me. Don't you dare try to pull something like this again."
His words, sharp and cruel, pierced through me. Disappointment, disgust, hatred. I saw it all in his eyes. He truly believed I was capable of such a thing. He truly believed I would exploit his drunken state. The man who had once been my protector, my hero, now looked at me with open contempt.
My throat tightened. What was the point? He wouldn't believe me. He had already judged me, condemned me. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. It was a meaningless apology, a surrender to an injustice I could not fight.
He glared at me, then turned away, stalking out of the room without another word. The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence. I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping, tracing a path down my cheek. He was gone. And this time, he had taken my last shred of dignity with him.
Just a few hours left. My flight was tonight. This was it. The final push. The final act of defiance.
I quickly dressed, my movements stiff, mechanical. I had to leave. Now. Before I shattered completely. I opened the door, ready to make my escape, when I saw her. Gwyneth. Standing in the hallway, her face a mask of cold fury.
Her eyes, narrowed slits, raked over me, then flickered to the closed door of Jordan's room. "So," she hissed, her voice low and venomous, "you finally got what you wanted, didn't you? Slipping into his bed while he was drunk. You little slut."
My face drained of color. I stammered, "No, Gwyneth, it's not what you think. Jordan was-"
She cut me off, her hand raised, her eyes blazing. "Don't lie to me. I saw you. Coming out of his room. Don't think for a second I don't know your little game. You've always been jealous, haven't you? Always trying to steal him away."
The accusations, so vile, so baseless, hit me with the force of a physical blow. I recoiled, my hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob behind me. I had to get away.
"Get back in there!" she snarled, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my door. "And don't you dare come out until I say so."
I stumbled backwards, into my room, pulling the door shut behind me. But Gwyneth, relentless, followed, pushing the door open and stepping inside, her eyes gleaming with malice. She slammed the door shut behind her, the thud echoing in the small room.
"What did you do, Kianna?" she demanded, her voice a low growl. "What disgusting little trick did you pull to get him in your bed?"
"I didn't do anything," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He was drunk. He thought I was you."
She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh, please. Don't be so pathetic. You think I believe that? You're a leech, Kianna. A parasite. Always clinging to him, always trying to be something you're not. Well, let me tell you something." She stepped closer, her face inches from mine, her breath hot and unpleasant. "Jordan is mine. And if you ever, ever try to come between us again, I will make sure you regret it. I will make sure you lose everything. Do you understand?"
I stared at her, my mind reeling. The venom in her words, the pure, unadulterated hatred in her eyes, chilled me to the bone. This was a side of Gwyneth I had never seen, a darkness I hadn't imagined.
"I didn't try to-" I began, my voice barely a whisper.
She slapped me, a sharp, stinging blow that snapped my head back. My cheek burned. "Don't you dare interrupt me, you little whore!" she hissed, her eyes blazing. "You think you can just waltz in here and take what's mine? I'll destroy you, Kianna. I promise you that. If you ever tell anyone about this, or if you even think about trying to mess with my relationship, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand?"
I swallowed, the taste of blood in my mouth. There was no point. No point in arguing, no point in explaining. She had already decided. I was the villain, the schemer, the home-wrecker.
She stared at me for another long, terrifying moment, then turned, her movements sharp and decisive. She strode to the door, yanked it open, and slammed it shut behind her, the sound echoing through the house, leaving me alone in the ringing silence.
I slid down the wall, my legs giving out, and curled into a ball on the floor. My cheek throbbed, my heart ached, and my soul felt utterly, irrevocably broken. The double blow, Jordan's accusation and Gwyneth's brutal assault, had shattered me. There was nothing left. No more hope. No more love. Just emptiness. I lay there, tears streaming down my face, silent, heartbroken, but finally, truly free.
