Last Heartbreak

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by H.M. Ward All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

LAREE BAILEY PRESS

First Edition: MARCH 2016

M
y father adjusts
his tie and jacket, recapturing his composure. He sweeps back his salt and pepper hair, every strand returning to its place. He runs his palm along the front of his tuxedo shirt, smoothing it before fixing his gaze on me.

It's as if nothing happened. It's like the way he grabbed my arm and tossed me across the balcony never occurred. It's as if he never dragged me to the edge of the concrete wall and shoved my cheek against the cold railing.

You'd never know what he’s capable of from looking at him, and no one ever will.

My father is powerful and wealthy. Only a handful of rivals in this city come close to providing a challenge. Everyone wants to be a Delacroix. We have class other families lack. Our panache and elegance exceed that of even the Ferro family, which is what Father craves—power, prestige, and position.

He turns on his heel without even a second glance in my direction, not bothering to ask if I'm hurt. He leaves my body skidding across the cold slate, dirt and slivers of stone embedding in my palms as I try to slow the momentum. I gasp from the ground, sucking in the damp night air while the New York City traffic rushes by below, unaware. Only the stars hanging in the inky night sky bear witness to my humiliation.

Clutching carved stone balustrade, I watch his tall, lean figure recede toward the ballroom with determined strides. His appearance offers no indication of the monster lurking beneath that pristine facade.

Things have been this way for a long time, but never this bad. Sure, I've been hit before, but not like this. Never in a public place and never leaving visible marks. My nails are a jagged mess from clawing at the slate and grout of the balcony, and my palms weep blood.

I stay where he threw me, knees pulled against my chest, staring blankly ahead, letting the wind soothe my wet face. Try though I may, I'm unable to think. There's nothing but cold wind I can't seem to feel, and darkness. In a city of millions, I'm thoroughly alone. The sole heiress to the Delacroix fortune, the only daughter of two socialites who care more about money than people—myself included.

No one cares about me. Not anymore.

Father's voice carries across the grand marble foyer leading to my private balcony high above the city. I can hear his voice booming an enthusiastic greeting until the breezeway door closes and shuts me out. I'm an accessory, something my parents didn't want, but shamelessly use now that I'm of age. The things they've had me do are deplorable. I can't look in a mirror anymore. The person I should be, whatever potential I had, died a long time ago.

This is what happens when I fight, when I refuse to fulfill Father's requests. As I dangled over the railing by my neck, his cruel face twisted with hatred and he snarled the words now etched in my mind.

"If I dropped you, no one would dream I did it. Poor little Kienna has been such a train wreck for so long. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. She never listens." His fingers press into my neck as I claw at his wrists, trying to hold on and pull away concurrently. My back bends over the railing and tears stream down my cheeks, leaping to freedom, lost to the vast expanse between the balcony and the pavement.

He watches me flail for a moment before releasing me. I drop to safety, sucking in ragged gasps of air, and coughing. He sighs, already bored as he peers down his nose at me. "You're not worth the stain you'd leave on the sidewalk. Pull yourself together and get back inside. When you obey, our encounters can become more pleasant."

Those words gong inside my skull until I can't hear anything else. My eyes are wide and stinging. It's in the back of my mind, a small voice, telling me to get out of here. Blink, stand, run away, but I'm frozen in place, all but crippled. Too many fists to my face, too many unwanted touches, too much has happened to help me now.

No one can help me.

No one can stop me.

I
don't think
about it. My body moves on autopilot as I rise, ignoring my torn gown. I hear my mother's voice ring in my ears as if she were standing next to me. If I hit the pavement below, she'd be more upset over my ruining this gown than over seeing my twisted carcass on the sidewalk.

I need to feel something besides anguish rushing through me. I need to feel the wind on my face, the bite of the cold night air. I want to feel something besides pain, and if it doesn't happen right now, I won't take another breath.

I slip my foot from one stiletto, then the other, leaving the Louis Vuitton's in my wake as I pad toward the massive stone railing at the other end of the balcony. The wall is shoulder height, perfect for resting your arms and gazing out at the New York City skyline. I wedge my feet between the balusters and climb, using the wall for balance.

People think penthouses and helicopters will make them happy, but I know the shocking truth. No one gets that rich without doing something horrible. For every dollar I've secured for this family, I've destroyed a piece of myself in the process. My soul withered and died. In its place grows a greedy shadow that sounds like my father. In this body, I could exceed any expectations they have for me—if I'd do things their way. I've slept with men to close deals. I've stolen, lied, and done things I never want to remember. I thought they'd applaud me, but they never did. My attempts were always lacking, always flawed.

I swing one knee onto the top of the balcony railing, press my other foot to the cold rail, hoisting myself upright in the shadows of the building. I don't want anyone to see. I just need a few moments alone.

I stand on the ledge and ignore the coldness of the stone. I'm aware of the sting on the pads of my feet, but still need more. I need the wind, a gust of glory to push back my demons, so I can walk back inside and go on with my life—so I can accept this shitty hand fate dealt me. I inch to the right, away from the wall, slowly moving toward the center of the balustrade. I stay just to the right of it, out of sight from the guests at the party still going on in the ballroom two walls behind me.

My thoughts crumble and a light smile plays on my lips. The air moves in currents around me, swirling the hem of my dress, dancing around my fingers. It caresses my body in a way no man could attempt. The light seduction feels like a dance. I close my eyes and raise my arms above my head. I tip my head back and let the sensation overtake me.

I want to feel light again. Once upon a time, my days were happy, not sorrowful. They were carefree, lacking in the careful calculations my current existence requires.

I lean forward and lift my chin. The wind catches my skirt, and I feel the silky fabric brush against my legs. I hear the scuffing of a shoe on stone. It's not until that moment that I realize the ledge isn't much wider than my feet, and there's nothing to help me regain my balance. My gaze cuts to the side, and my eyes widen. It's a man with dark hair and thick glasses. The wind whips around his messy locks as he sets down a tray of champagne flutes on a nearby café table. The golden liquid bubbling within those crystal vessels costs more than most people make in a year.

The waiter offers a crooked smile and puts his hands in his pants pockets. He inches toward me. "Hey."

I arch an eyebrow in his direction. I don't need a spectator. I'm surprised he hasn't shoved a camera in my face. "Go away," I snap, not caring what I sound like, and not at all considering what this looks like—torn dress, tearstained face, the ledge. The pieces should click together, but they don't.

He nods leisurely, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it back, and the dark rims of his glasses make it impossible not to notice his blue eyes. He scuffs his shoe on the ground again and turns away. "Okay. See you inside."

"Yeah," I mutter, still gazing longingly at the red and white lights moving below. The sound of a car horn travels up, muted by the wind. I blink lethargically, letting the sensation lick my skin.

He clears his throat, and I notice the guy is now near the railing a few feet below me. "Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt. I just need a smoke so bad right now."

"Smoking's a nasty habit."

He laughs and gestures to me as he rests his elbows on the rail beside my feet. He tips his head to the side, his expression quizzical. "So is swan diving off a high rise, but I'm not here to criticize. We all have our vices."

"I'm not diving off anything. I'm looking."

"At what?" His tone says he doesn't believe me.

Warmth returns to my feet and hands, making the sharp chill of the air more affecting and, in a blink, everything is clear. I'm on a ledge. I jump with the sudden realization and my weight shifts, knocking me off balance. I try to lean back to grab something, but there's nothing within reach. My hands rise and flail, trying to fix this. I can't die this way. I scream as my body turns to lead, falling forward without my permission.

The guy races to help me steady my footing, but he's not fast enough. Gravity's pull rips through me, and I turn, instinctively, grasping for the railing, panic overtaking my senses.

I'm falling.

And then I'm not.

I’m vaguely aware of dull pain in my arms and ribs. I look up to see my left arm hooked over the ledge. The waiter is leaning over the edge of the balcony at an impossible angle, gripping my right wrist tightly. I dangle from the skyscraper, feeling my heart climbing into my throat.

My feet kick as they try to find the ground, but they'll never touch the earth again. I'm going to die. I gasp and stare at the ground below, well aware this guy can't hold me like this much longer. I’m not strong enough to pull myself up and I feel my arms slipping.

His voice is deeper, more urgent. "Kienna! Look at me!"

My name. Someone said my name. I gaze up toward the sky and see his face. Remorse and fear mingle with panic as he holds me. His glasses are gone, and his piercing gaze seems even more intense. He has both hands on my wrist, and his words are gentle, but firm. "There's a good girl. I need a better grip."

My arms scream with pain. His fingers lock near my thumb joint. Tears rush down my cheeks as I shake my head. "Please, help me!"

"I am. You can do it, Kienna. Pull up with your left arm."

I glance up into his face for a few moments. I can't drag him down with me. It's as if he knows what I'm thinking. He smiles softly, reassuringly, the moonlight revealing the sheen of sweat on his face.

"Kienna? Listen to me. I'm going to pull you up."

"Drop me. I'm not worth this. Please, just let go." I swallow hard and release his arms, but he won't let go.

My choking desperation melts away enough to let me breathe. My body will listen to me now. Urgently, he commands, "Pull!"

I nod and try to overpower my natural instinct to claw the stone rail. Fingernails won't hold me, but this man can help. I've never put all my trust in someone like this, but I have no choice. I focus on my arms and pull.

Everything happens in slow motion, as if my life is crawling to a stop. I feel his grip on my wrist slipping. He leans forward and hooks his elbows under my armpits. He's going to fall with me. What have I done? He didn't deserve this.

His blue eyes widen as his fingers dig into my back. He yells a slew of expletives and jerks backward. My ribs collide with the railing and my feet find a place to support my weight on the outside ledge of the balustrade. Breathing hard, he laughs, "Holy shit! I can't believe that worked."

My heart thumps hard in my chest, threatening to crack it open. There's just the railing between us now. I feel him tense up as my gaze returns to the city street far below. I'm staring at the ground and then back at him in awe. "Why? Why did you do that?"

He licks his lips, and the corner of his mouth pulls up. "Because letting you splat on the sidewalk during the party would be bad for business?" He looks into my eyes as he speaks. His gaze feels as intimate as if he's known me forever, but I've never seen him before tonight.

"You don't even know me. You could have fallen with me. How could you do something so..." My voice fades and I stand there, slack-jawed, staring at him.

"Stupid? I'm reckless. Nothing more. Well, that and my feet were wedged in the drain space under the balustrade. They still are, and it hurts like hell. Can we get you back over the railing before we discuss why I'm a dumbass?"

I tuck my chin and avoid his gaze, which is hard because he's holding me so close. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I've never—" I can't say it. The words die in my mouth. As I look into his eyes, my unspoken thoughts run wild.

I've never had someone help me before.

I've never been so alone and had someone save me.

I've never been this close to someone who didn't use me.

The words don't spill over my lips, but from the look he gives me, they're etched on my face.

"You don't sound ungrateful at all. Come on, let's get you back on safe ground. Wrap your arms around my neck and don't let go."

I nod slowly and do as he says. I lace my fingers together and try to ignore the tightness in my chest. I'm utterly terrified, but for reasons I don't want to consider—reasons that have nothing to do with falling.

He tells me what he's going to do and asks for my help. The balls of my feet rest on the narrow ledge built to channel the rainwater off the building. It wasn't meant to hold my weight, and my trembling is getting worse. He pivots me slightly to the side, and the pressure on my ribs brings tears to my eyes.

"Sorry, but we have to do it this way." It's as if he can sense my pain—as if he cares, but why would he? Who cares if another socialite dies? My parents wouldn't shed a tear on my behalf.

"Okay, I'm ready." I grit my teeth as he pulls me up to sit on the railing. My hips rest on the stone for a moment, and I swing one leg over. The guy doesn't take any chances and pulls me hard. I topple over and land directly on his chest.

My lower lip trembles as my lips part. I have no words for something like this. Tears sting my eyes without falling. I wince and roll to the side. I don't thank him. I can't. Once I start bawling, I won't be able to stop. What kind of clusterfuck is my life when the kindness of a stranger is greater than the love of my parents?

The guy brushes off his tux but doesn't stand. He glances over at me. "Normally, I have trouble meeting women, but I have to say this was the best date I've had in a while. That last Tinder chick was insane. Seriously." He grins as he says it.

I sit next to him and manage not to scream—my body feels like a used punching bag, but somehow I smile. I can't help it. I rub my arms, trying to chase away the cold. He pulls off his jacket and slips it around my shoulders.

My mouth opens and, for some reason, I laugh. "Wow, that's bad. Tonight was better than a Tinder date?"

"Hell, yeah." He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath before glancing over at me. "I keep dating women with a fetish for leather. It looks attractive online, but, out here in the tangible world, dates with girls like that only end one way."

I blink, uncertain where this is going.

He laughs. "Let's just say the line between too-good-for-me and crazy-ex-girlfriend is thin."

I shake my head and stand, brushing the dirt from the remains of a once glorious custom Valentino gown. My mother is going to have a coronary when she sees it.

"So, what kind of girl are you looking for?"

He offers an awkward smirk. "If I could find a woman who appreciates comic books for more than the costumes, I could die a happy man."

I smile as I run the pads of my fingers along the Bvlgari chain at my throat, feeling the sharp cut of the icy diamonds. I want to give it to him. This necklace could change his life.

I'm a horrible person, and this man is everything I am not.

I reach for the clasp, but he puts his hand on my elbow. A surly look spreads across his face, and he bites his lower lip. "You scared me, you know? Do you want me to get someone? Some help?"

My hand reaches the clasp. I unhook it and let the diamonds pool in his hand. "I'm okay. Thanks."

He glances at his palm, then back at me. "What's this?"

"Take it. I want you to have it."

His warm eyes frost over and the temperature around us plummets. "Excuse me—" He works his jaw, the words dying in his throat.

He calms himself, leaning closer to place the necklace back in my hand, pressing my fingers closed around it. "I don't think you're in a place to hand off millions of dollars worth of diamonds tonight. Enough people have taken advantage of you. I won't be another."

His words pierce me deeply. "You don't know me," I whisper.

He shakes his head. "You're right. I don't."

"We've never met before."

He presses his lips together and doesn't reply.

His silence spooks me. I can't stand here anymore, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every other time in my life a person has acted this way, they'd done something to hurt me. I'm not staying to find out what he did. Guilt is hard to hide, and this guy has it plastered across his face.

I raise my head and nod once, the way I would at a formal introduction. "Very well, have it your way. Good evening."

I walk away without looking back. I have a sinking feeling my narrow escape from death will appear on YouTube before the night is over.