Angel's POV
Waking up this morning was bliss. I slept like a rock, woke up refreshed, and—miracle of miracles—I didn't wake up crying, screaming, or plotting anyone's death.
I was supposed to drop by Success's hospital today, but honestly? I wasn't sure I'd go. I felt too lazy to leave the bed. She'd only end up nagging me again, like she always does. Goddess love her, but sometimes I need peace, not a TED Talk on trauma healing.
Smiling to myself, I remembered the first time we ever talked about Chris.
---
Flashback
My eyes fluttered open to the pale morning light slipping through the curtains. I stayed still, already dreading the day. Therapy always left me exposed, raw, drained—even if I trusted her. Especially because I trusted her.
Success told me to come back today. And I had agreed. Ugh.
With a sigh, I tossed off my covers and swung my legs off the bed. My eyes landed on the appointment reminder she made me keep on my nightstand.
10:00 AM. Dr. Ryder.
My stomach turned. Today's topic was going to be him—Chris. I hadn't spoken about him in years. Not since everything went to hell. Why did I ever agree to this?
In the shower, warm water helped shake off sleep—but not the anxiety curling in my gut. I dressed on autopilot. My mind was already in that office, already breaking.
By the time I got to the kitchen, my chest felt tight. Coffee wouldn't fix this.
Chris's voice echoed in my head. His smile, his charm, his lies. His fists. His betrayal.
God, it still hurt.
"Stop," I whispered. But it was too late.
---
Another memory slammed into me.
I was in the alley again—mid-fight.
I had burst out the door with Chris chasing after me, shouting my name like it still meant something. As if I'd ever listen to a lying, backstabbing, gaslighting bastard like him.
I spun around, my favorite knife in hand.
He hesitated. Big mistake.
He charged. Bigger mistake.
I ducked his swing and sliced through his sleeve. He yelped. Clutched his arm. Cursed.
"That's just a warning," I growled, stepping back.
His face twisted. He lunged again, but I was faster. My blade flashed. I nicked his ribs—just enough to make him bleed.
"You're going to regret this," he spat.
I laughed. Cold. Cruel. "You started this, remember?"
We fought. Fast, fierce, chaotic. I kept my strikes shallow. I didn't want to kill him.
I just wanted him to hurt.
A slash to his cheek. A jab to his side.
He swung a trash can lid at me. I dodged, used the momentum, cut his pants. Just missed his knee.
"Angel, please!" he gasped. "Stop!"
I advanced, chest heaving. "You should've told the truth."
Another swipe. His shirt ripped, blood blooming across his chest.
He dropped to his knees.
I stood over him, blade still raised. "Remember this feeling—helpless, weak, broken. That's how I felt."
Then, with a flick of my wrist, I turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him bleeding in the dark.
---
My coffee had gone cold. I hadn't even taken a sip.
That memory? Still fresh. Still sharp.
Why did I ever trust him?
I should've known better.
I kept those questions on loop as I made my way to Success's office.
She greeted me with her usual calm smile. "Good morning, Angel. How was your night?"
"I… don't really know."
She tilted her head. "Ready to explore some difficult topics?"
I nodded, barely.
"Let's start with Chris," she said gently, like she didn't know my entire soul just recoiled at the name.
"What happened between you two?"
I inhaled. Held it. Then let the truth out in a breath.
"He betrayed me. Lied about something in the gang. Because of him, they nearly killed me—they thought I was the traitor. And I… I trusted him. Because I loved him. I thought he was different."
My voice cracked. She handed me a tissue. I took it without a word.
"I'm so sorry, Angel. That must've been incredibly painful."
I nodded. Eyes blurry.
"And the fight?"
My eyes drifted closed. I could still feel the weight of that knife in my hand.
"I hurt him," I whispered. "Not enough to kill him. Just enough to make him regret ever crossing me… and the gang."
She stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.
"How did that make you feel?"
My eyes shot up. "Relieved. Angry. Scared."
"Scared?"
"That I'd lose control. That I'd become exactly what he wanted."
She frowned. "Who's 'he'?"
"Chris," I whispered. "He always liked pushing my buttons. Hitting me, provoking me, trying to make me react. To turn me into… something broken. Something angry. Someone like him."
She nodded. "We'll explore that more. But for now, I want you to acknowledge something—
You survived. You protected yourself."
And for the first time in a long time, I smiled.
Maybe, just maybe… I was healing.
---
End of flashback
Looking back now, I realized I wasn't that scared little girl anymore. I wasn't afraid to fight. I wasn't afraid to leave.
I broke up with Chris over a year ago. The gang's thriving. I came back home and stood up to him—for real. Even if that was a reckless move, it still mattered.
I'm stronger now.
But still, a voice whispered—
What if he tries something again? What if he comes after my family?
Well… then I'll handle it. And next time, I won't go easy on him.
What if he's stronger now?
Then I'll be worse.
But that's a future problem.
Right now, I needed to get my lazy butt out of bed and feed myself before I starved.
Dragging myself downstairs, I grabbed an apple on my way into the kitchen.
What can I cook? I wondered.
"Stop there!"
I froze. Knife reflexively in hand, ready to slice and dice the intruder—until I saw who it was.
"Heyyyy, Roman," I said sweetly. "How you doing?"
"Fine, baby."
"Stop calling me that. Your boyfriend will kill me."
"He wouldn't dare."
"What're you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
"Aw, you missed me? Or is this a 'come back to the gang' kind of visit?"
"Can it be both?"
"What's going on?"
He sighed. "It's Robert."
"What?!" My head snapped up. Robert. The man Chris sold us out to. The leader we warned.
"I thought we made it clear last time."
"He's back. Challenging me."
"He dares?"
Roman's eyes narrowed. "Apparently a faggot can't lead a gang, and I rule like a 'pussy.'"
My whole body bristled. I hated people like that—small-minded, ignorant, and loud about it. "He's dead."
"Whoa, hold your horses, tigress."
Hearing my code name sent a ripple of pride through me. "Don't try to stop me, Roman. No one talks about you like that and walks away."
"I know, I know," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "That's why you're doing the job. But you've gotta be clean."
"Of course, godfather. When?"
"Two nights from now. He'll be alone in his hotel room. You're going in as the whore he's expecting."
I grinned. "I don't mind playing the role—as long as I get the kill."
"He's all yours."
My smile sharpened. My mind raced with possibilities. Should I cut him up and sew him back together? Poison his wine and watch him squirm? Or maybe go old-school—slow slicing?
"You're giving me the creeps," Roman muttered.
"What?"
"That smile."
"Shut up."
"Is that how you talk to your boss?"
"Oh no, not at all. Now kindly get out of my house before I feed you to the garbage disposal."
"You're seriously kicking me out?"
"Yes. I'm starving, and you're blocking my creative cooking process."
"You won't even make me something to eat first?"
"I haven't eaten. You think I'll feed you?"
"Fine, fine. I'll leave. I'm expecting good news."
"You'll get it."
I slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, already lost in thought.
Robert wouldn't know what hit him.
Food was officially forgotten. Again.
I headed back upstairs, pulling out my phone.
"Hey, Success?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm canceling today."
"Angel—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. But I've got work to do."
Real work.