Page 37 of Merciless Vows

“Good night,” I tell him.

Vlad opens the door for me, and I step outside, glad to be rid of Nico’s company at least for a few days.

“Good night, Vlad,” I say cheerfully to the six-foot-five giant.

He nods once in reply. I gather my dress in my hands as I head inside the lobby of my apartment building. Trepidation fills me as I ride to the elevator to my floor. I wonder if Sabrina’s home. I’ve been uncertain about telling her the truth, giving myself just one more day, but I can’t delay it forever. She’s my best friend. She’s going to find out.

As it turns out, the feeling of trepidation was one of forewarning. As soon as I step through my front door, I see Sabrina’s fuzzy bunny slippers. My eyes fall shut, and I groan softly.

Fuck.

“In here, Rory,” she calls innocently from my kitchen.

I consider running away, but where would I even go? I exhale a shaky breath before stepping toward my living room. She steps out of the kitchen wearing an apron with flour covering her face. She only bakes when she’s stressed.

Double fuck.

I watch as she takes my outfit in, her expression growing confused.

“Did you attend a party?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

There’s a note of betrayal in her voice. Oh boy. She’s in for a rough ride if that’s all it takes for her to feel hurt. I feel like a horrible person. I am a horrible person for lying to her all these years.

“Holy shit, what’s with the bling?” she asks, eyes narrowing on the ring on my finger.

Damn it, why didn’t I take it off?

My mouth feels dry when I speak, “It’s… I…uh…” I falter, unable to come up with a reasonable answer.

Sabrina’s expression turns worried.

“What the hell, Rory? Did you just stutter?”

I did. It’s very unlike me. But the conversation we’re about to have falls squarely at the top of the list of things I wish I never had to do.

I take in a deep breath, looking her in the eye.

“We need to talk, Sab,” I say, my voice steady.

“Those words have never in the history of mankind been followed by anything good,” she states astutely.

“I know. It’s just…please, sit down,” I tell her, gesturing at the sofa. “And promise you won’t hate me by the end of this.”

Her blue eyes narrow, and I see the moment she decides to take this seriously. Sabrina grew up in a home with an abusive father and an absent mother. Trust has never come easily to her.

“I can’t make that promise,” she tells me.

My heart cracks at that, but I nod. “Okay, just hear me out, please?”

“Fine. Let me just get the brownies out of the oven. They should be done by now.”

She goes back to the kitchen while I sit down, fighting the urge to bite down on the inside of my cheek. It’s a nervous habit I got over a long time ago. But it sometimes comes back when my emotions are all over the place. Like right now. But I’m not a little girl anymore.

So when Sabrina returns, I put on a brave face, before finally telling her the truth. She’s only just sat down when the words leave my lips.