Listen to You Broke Me First by Tate McRae

I stared blankly at what I had done, and to be honest, I wasn't satisfied. I heard running footsteps.

"Well, that was quick." I grinned when Tristan appeared.

His honey-blond hair was tousled at the top, and a few strands fell over his forehead. He was still in his wedding suit, but the jacket was gone. His white button-up was still creased sharply and tucked into his pants. A fair guy with a lovely shade of black hair stood behind him; that must be the friend he had been out with.

He was slightly taller than Tristan and lean with just the right amount of muscle. His dark hair contrasted with his warm gray eyes. He reminded me of a male model I'd once had a crush on. He had a face I'd seen on a magazine cover with a casual outfit on and way too many rings on his fingers. But they suited him so well.

"Shit! She is really pissed," his friend said, folding his arms with an amused smile.

Tristan looked like he'd just seen a ghost. His lips parted slowly and then closed back, like he didn't know what to say. Running his hand down his face, he growled slightly. His eyes darted to my direction.

"What did you do?"

Was he blind?

"Oh, my bad. I'm just having a pregnancy tantrum right now. I'm carrying your child, remember?" My eyes held his in an intense stare.

He sighed and turned away from me, mumbling incoherent words to himself as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I asked for a few hours. I will fix this," he said, facing me. His eyes kept darting to the damaged paintings, and his fist clenched.

"Well, I was fuming in rage when I got here, and I needed to cool off. I came across these ugly paintings and the awards." I faked a smile.

"Ugly?" He cocked a neat eyebrow at me, staring like I was too dumb to differentiate between beans and pebbles.

"Do you know how valuable each of those paintings were?" His forehead creased, and his nostrils flared as he stared down at me.

I stood up and took slow steps toward him. I stepped on something, but I kept moving. "Valuable?" I laughed. I was on the verge of exploding.

I felt something pierce my foot, but I ignored it, moving closer.

"Are you comparing my life to that piece of crap?" I didn't want to feel intimidated by his height, so I maintained a safe distance between us.

His face grew stern at my words, distinct veins appearing on his neck. I was satisfied, yet still, it wasn't enough.

"You were the one who went overboard, Tristan. You took your lie too far!" Wow, all this yelling was making my head hurt.

"I will fix this, Chloe. Just give me some time," he grunted, fingers massaging his brows as he hissed again.

"You destroyed my life, and you're getting mad over some lame paintings and awards?"

His jaw hardened at my words. Man, it curved sharp.

"I want my life back. You have to fix this!"

He was quiet, but he stared at me like his mind was spinning with different ways to murder me.

Too bad, honey. I thought of that first.

"I don't care about your reasons. I am not interested. I want my family back. I want my boyfriend back! You have to tell them the truth." My voice escalated until I screamed. I was trying desperately not to do anything rash because just staring at him filled my head with murderous intent. I have never felt so much hate for someone.

"I can't. Not now," he said calmly, regaining his composure.

"Then, you leave me no choice." I didn't care about his height anymore. I stepped closer.

My grip on the glass shard tightened, bringing it closer to his chest. His friend took a step closer, and I shot him a glare. Tristan signaled for him to stay back.

"Why did you do it? Why me?" I asked, looking up at his face that looked unfazed by my action.

"I will tell you, I promise. Now, put the glass down."

"You don't get to decide that!" I said, placing the tip of the glass on his hard chest. "Tell me. I have nothing to lose, Tristan, so I don't give two shits about pushing this glass into your rotten heart," I demanded.

"I can't," he said.

"You can't?" I laughed hysterically.

This whole thing was driving me crazy. They all looked wary as they watched me, probably wondering if they should call for an ambulance to ship me to a psychiatric hospital.

I put the glass down, knowing I didn't have it in me to take someone else's life. All I could think about was making him feel the same pain I was feeling right now, but as much as it hurt, I couldn't do it. His friend signaled for Morris to take the piece of glass away.

"You had no right to do that. You don't get to ruin someone's life like that. You have no right to say whatever you want about my life!" I poked his chest with each sentence; it was so hard that I was scared it would fracture my finger.

"Better sleep with two eyes open because I will kill you in your sleep," I threatened.

He looked down at me with those alluring blue eyes I wished God had given to someone worth it.

"Okay." His voice reverberated with reverence.

Is this dude for real?

"Do you have any idea the damage you caused? You just stole everything from me, and you have the guts to act like you had the right to do that."

He stared at me like I was boring him with my words. Shaking his head, he looked back at his friend, lost in amusement.

"I'm talking to you, asshole!" I shoved his chest, but he didn't move.

I saw his hand clench, but his blank expression left me clueless. I ignored the sharp, sizzling pain pricking at my feet.

"Morris, show Miss Simpson to her room," Tristan said with a sigh.

"If you take another step next to me, I will snap your neck," I warned. Morris stopped. "I'm not staying here, but I'm definitely not leaving without you telling my family the truth."

I knew it wouldn't change anything, but I wanted them to know I was a better person now. I rushed to get my phone. There was a slight pain beneath my foot.

"You're bleeding." I heard a deep voice from behind. I was damn sure it didn't belong to Tristan or Morris.

I looked back at his friend, and he pointed at my bloody footprint. I rolled my eyes, returning to my search. I picked up my phone and returned to Tristan, whose eyes were on the destroyed paintings and awards.

I could tell he was angry, but he wasn't showing much of it. His lips twisted in a scowl as he exhaled.

"Here is my dad's number." I extended my phone to him, but he was still staring at the mess I'd made.

"How did you get all the paintings and awards?"

I moved the phone closer to his face in response. He grabbed it, and just when a smile was about to form on my face, he threw the phone across the room.

"Bro, what the fuck?" his friend said, walking to where Tristan had tossed the phone. He picked the pieces up with a slight frown stretching across his face. "You broke her phone, asshole," he said to Tristan, who didn't seem to care.

"Okay, good thing I have their number up here." I pointed to my head.

I saw his phone peeking out of his front pocket. He grabbed my hand when I reached for it.

"You can break whatever you want, however you want. I need time, and I already promised to tell you," he said calmly.

I pulled my hand away and stepped back, glaring at him. He stared back at me with a neutral expression. Tucking both hands in his pockets, he gestured for Morris to take me to my room.

"I need a glass of water. I will be right back," I said before Morris could get to me. I gave Tristan one last look before turning away to look for the kitchen.

"I will get—"

"I will do it myself," I snapped at Morris—poor butler.

"She's cute," his friend said as I headed for the kitchen.

I knew I was just a little girl in their eyes, but I would give them hell and show them they'd messed with the wrong girl.

The kitchen was always neighbors with the dining room, so it wasn't hard to find it. It was a wide kitchen with white and black furnishings and lustrous utensils. I tried not to admire the big kitchen as I opened the cabinets. I was greeted with fine china plates.

There you are.

I started dropping each on the floor, breaking them. Dropping more, I opened the next cabinet. He'd said I could break whatever I wanted. Well, he would watch me destroy this beautiful house of his.

Morris was the first to run into the kitchen, followed by Tristan's friend.

"Hey," Tristan's friend called, coming closer, but I threw more breakable things on the floor, pretending not to hear him.

"Chloe, stop."

I was going to make them regret every decision they had made in their miserable lives.

"That bastard thinks he can mess with my life."

I kept stepping on each piece as I walked. My feet had deep cuts already, but I wasn't concerned about that right now.

"Chloe."

He was starting to annoy me. I stopped myself from throwing the plates in my hand at him. I searched the next cabinet. I knew how expensive they were, and even if it meant nothing to him, at some point, he would get frustrated.

The next cabinet greeted me with beautiful sets of teacups and saucers. They looked unique and had vintage designs. Blue roses twirled round the cup, the rim covered in gold, and pure white contrasted with the blue flowers. I could stare at them forever; they were beautiful. Too bad I was too pissed to care.

"Don't even think about it," Tristan's voice made me pause.

I picked up the set of cups, facing him.

"Chloe, put those cups down, please," his friend pleaded.

What was so special about the cups anyway? They all looked concerned, as if I were about to jump down a cliff and end my life.

"Go ahead and break anything else but not those cups."

I sensed something in his voice, his eyes begging me to stop.

Why hadn't Morris mentioned the cups? If breaking these cups was going to hurt him, then I'd gladly destroy them.

"My life is more precious than these cups," I said, letting go, faking a gasp.

"Oops!" I said dramatically