Hi readers

Here it is—the OG chapter of More Than Sorry. 

This was my first completed story on Wattpad. I feel like my writing has come a long way since the early days of tapping away furiously to tell a second-chance romance where a man truly grovels for his redemption. I had a blast writing this story. Eden and Zach are magic. 

Unfortunately, my Wattpad work has been pirated. Dodgy apps flog this first chapter and a mishmash of the chapters that follow in unathorized ads, and so I've reinstated my work here to provide a placemarker in case people Google the text trying to find its true home.

This chapter represents a place in time. A first edition, if you will. The new version of Eden and Zach's story looks a little different—this isn't even the first chapter anymore!—but I hope you give it a second chance 😉 when it finds its new home. 

🤍 Aubrey 

--- ᐝ ♡ ᐝ ---

EDEN

I'm as stealthy as an elephant-sized mouse.

My sparkly sneakers squeak on the marble floor as I exit the elevator. These shoes are the shit—glittery gold Jimmy Choos—but even if they are designer, I bet I'm the only person in the world who dares to kick around the offices of Worley and Stone wearing sneakers.

Not that anyone will see me. Every office I scurry past is empty, abandoned hours ago for Friday night drinks and weekend plans.

My mouth goes dry, but I fight the urge to bail. There's something super creepy about being in one of Sydney's most prominent law firms late at night. No matter how many times I pop into this place—and it's been at least a dozen times now—I don't think I'll ever get rid of the ick. The after-hours lights are about as bright as an abandoned warehouse in some horror movie I would never watch. You know, scary as shit.

All my nervous energy focuses on the only light burning at the end of the corridor. My target. Zach's office.

A grin a mile wide is plastered on my face, and the brown bag clutched in my hand swings as I scurry past the shadowy offices. Zach is going to love this. Montecito is one of the most exclusive restaurants this side of the harbor. They don't do takeout. Actually, scratch that. They don't do take out for anyone but me. Not to brag or anything, but I worked my charms on Montecito's head chef so I could surprise Zach with his favorite albondigas—meatballs so damn good you wait at least three months to get a booking.

Lucky for me, my hair salon, Trend, is even more sought after than Montecito.  The chef's wife got to skip my eight-month waiting list for this bag of tapas, and last time, I bartered paella for his daughter to get a balayage. The chef gets the better deal every time, but honestly, it's worth it.

Little moments like this matter.

Zach and I hardly see each other these days. He is always working. Late nights. Weekends. It's the same old story. Billings are too low—whatever the hell that means—and there's some big promotion announcement coming soon. Blah, blah, blah. Catch me on a good day, and I'll sing from the rooftops how much I love Zach's drive and determination. He wouldn't be one of Sydney's top lawyers if he didn't have that edge. But my heart is sinking through the cold, concrete floor of this creepy building even thinking about how much I miss him.

I miss us.

Our relationship started like wildfire. One glance across a karaoke bar set off a crazy, sexy rollercoaster where there was nothing—no one—except the two of us. That man swept me off my feet and spoiled me for weeks with fun dates, staying up all night talking, and weekends rolling around in bed.

Six months later, the roller coaster is parked and going rusty at the station. Life has become a long, monotonous routine, and even though Zach and I are shacked up together, we never see each other anymore.

Well, to hell with that. I want our spark back, and with Zach always stuck in this concrete prison working his ass off, it's up to me to shake things up. Remind him what he's missing.

That's why I started dropping by Zach's office some nights. Tonight's the first time I've surprised him on a Friday. Usually, I drop by on Wednesdays after I close up the salon. I bring takeout, we eat together and catch up.

Well, kinda.

The catching-up part is a bit hit-and-miss because nine times out of ten, I end up wasting time playing on my phone while Zach finishes some boring property law thingamabob. But eventually, he'll look up at me, eyes blazing behind those sexy glasses of his, and we'll be out the door before I can blink.

After that... well... here's a hint: crazy, sexy, rollercoaster. My spine goes all tingly because those memories are all kinds of good.

But thoughts of naughtier times are suddenly interrupted when laughter rings out through the silent office.

I come to a dead stop. Not only because the high-pitched, feminine giggle is like some creepy-ass clown that sets me even more on edge in this creep-ass building, but because it's coming from Zach's office.

A second later, I see the woman herself under the blazing white light.

Miss Giggles stalks to the glass door of Zach's office, and her hand closes around the handle as if she's about to shut it. Her blonde hair is slicked back in a ponytail, but she's decked out in a silk blouse, skin-tight pencil skirt, and heels with a sole so red it looks like she rose from the fires of hell.

My vibe is all me—kinda edgy, sparkly color explosion. And it's not like I haven't caught the sneaky glances from people who like what they see, so I know I'm okay in the looks department. But that doesn't stop my tummy from plummeting when I glance down at my clothes. Loose black tee, black denim jeans with rips over the knees, and those hella cute sneakers. That woman in Zach's office looks like a million bucks. Me? I look exactly like what I am—a hairstylist who just finished working fourteen hours on her feet.

But screw feeling inadequate. One blip is all I let myself have. Miss Giggles will have to make herself scarce because I'm not sharing Zach for the few precious minutes I get to spoil him tonight. I blew off Friday night drinks with the girls for this.

My smile is automatic when Zach pops into view, following after his little office friend with quick strides toward the glass door. At first glance, he's as perfectly polished as always in his crisp navy suit, white shirt, floral silk tie, and that thick hair of his slicked back. But my stomach goes all flippy floppy when I notice the deep scowl darkening his eyes. Something's not right.

Suddenly, my pulse starts racing for all the wrong reasons. Shocked, not trusting my eyes, I stumble backward.

Miss Giggle's greedy claws are on Zach, tugging his jacket off his shoulders to toss it across the office before she shoves him against the shelves stuffed with old books. She pounces after him, fighting to get her lips on his neck as her hands fly to loosen his tie and then frantically attack the buttons of his shirt.

My heart slams against my ribs. I want to take a breath to slow it down, but my throat is all razors, and no air is getting through.

Zach's hands close over hers, stopping her from undoing more buttons on his shirt, but she's flicked off enough for me to see the smooth lines of his chest and just a hint of his crinkly chest hair.

Whispered words pass between them. Terrified, desperate, I need to hear their secrets, so I take one step and then another. The brown bag still clutched in my fist shakes as panic shuffles me closer and closer to Zach's office. I'm only a few steps away now. What do I do? Should I say something? I force my mouth open to shout out, but no sound comes out, and I'm paralyzed, powerless to do anything except watch the horror unfold.

More manic giggles escape from the woman when Zach's big hands grip her shoulders.

"Michaela," he says.

That must be her name. Even from that one word, his tone is ominous, like a warning, but for what? Get ready for sexy time? That's when he sounds all hoarse and throaty with me.

"You remember how hot it is between us," Michaela purrs with a flick of that blonde ponytail, her short red fingernails running up his chest. "Don't you, Zachy?"

"Michaela—"

"I know exactly what you need."

And then Michaela's on him again, the flurry of her lips and hands not waiting for him to catch up.

I suck in a sharp breath. Zach does too, but not because he sees my humiliated face still hidden in the shadows of the corridor. Michaela's hands fall to his belt, and she's all sly grins as the metal buckle clinks and rattles as she tugs it open.

I know what will happen next, and I don't want to see it.

My survival instinct finally kicks in. Fight or flight? I've always assumed I'm a fight kinda person because I'm pretty ballsy, and I don't take shit from anyone. But at this moment, suffocating in the shadows as my world collapses, I learn a hard truth about myself. I'm no fighter. I need to get the hell outta here.

I turn on my heel and rip down the corridor to the elevators. My finger jabs at the down button over and over, but it doesn't make the elevator appear any quicker. I replay the office scene at least three times before the ding tells me my escape route has finally arrived.

Stumbling inside the elevator on shaky legs, I collapse against the wall and almost forget to pound the lobby button with my fist. When the elevator bumps to a stop, I burst out the doors.

"Eden!"

I whip my head around to see Carlton's ruddy face, all smiles from his spot at the lobby security station. His feet are propped up on the desk, even though he told me before he's not supposed to do that.

"Where's the fire, little lady?"

"He—he—" My words stick in my mouth like glue.

"Oh wow, you scored takeout from Montecito again?" Carlton nods towards the brown bag in my hand.

In my panic, I forgot all about the food. Now, it feels like fire, and I can't stand the burn of that brown paper touching my skin a second longer.

I thrust the bag out to Carlton. "Here," I say with a shaky smile.

His face lights up like I just offered him a million bucks. "Whoa. You sure?"

I lift a shoulder. "Something yummy to get you through the night. There are some panellets in there. You love those."

Carlton flashes me a big, gap-toothed smile. "You know I can't say no to those cherry panellets."

"Well, I've gotta—" I don't finish my sentence, just jerk my thumb over my shoulder at the huge glass doors to signal my need to escape.

Carlton knows how to keep his nose out of other people's business. His eyebrows raise like he knows something's wrong, but he doesn't question me as he leans down to press the magic button to open the doors. I bolt, completely forgetting to wave goodbye because I'm out of that cursed building so damn fast.

My heart hammering, I charge down the street, digging my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans. My finger shakes as I jab at the contact list to pull up the woman I need most in the world right now.

I press the phone to my ear. "Pick up," I chant as I dodge people walking on the street, the rings bleeping on and on. "Pick up."

"Eden?"

My eyes go to the sky to whisper a silent thank you when I hear the familiar, sleepy voice. "Andie. Shit—he—I c-can't—"

"What's going on?" Andie suddenly sounds wide awake. "Is everything okay?"

"No. It's not—I—"

I stop walking and hunch over. People passing by look at me like I'm a loon, but they can all shove it. My chest aches, and my breath seems to stick in my lungs no matter how many times I try to wheeze in more air. Am I seriously having a panic attack in the middle of the Sydney business district? On Market Street? Next to a McDonalds? Screw this.

"Eden, you're scaring me." Andie's on high alert now, her voice edged with worry. "Tell me where the fuck you are. I'm coming."

"M-meet—" The stammer in my voice isn't me. I know I need to pull myself together, so I take a deep breath 'cause I'm strong as shit, and I won't let him break me. "Meet me at the apartment."

And like the best friend she is, Andie replies without a second's hesitation, "I'm already out the fucking door."

Copyright © 2023 by Aubrey Whitten. All rights reserved.