Seven years of love or seven years of bad luck

Ava Green pressed her back against the cool wood of her bedroom door, listening to the quiet hum of her foster home. Ahead of her, her foster brother, Jake Stone, held her close, his hands on her waist. For seven years, he had been her secret, a dangerous poison she had been drinking, waiting for his thirtieth birthday when he promised to finally claim her.

But in a crowded bar, clutching his phone she had rushed to return, she overheard his cruel confession to his friends: she was merely a "convenient distraction," a "placeholder" until the "real thing," Chloe, was ready. The future she had so carefully built shattered around her.

His words, "She's not Chloe. She's not the future Mrs. Stone," hit her like a physical blow. The seven years of whispered promises were a brutal lie. She was just a toy to be discarded.