Heart Of Vengeance

Chloe's Pov

You know that moment when your life is so predictably boring that you actually start to appreciate the routine of it? Yeah, well, I was having one of those moments right before everything went to hell.

I was stirring instant noodles for the third time this week—okay, fine, the fifth time—when Danny burst through our apartment door like he'd just discovered the cure for poverty. Which, knowing Danny, probably involved some get-rich-quick scheme involving his ancient pickup truck and questionable business decisions.

"Chloe!" He was practically bouncing on his feet, and I swear his grin could power our entire building. "Put down the sad noodles. I think we should go out tonight.. because I got something for you."

"We can't afford to go out," I reminded him, waving my plastic fork at him. "And these aren't sad noodles. They're economically sensible noodles."

Mom shuffled out of her bedroom in her worn slippers, looking like she'd been napping again. She'd been doing that a lot lately, and I tried not to think about why. "Danny, honey, you're glowing. Did you win the lottery?"

"Better!" He pulled something small from his pocket, and my heart basically stopped functioning for a solid ten seconds.

It was a ring. Not a fancy one—Danny's paycheck from the auto shop wasn't exactly covering diamonds—but it was real and it was meant for me and oh my God, was this actually happening?

"Danny, what are you—"

"I know it's not much," he said quickly, suddenly looking nervous. "And I know we've been friends forever, and maybe you've never thought of me that way, but Chloe, I love you. I've loved you since we were kids fighting over the last slice of pizza, and I can't pretend anymore."

I stared at him, my brain doing this weird thing where it stopped working entirely. Danny. My Danny. Who helped me carry groceries when Mom was too tired. Who fixed our broken heater last winter without asking for anything in return. Who made me laugh when the electricity got cut off and we had to eat dinner by candlelight like we were having some romantic meal instead of just being broke.

"I know you might not feel the same way," he continued, his voice getting smaller. "But I had to ask. I had to try. Will you marry me, Chloe?"

Mom made this little squeaking sound behind me, and when I turned around, she had her hands pressed to her mouth and tears in her eyes. "Oh, sweetie," she whispered.

And that's when it hit me. This wasn't just Danny being impulsive or romantic. This was Danny being brave. This was Danny putting his heart on the line for me, the girl who could barely afford rent, whose biggest aspiration was maybe someday upgrading from instant noodles to the kind that came in actual cups instead of plastic bags.

"Danny, I—" The words got stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. I loved him, of course I did. But was I in love with him? Could I be?

Looking at him standing there, hope and terror fighting for control of his expression, I realized something that probably should have been obvious years ago. Danny wasn't just my best friend. He was my safe place. My constant. The person who made our tiny, cramped life feel like home.

"Yes," I heard myself say, and his face lit up like Christmas morning. "Yes, you crazy, wonderful man. Of course I'll marry you."

He slipped the ring onto my finger—it was a little loose, but it was perfect—and then he was kissing me, and Mom was crying and laughing at the same time, and for about thirty seconds, our life felt like something out of a movie instead of a constant struggle to keep our heads above water.

"We should celebrate," Danny said, still grinning like an idiot. "There's this little restaurant I've been saving up to take you to. Nothing fancy, but they have actual tablecloths."

"Tablecloths?" I gasped dramatically. "Danny Rivera, you're really pulling out all the stops."

"Only the best for my fiancée," he said, and the word made my stomach do this little flip that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Mom insisted on taking a picture of us with her ancient phone, and we posed awkwardly in our tiny living room, trying to look like the kind of couple who belonged in engagement photos instead of like two people who had just figured out they were in love about five minutes ago.

"I can't believe you've been planning this," I said as we walked toward the bus stop. "How long have you been thinking about proposing?"

"About three years," he admitted, and I nearly tripped over my own feet.

"Three years? Danny!"

"I kept waiting for the right moment," he said sheepishly. "And then I realized I was just scared. But watching you take care of your mom, and work those awful jobs, and still manage to smile every day... I figured if you could be that brave, maybe I could be brave too."

That's the thing about Danny—he always made me sound better than I actually was. Brave? I was just surviving. But he had this way of looking at me like I was some kind of hero instead of just a girl trying to keep her family fed.

The restaurant was actually nice—cloth napkins and everything—and Danny ordered us the cheapest thing on the menu while pretending it was exactly what he wanted. We talked about everything and nothing, making plans for a wedding we couldn't afford and a future that seemed suddenly, impossibly bright.

Walking back to catch the bus, Danny was telling me about this apartment he'd seen with actual central heating when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the crosswalk.

"Oh!" he said, snapping his fingers. "I forgot to call us a cab. This is supposed to be a special night. Wait here."

He jogged toward the street, hand already raised to flag down a taxi, and I stood there watching him with this warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest that I was pretty sure was what happiness felt like.

I was thinking about how we'd tell people we were engaged, wondering if anyone would be surprised, when I heard the screech of tires and a sound I'll never forget as long as I live.

The black sedan hit Danny so hard it lifted him off the ground.

And just like that, my fairy tale turned into a nightmare