Life got back to somewhat normal. Except for the part where I was an orphan now. They didn’t have a specific name for an adult child losing her parents, so I considered myself parentless or an orphan. I spent weeks listening to condolences from many people I didn’t even know. No one knew what to say except they were sorry. Yeah, well, weren’t we all? I found some solace in the company of men I hardly knew, performing deeds I enjoyed but shouldn’t be doing. Not at a time like this. But truly, sex was the only way I could escape the deep emptiness inside. I’m sure many thought I was heartless, and I had to agree. The place in my chest that used to house that organ was gone. I’m sure it died with my mom and dad.

Once we graduated, I purchased the single least expensive condo in the Hollywood hills. I never discussed my finances with Haven. I kept to myself the fact that I was filthy rich and set for life. She would have perished if I told her the residence cost me a million five, which wasn’t bad for a home in that area. My own place. Now I was an actual homeowner.

I’d taken the real estate test and gotten my license. My end goal was to purchase my own company, but for now, I was finally working at an agency, learning the ropes, and I’d already sold one home. I was good. Really exceptional—especially with the men. I was the only woman in this current agency and quite happy about that. When I wasn’t working, I was “playing.” The more I gave, the more I got. At least listing wise.

Haven had gotten an unpaid internship at a small publishing house. I never understood doing all that labor free, but her parents kicked in money every month. Her income didn’t matter to me, but she wanted to pull her own weight.

I lied. Through my fucking teeth. She thought we were renting. So I took her generous seven hundred dollars a month and put it in a savings account—for her. I hoped when she needed it, the money would be there to help her. She wasn’t like me, though. I was a free and wild spirit. I have no doubt my parents thought it was adorable at sixteen. But even now, I could sense their disapproval.

I enjoyed my job, but I also loved the Hollywood nightlife. I was familiar with the best clubs and the highest profile men. While I appreciated all men, it was a major adrenaline rush to be noticed by someone famous. I gravitated toward the rich executives, but I wasn’t immune to the charms of a rock star here and there. My little black book was turning into the Britannia encyclopedia.

While I was having a wicked life, Haven became a workaholic. We both had goals. Mine included blowing the cream of the crop, and Haven’s were up for discussion.

Everything was perfect until the night she came home and told me she was in love.

His name was Jared Stanton. He’d come into her tiny publishing house for a luncheon. Actually, from what she described, it was more like a buyout. He owned Stanton Publishing, one of the biggest companies on the West Coast. Obviously, he wanted to absorb all the smaller houses. It was an easy way to get rid of any future competition. I might have given tons of head, but I indeed did have my own head when it came to certain business practices. And I knew without a doubt what was taking place.

He set his sights not only on the small publishing house, but on my best friend. I knew the minute I met him he was a prick. Seven years older than her, and he’d been around. I could smell a womanizer. Personally, it was a characteristic I admired, but not in the man my BFF was head over heels in love with. The minute his eyes met mine, I saw a challenge. I should have called him out that first night for the pig he was, but I let it slide. I never saw Haven as happy as she was at that moment, and I didn’t want to be the one who threw a wrench into her nirvana.

The air between Jared and me was always thick with animosity. I knew he would hurt her, and he thought I would defile her with my lifestyle. He’d actually profiled me. At one point, I swore he attempted his version of seduction—with me. I would never blow him, even if he were the last prick on the planet. He pretended to be cultured and seasoned—an expert in all and a master of nothing. God, I loathed him.

I hated the fact that I wasn’t able to save her from him. It still makes me retch when I think of what she went through. She never confessed everything, but I knew. And the verdict was in. He should die or at least be hung by his tiny nuts on pay-per-view.

Haven was ecstatic when she told me he’d asked her to move in. She knew my opinion of Jared. I never came right out and said he was trash, but she knew I hated him. I think, in her mind, she pretended it was jealousy. Haven was so blinded by what she assumed was love, but I knew he would end up destroying her.

It took five years. He literally took everything from her. Her body and mind. The fucker even took her soul. I’d spent the prior two years considering a revolving door in my condo. They would fight. They would make up. I watched as she became someone I no longer knew. She was a puppet, and Jared was the puppet master.

After tales of his whoring surfaced and the promise of marriage was pushed back time after time, Haven was done. She’d spent years living in hell while I pursued everything with a cock. We never lived far apart, so I was her constant ally. I begged her to move back in with me all those years ago, but she always said no.

She didn’t want to give up on her first love. It felt like failure to her. In my mind, she should treat it as a learning experience. Get over it and go to the next one. Of course, I never said that.

Jared had molded her into the image that suited him, but the one thing he couldn’t control was Haven’s lack of sexuality. Oh, and he couldn’t control me. We had a war of words for days following her departure from his home. He’s lucky I wasn’t into chicks, because filleting him with a knife was tempting. Surrounded by pussy in a women’s prison, not so much.

My bestie was gone. Not only mentally, but everything that had made her Haven disappeared. She was too thin, too blond, too tanned… He’d created a Stepford Wife version of my girl, and I hated it. She stayed with me for two weeks, then went home to Colorado. As much as I didn’t want her moving away, she needed her parents and probably therapy. I couldn’t give her the kind of help she required. She was shattered. He’d stolen Haven’s self-worth and left her emotionally battered.

I gave her fourteen months to get her shit together. Then I went out to visit. It was fucking cold in Colorado. In more than one way. Haven was still a mess. Although, now she was a quiet mess. She’d been seeing a therapist. But was still locked up tight. Her descriptions of what happened had been carefully edited. She refused to let anyone in. I spent nine days, eleven hours, and twenty-one minutes coming up with valid reasons she should come home. Regardless of what had occurred, living in Los Angles with me was home for both of us.

She finally relented, and I promised her parents Haven would continue therapy in L.A. I absolutely knew that was a must. Jared had done something terrible to her. I felt like a stranger when we spoke. The flight back to California was solemn and silent—two things I didn’t handle well. So I drank my way to exuberance all the way home.

There were times I truly felt I shouldn’t have forced her to come back here. She was obviously unhappy and kept to herself. Maintaining our relationship was fatiguing. Depression ruled her, and her behavior didn’t quite resemble anything close to normal. Even though I had a roommate, most of time, I felt like I was living alone. I found her a good shrink, and once they put her on medication, she began to respond to her surroundings.