The Wrong Number

AVA'S POV

The air in our small college apartment was thick with hairspray, perfume, and the kind of electric excitement that only comes from anticipating a night meant to be perfect.

"I can't believe it's been three years," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I stood in the center of my bedroom.

Laura, my best friend and roommate, was behind me, carefully adjusting the zipper of a dress that was far too dangerous for a library, but perfect for an anniversary.

"And I can't believe you're still with a guy who doesn't appreciate the view he's getting tonight," Laura joked, though her eyes were warm.

"You look absolutely stunning, Ava.

Mark is going to lose his mind."

I turned to look in the full-length mirror, and for a moment, I didn't recognize myself.

The woman staring back was confident, sexy, and radiant.

My hair, a rich chestnut brown, had been curled into loose, cascading waves that framed my face and spilled down my back.

Laura had helped me apply my makeup with a steady hand—smoky eyes with a sharp winged liner, lashes that made my eyes look huge and inviting, and lips painted a deep, glossy red that begged to be kissed.

The dress was the centerpiece.

It was a tight-fitting, satin slip dress in a vibrant, blood-red color that clung to every curve of my body like a second skin.

It had thin spaghetti straps that exposed my shoulders and a neckline that dipped dangerously low, pushing my breasts up and showcasing my cleavage.

The fabric ended mid-thigh, designed to show off my legs.

On my feet, I wore black stiletto heels with straps that wrapped around my ankles, making my legs look miles long.

"I do look good," I whispered, a genuine smile breaking across my face.

I spun around, the red satin swirling around my thighs.

"Thank you, Laura.

I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably wear a sweater and jeans to your own anniversary," Laura laughed, handing me a small clutch.

"Go get him, tiger.

Show him what he's missing if he ever lets you go."

There was a sudden, sharp knock on the door.

Laura's eyes widened.

"I'll get it.

Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for Mark by having him see you before he's supposed to."

She winked and hurried out of the room.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

This was Mark.

My boyfriend of three years.

The man I loved.

I heard the door open and Laura's voice, cheerful and loud.

"Hey, Mark!

Come in.

Ava's just finishing up."

I heard footsteps on the stairs.

I was standing at the bottom of the short flight of stairs in the living room, my hands clasped nervously.

When Mark appeared at the top of the stairs, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Mark was dressed in a suit, looking handsome as always, but his eyes were wide, fixed entirely on me.

He walked down the stairs slowly, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on the red dress, the exposed skin, the heels.

"Wow," Mark breathed, his voice low.

"Ava… you look… fuck, you look incredible.

Gorgeous.

Absolutely fucking sexy."

He reached me and pulled me into a kiss, his hands gripping my waist tightly.

"Happy anniversary."

He kissed me hard, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, tasting the expensive lipstick.

I kissed him back and wished him happy anniversary, but something about the aggression of it made my stomach twist slightly.

I pushed him away gently, laughing nervously.

"Mark, stop, Laura is right there," I whispered, though I was blushing.

"I don't care," Mark muttered, his hands sliding down to grip my ass.

"You have no idea how hard it's going to be to keep my hands off you tonight.

You look like a fucking dream, baby.

My little red devil."

Laura cleared her throat loudly from the kitchen area.

"Alright, alright, I'm out.

I'm not staying around to watch you two go at it.

I'm going to Sam's for a sleepover, so the apartment is all yours.

Have fun, and be safe!"

She grabbed her bag, hugged me tightly.

"You look amazing.

Don't let him ruin this night.

If he does, I'll kill him."

"Thanks, Laura.

Have fun with Sam," I said, hugging my friend back, feeling a sudden pang of loneliness as the door closed.

"You ready?" Mark asked, his eyes dark with lust.

"Yes," I said, trying to push down the unease.

"Let's go."

The car ride was short.

A luxury sedan was waiting outside, and Mark had insisted on it.

But as we pulled up to the curb, my heart sank.

It was the same Italian restaurant we went to every single year.

The same valet, the same maitre d', the same table in the back corner.

"Mark," I said, my voice small.

"We're here again?"

Mark didn't even look up from his phone.

"Of course.

It's our spot.

I'm not changing tradition for our anniversary."

I forced a smile.

"Right.

Tradition."

The dinner started well enough.

Mark ordered expensive wine and talked about his job, about how stressed he was, about how much he needed this night to relax.

I tried to steer the conversation to us, to our relationship, to the future, but Mark seemed disinterested, his eyes wandering around the restaurant.

Then, the waitress arrived.

She was young, blonde, and wearing a uniform that was slightly too short.

She leaned over Mark's shoulder to pour his wine, her breast brushing against his arm.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, her voice dripping with a flirtation that was impossible to miss.

Mark smiled, a slow, appreciative grin that I knew well.

"Actually, I could use some advice on the dessert menu.

It's so hard to choose."

The waitress laughed, a high-pitched, annoying sound.

"Well, I can tell you what's sweet.

But I think you already have the sweetest thing right here," she said, glancing at me with a dismissive look before turning her full attention back to Mark.

"You know, I get off in twenty minutes.

If you need any other kind of… dessert."

I felt my blood boil.

I looked at Mark, waiting for him to shut it down, to tell the woman we were celebrating three years together, to show some respect.

Mark just chuckled.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that.

Just for advice, of course."

"Mark," I said, my voice sharp.

He looked at me, his expression annoyed.

"What?

It's just flirting, Ava.

Don't be so sensitive.

It's not a big deal.

I'm not interested in her anyway.

You know that."

"It is a big deal," I snapped, my hands shaking under the table.

"She's practically sitting in your lap, and you're encouraging her.

On our anniversary."

"Jesus Christ, Ava, don't start," Mark said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"You're ruining the mood.

I'm just being polite.

Don't be a jealous psycho."

I felt tears prick my eyes.

I looked away, staring at the candle on the table, feeling small and humiliated.

The rest of the dinner was silent and tense.

Mark didn't apologize.

He didn't try to fix it.

He just finished his wine and signaled for the check.

The drive back to the apartment was agonizing.

The silence in the car was suffocating.

When we finally arrived, I couldn't get out of the car fast enough.

I stormed into the apartment, my mind racing.

The apartment door closed behind us.

Neither of us spoke.

I walked straight toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to shower," I said quietly.

"Whatever," Mark muttered without looking up from his phone.

I closed the bathroom door.

Feeling like I just came back from a funeral instead of my anniversary.