Call It What You Want

Chapter 1

Misty

I should have stayed my ass home and ignored that fucking email.

And I definitely should not have agreed to this bullshit, no matter how much Valerie’s smug, power-tripping assistant assured me that it was “just a casual, professional meeting,” for publicity. 

It’s supposed to show that he’s getting better, and is even reconnecting people from his past. 

Because nothing about Daniel Mercer has ever been fucking casual.

And standing here, watching him now?

Yeah.

It’s a goddamn train wreck waiting to happen.

Daniel is exactly as I remember him—except worse. Time has only made him stronger, sharper, and sexier in the kind of way that makes my stomach do stupid, treacherous things.

He's leaning against the front desk of this bougie-as-fuck hotel like he owns the place, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he chats with some poor receptionist who is five seconds away from melting into a puddle of lust.

I get it.

I fucking get it.

Daniel Mercer has always had that effect. That unfair mix of cocky, effortless charm and ‘I’ll ruin your life, but you’ll thank me for it’ energy.

He was like that when I met him. He was like that when I fell in love with him. And he was exactly like that when he ripped my fucking heart out and left me bleeding on the ground five years ago.

But now?

Now he’s different.

Or maybe not different—just refined.

Like someone took a reckless, rockstar hurricane, stripped it of the drugs and chaos, and left behind a fucking god of sex and destruction in a leather jacket.

He’s cleaner now. Sharper. His hair, once messy and wild, is shorter but still just disheveled enough to beg for fingers to run through it. His jawline is carved from pure sin, dusted with the kind of stubble that makes women want to sit on his face.

Those fucking blue eyes.

Christ.

He used to look at me as if I was the only thing that mattered.

Now he’s looking at me like he doesn’t remember a goddamn thing.

"Well, fuck me," he mutters, and there it is—that voice. That stupidly smooth, deep, panty-destroying voice that used to whisper filth into my ear at 3 a.m.

He straightens, his smirk widening as his gaze drags over me like a slow, dirty caress.

"They didn’t tell me my past was this fucking sexy."

I could kill him.

Right here. In broad daylight.

And I’d sleep like a baby afterward.

I have to remind myself that this man suffered a life-altering accident, causing an amnesia. It’s the very reason why I’m even here in the first place. I wanted to know if it’s really true and he forgot what he did to me. 

"Cut the shit, Daniel." My voice is steady, cold. "We’re not doing this."

He tilts his head, watching me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he doesn’t even know exists.

"Doing what?"

I exhale sharply. "Whatever the fuck this is. The flirting. The cocky bullshit. The ‘let’s pretend we don’t have a history’ act."

He raises his eyebrows, and for a heartbeat, there’s real confusion behind his eyes.

It’s not fake.

It’s not an act.

That makes it so much fucking worse.

Because this isn’t just some rockstar mind game.

He really doesn’t remember.

A slow, uneasy realization slithers through me, cold and bitter.

Valerie wasn’t lying.

Daniel Mercer, the man who loved me, fucked me, and destroyed me—really has no idea what he did to me.

No. Fucking. Clue.

I think that might piss me off more than anything else.

I fold my arms, ignoring the way his gaze flickers down for half a second—because of fucking course he’s still a perverted piece of shit.

"What do you want, Daniel?"

He chuckles, low and lazy, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was undressing me with his eyes.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He takes a slow step toward me, voice dropping just enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up. "I want to know why the fuck I can’t stop staring at you."

I refuse to let my traitorous body react. I refuse to acknowledge the heat pooling low in my stomach.

I refuse to let this man—this liar, this heartbreaker, this selfish son of a bitch—think for one goddamn second that he still has power over me.

So I tilt my chin up, keep my voice cool and controlled.

"Maybe it’s because you’re a dog in heat."

He laughs. "Maybe." Another step closer. His voice dips lower. "Or maybe, deep down, I know I’ve already had you—and I want to remember how it felt."

Fucking. Hell.

I clench my fists so hard my nails bite into my palms.

"That’s never happening again."

His smirk flickers—just for a fraction of a second. I see something in his expression that doesn’t match the cocky asshole I used to know.

Curiosity.

Real, raw confusion.

Maybe a tiniest trace of regret.

"Then tell me something," he says, voice quieter now. "Tell me why, when I look at you, it feels like I’ve already lost something I can’t get back."

I freeze.

Because for a moment—a split second—I almost tell him.

I almost scream the truth in his face. That he lost everything. That he didn’t just walk away from me—he walked away from our child. That I spent nights crying myself sick, bleeding out a future we never got to have because of his selfish fucking choices.

But I don’t say it.

I don’t say a fucking word.

Because if I do, I might never stop.

So I inhale sharply, take a slow step back, and pull my armor back on.

"You don’t get to ask me that, Daniel." My voice is cold. "Not when you’re the one who threw it all away."

His brows furrow. "Misty—"

"Forget it," I snap. "Forget me."

I do what I should have done the second I walked in here.

I turn my back on Daniel Mercer.

I left him there.