Chapter 18: Call Your Husband
The conversation around Lara carried on, voices blending into the steady pulse of music filtering in from the club outside.
Every now and then, Gio, Noah, or Duke would try to pull her into the discussion, throwing casual remarks her way. She would offer them a polite smile, a nod, or a brief reply before retreating back into silence. She kept her focus on her drink, sipping slowly, letting the burn of alcohol distract her from the thoughts she didn't want to entertain.
She wasn't necessarily trying to be distant, it just felt easier to listen than to engage.
And besides, she wasn't the only one who was quiet.
Reagan didn't talk much either. He sat across from her, effortlessly blending into the background despite his commanding presence. He responded when spoken to, but his words were few and to the point. But what Lara noticed most of all was the way his gaze would occasionally flicker toward her.
It wasn't obvious, not something that demanded her attention, but it happened often enough that she picked up on it. A brief glance, a subtle shift of his gaze when she moved. Yet, he never said anything, never held her gaze long enough for her to question it.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just her imagination.
And she chose to ignore it.
After all, she was a stranger to him.
Eventually, the liquor started to take its toll. The warmth in her veins was turning into something heavier, something sluggish. Her head felt light, and the room seemed to sway slightly if she moved too fast. She exhaled softly, setting her empty glass down on the table before pushing herself up from the couch.
"Excuse me, I'll be right back." she murmured to no one in particular before heading toward the VIP room's private bathroom.
Once inside, she leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly. The cool marble under her fingertips grounded her as she stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes slightly hazy.
Maybe I drank too much.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her head was spinning, not enough to be completely drunk, but enough that standing still took effort.
She turned on the faucet, splashing cool water on her face in hopes of clearing her mind. It worked, but only slightly.
After gathering herself, she finally stepped back out into the VIP room only to pause mid-step.
Something was different.
The room, once filled with laughter and overlapping voices, was now silent. The seats that had been occupied just moments ago were empty.
Only one person remained.
Reagan.
He sat exactly where she'd left him, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. The ice in his drink clinked softly as he swirled it, his fingers relaxed around the crystal glass. But what caught her attention the most was his gaze. Sharp, piercing green eyes locking onto her the second she emerged.
Lara swallowed, forcing herself to take another step forward.
"Where… where is everyone?" she asked, trying not to let the slight dizziness affect her voice.
Reagan took a slow sip before answering. "They went down to the dance floor," he said casually, setting his glass down on the table. "Duke said you can join them if you want."
Lara blinked, glancing at the now empty seats. Of course, they did.
She considered it for a second before shaking her head. "No, I'll pass."
She walked over and settled back onto the couch, though the silence between them felt heavy.
Being alone with him was… unnerving.
Not because he made her uncomfortable, but because his presence was impossible to ignore. He wasn't even doing anything, yet somehow, he made the room feel smaller.
Lara tried not to let it bother her.
Instead, she leaned back, closing her eyes for a brief moment, trying to shake the dizzy spell.
"You don't look well." Reagan suddenly said.
Her eyes snapped open. She turned her head slightly to find Reagan studying her with that same unreadable gaze.
"Excuse me?" she asked, brows furrowing.
Reagan's gaze remained steady. "You look like you're about to pass out."
She scoffed. "I'm fine." Straightening her posture as if that would somehow prove her point.
Reagan didn't look convinced. "You don't look fine."
She let out a frustrated sigh. Why was he even paying attention to her?
"Okay, maybe I'm a little dizzy," she finally admitted, if only to shut him up.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I'll call Duke. He should take you home."
She straightened immediately. "No," she blurted out, shaking her head. "I don't want to ruin his fun. He's with Ash. He deserves to enjoy his night. I'll just book a ride."
Reagan raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously thinking of going home alone when you're like this?"
Lara lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'm not that drunk."
"You can barely walk straight," he pointed out.
She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. He wasn't wrong. The moment she stood up earlier, the dizziness hit her like a wave. Still, she wasn't about to drag Duke away from his night out just because she made a stupid decision to drink too much.
"I'll be fine," she insisted.
Reagan exhaled, unimpressed. "That's not the point."
She crossed her arms. "Then what is the point?"
Reagan studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Why don't you call your husband?"
Lara stiffened.
The mention of Lucas sent a sharp pang through her chest, and she had to force herself to keep her expression neutral.
"He should be the one picking you up." Reagan continued, his voice even, but there was something else beneath it—something that made her stomach twist.
Lucas wouldn't come. Lara knew that. Even if she called, even if she begged, he wouldn't bother.
She swallowed hard before mustering a small, tight-lipped smile. "He's probably asleep," she said lightly, as if it didn't matter. As if it didn't hurt. "He had work. I don't want to disturb him."
Reagan tilted his head slightly, studying her. Then, with a slight scoff, he said, "What kind of husband wouldn't come get his wife if she needed him?"
The question shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did. It was just an offhand remark from someone who didn't know anything about her life. And yet, somehow, hearing those words from Reagan—this man she barely knew—felt like a slap to the face.
Her fingers curled into fists in her lap.
Why did he care?
Who was he to pass judgment on her marriage?
Her heart pounded with a mix of anger and something else... something uncomfortably close to humiliation.
"That's none of your business," she snapped, her jaw tensed as she met his gaze. "You don't know anything about my life, so don't act like you do."
Reagan looked at her, utterly unfazed. If anything, he seemed... amused.
His sharp green eyes flickered over her face, taking in the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips pressed together in frustration. And then... he chuckled.
A deep, low chuckle.
Lara's irritation flared. "What's so funny?"
"You," he said simply, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were holding back another laugh.
Lara's irritation spiked. "Excuse me?"
"Your reactions are interesting,"
Her scowl deepened. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Reagan leaned back, studying her with a lazy sort of interest. "You're obviously pissed off by what I said," he mused. "That only happens when there's truth in it."
Lara sucked in a sharp breath, her nails digging into her palms.
He was so annoyingly composed. So frustratingly smug.
And worst of all, he wasn't wrong.
But she wasn't about to let him know that.
"You're annoying,"
"Hmm?" Reagan tilted his head slightly. "Do I?"
"You know what?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Forget it."
Reagan, still annoyingly amused, let out a low chuckle. "Suit yourself."
The tension between them lingered, thick and unspoken.
And then, to her complete surprise, Reagan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned to face her fully.
"I'll take you home," he suddenly said.