The brakes screeched hard beneath her.
The seatbelt caught across her chest with a sharp tug.
Elena's heart slammed into her ribs, hands gripping the wheel, eyes wide as the figure froze in the headlights.
She sat there, breath stuck in her throat, pulse roaring in her ears.
What the hell—
Then the figure stepped forward.
Into the light.
And her stomach dropped.
It was him.
Her shock twisted fast—ugly and hot—into rage.
She shoved the door open and stormed out, boots slapping hard against the pavement.
"Are you fucking insane!?"
He didn't flinch. Just stood there like he had every right to be in the middle of the damn road.
"You trying to get yourself killed?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"You stopped, didn't you?"
She let out a breathless, furious laugh.
"Oh my god. Is that it? Is this your version of flirting?"
"You were leaving."
"I was done." She gestured wildly to the car, the road, all of it. "Whis whole thing is a game to you."
"No," he said calmly. "But watching you try to deny what's really happening? That might be."
That did it.
She took a step closer, her voice low, sharp.
"You don't get to show up like this. You don't get to stand in front of my car like you knew i'd turn back."
"But you did."
Elena didn't think—she just moved. She shoved him.
Hard.
Both hands flat against his chest.
He didn't even stumble.
Didn't take a step.
Just absorbed it like he was made of concrete.
That only pissed her off more.
"You don't get to just stand in front of my life like you're part of it," she snapped, voice low and shaking with fury.
He looked down at her hands, still balled into fists at his chest. Then back at her.
And then—he stepped closer.
Their bodies weren't touching, but the air between them pulled tight like wire.
She could feel the heat of him. The weight of him. And the look in his eyes—steady. infuriatingly calm, like he could see right through her fury and into what lived beneath it.
"You done?" he asked quietly.
She hated how her breath caught.
Hated that her heart didn't slow—it sped up.
"Are you?" she shot back.
His mouth ticked up, just a little.
"You're angry because you came back."
She lauhghed—sharp, disbelieving.
"You think this is about you?"
"You're not yelling at the road, Elena."
That did it.
She stepped back and let the fury fly.
"Oh my god—fuck you."
Her voice cut through the dark like a blade.
"Seriously. Fuck you and your cryptic bullshit and your goddamn games. You think you've got this whole thing figured out?"
He didn't answer.
She didn't care.
"I am done. Done with your weird texts, which by the way, i don't even know how you sent because i never gave you my number. Done with you showing up where i didn't ask you to be, with the stupid fucking car—" she spun an pointed at the Mustang—"and whatever the hell the past few days have been."
She yanked the keys from her jacket pocket.
"You want control so bad?" she snapped.
Then she threw them at him—hard.
He caught them without flinching.
That made her even more angry. She didn't wait. She turned on her heel and walked.
Fast. Shoulders stiff. Jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
She didn't look back.
Not once.
She kept walking.
Her boots hit the pavement harder than necessary, fury still pulsing through every step.
The neighborhood was quiet.
Too quiet.
No cars. No shops. Just rows of sleeping houses and the hum of faraway traffic.
She didn't know where she was going.
Didn't care.
All she knew was that she couldn't stand there and look at him for one more second.
That smug calm. That unreadable face. Like he knew her better than she wanted to admit.
Her phone was already in her hand.
She hit Carmen's name.
Pressed it to her ear.
It rang three times.
Voicemail.
"Goddamn it," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.
She walked two more blocks before it hit her.
It was late.
She was in some random residential street.
And it was a long, long walk home.
She slowed.
Looked around
Sighed so hard it hurt.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Her breath clouded in the cool air. The silence closed in.
After a minute of standing there, hands on her hips, pride flickering—
She turned around.
Muttered to herself the whole way.
"This is so stupid."
"This is so fucking stupid."
She walked faster. Angry again—but now mostly at herself.
The mustang came back into view like it had never left.
Like he had never moved.
He was still standing there.
Same spot.
Hands in his pockets.
Like he knew.
She didn't stop walking.
Didn't say a word
She just held out her hand—palm up.
He looked at her. Quiet.
Then dropped the keys into her hand without a word.
She snatched them, turned, and climbed back into the car.
Slammed the door shut. Started the engine.
He got in without asking.
And they didn't say a thing.
They drove in silence.
Street after street blurred past, the city folding back into itself. Elena´s hands stayed rigid on the wheel, her jaw set so tight she could feel it in her temples.
Then—
"Left," he said, voice low but unshakably clear.
Her fingers twitched on the wheel.
"You giving orders now?"
"You missed your turn back there."
"You don't know where i was going."
"I do."
She show him a sideways look, the kind meant to shut things down. He didn't flinch.
She took the left.
The light got brighter, the streets tighter. Familiar.
And when he spoke again—
"Next right."
—she didn't argue, but her grip on the wheel flexed harder.
"You ever say please?" she muttered.
Silence.
Of course.
Then—she saw it.
The club.
The red neon glowed like a bruise in the dark.
Loud music floated through the open door, the same way it had the first night.
The night that started this whole damn thing.
She pulled into the lot, parked the car and killed the engine.
The quiet that followed pressed down on her chest.
She turned toward him.
"You brought me back here."
He looked at her calmly.
"No. You drove here."
"Because you told me to."
"You didn't have to listen."
Elena leaned back in her seat.
Crossed her arms.
Tried not to let her chest tighten.
"You are such an asshole."
He didn't respond. He didn't have to.
Then he turned slightly, just enough to look at her without anything in the way.
"Get out of the car."
Not a command or a question. Just a simple, quiet fact—like her next move was already decided.
Her jaw flexed.
Her heart was loud in her ears.
She didn't move.
Not yet.
But she wanted to.
And that pissed her off most of all.
She didn't say anything. Just pushed her door open en stepped out. Didn't look at him. Didn't wait.
The night air hit her in a dare, warm and loud with distant bass from inside.
The club loomed just ahead—bright lights bouncing off black windows, the line outside shorter now, the music thicker, pulsing under the sidewalk.
She walked straight past the velvet rope.
The bouncer gave her a look but didn't stop her—just nodded once.
She didn't know if he had arranged that, or if she just looked like she belonged. She didn't care.
Inside, the beat slammed through her chest. low lighting. packed floor.
Bodies moving like liquid shadows under the flicker of strobes.
It wasn't like The Marionette. It was louder. Darker. Less control.
She didn't stop. Didn't scan the crowd.
Just moved through it like it didn't touch her.
She found an open edge near the bar.
And waited.
Let him come to her.