By the time I climbed the stairs to the VIP lounge, the man I was supposed to meet was already there, sitting like he hadn't just kept me waiting.
Typical.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, flashing a too-white smile. "Got caught up downstairs."
I didn't care. We shook hands, exchanged a few pleasantries, and got down to business. Fast. I wasn't in the mood for small talk. The deal closed easily enough─ some partnership agreement, mutual benefits, the usual corporate dance dressed up in nightlight and alcohol.
By the time I leaned back in my seat, the contract signed and digital copy stored in my phone, Liam and Cameron had wandered in each holding with two girls.
They didn't even pretend to hide their grins.
"What was that downstairs?" Liam asked, already pouring himself a drink. "Did our cold-hearted Adrien just play knight-in-shining armor?"
One Cameron laughed. "You caught her, man. Like─ full-on waist grab and everything. I thought you didn't touch strangers."
"She's not a stranger anymore, apparently," Liam added, raising his brows. "You going soft on us?"
I downed the rest of my drink in one go and set the glass down harder than necessary. "She was about to fall."
"Sure," Liam said, grinning. "And I'm here because I love the music."
Their laughter just made me ick out.
I ignored it. Let them talk. Let them joke. I leaned back, let my gaze drift back over the edge of the railing. The girl was gone. Good. This night had already gone sideways enough.
They kept drinking. Jokes turned to loud stories. Loud stories turned to nonsense. I hated this part. The spiraling after the deal. The pretending we were all normal twenty-somethings out for a good time instead of heirs balancing knives.
By the time Liam spilled half his drink trying to challenge someone to a shot contest, I'd had enough.
"I'm leaving," I said, grabbing my jacket.
"What? Already?" Cameron blinked. "C'mon, man, we just got started."
I didn't bother answering. Just walked out.
Out of the lounge. Down the stairs. Past the DJ booth and the bar and the crowd still pulsing with a rhythm I couldn't feel anymore.
Outside, the air was cooler — but not clean. Smoke curled from the mouths of strangers, and the street buzzed with the usual chaos: honking, shouting, the drunk laughter of people who had no idea what the morning would feel like.
I lit a cigarette I wouldn't finish and stepped away from the door, letting the night wrap around me for a moment. Inside had become too loud, too full. I'd closed the deal. My friends were drunk and unbearable. It was time to leave.
My car pulled up, sleek and familiar. Finally.
I moved toward it, exhaling as I reached for the passenger door. But just as my fingers brushed the handle, another hand landed on it ─ smaller, hesitant, uncertain.
Our hands nearly touched.
I looked down.
And there she was─ the girl from earlier. The one with fire in her voice and steel in her spine. Only now, she looked different. Slower. Softer. A little too dazed for her own good.
She blinked at me, confusion flickering behind her lashes as if trying to piece together where she was, or who I was. Her gaze lingered longer than it should've ─ right on me ─ like she was trying to place me somewhere between memory and dream.
"You okay?" I asked while slightly glancing around incase I catch a glimpse of her friend. But the music thudding from inside the club and the haze in her eyes made it pointless. She didn't register any of it.
The valet stepped around her and handed me the keys with a polite nod. I took them, still watching her.
She wasn't steady on her feet. Not enough to argue. And somehow ─ though I never made a habit of giving a damn ─ I didn't feel like leaving her out here in this state. Not with all the hands and eyes waiting to pounce.
I opened the door and gestured inside.
She hesitated for half a second. Then, with the kind of exhausted trust that only came from being too tired to fight, she slid into the passenger seat. I closed the door gently behind her.
She mumbled something — "Ari'll be here soon" — and glanced at me like I was the damn driver.
I didn't correct her.
I walked around, got behind the wheel, and pulled away from the curb.
She didn't question it.
Something about her didn't sit right.
She'd gotten in without a fuss, but the way she moved ─ slow, slightly disoriented — told me she wasn't fully present. I kept my eyes on the road, jaw tight, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. But even with my focus forward, I could feel her gaze flicking toward me.
Subtle.
Curious.
Distracting.
I didn't look at her, didn't say a word. Still, I felt the heat of her attention ─ those quiet glances she thought I didn't notice. Like she was trying to study me without being caught. Like she was trying to figure out what exactly she'd just stepped into.
I adjusted my grip on the wheel, knuckles tightening. My shoulders were already stiff from the night, and this... this strange energy between us wasn't helping.
Then she cleared her throat. Soft. Hesitant.
"Actually… I'm in the front, not the back."
I didn't respond. Not out loud. But something flickered behind my eyes. She sounded almost... embarrassed. Like it mattered, somehow, that she was sitting up front — next to me — instead of putting distance between us. Cute.
She is still watching me.
Still wondering i think.
And even though I kept my expression unreadable, I knew exactly what she meant. She felt it too — whatever the hell this was.
I didn't speak.
But I didn't stop her from looking, either.
And I didn't take my eyes off the road.
Because if I did ─ if I met that gaze again ─ I wasn't sure I'd be able to look away. she kind of makes me feel weird and I do not like it.
She was quiet beside me, but I could feel the shift ─ the weight of her silence turning heavy, uncomfortable.
Then her voice broke through, low and uncertain at first, then faster, looser ─ like something had cracked open. She didn't even look at me when she started talking, just stared out the windshield, her expression distant.
Max.
She said his name like it tasted bitter. And then, like a dam bursting, the whole story came pouring out. The betrayal. The lies. The way he'd cheated on her like it meant nothing. Blah Blah Blah. Her voice wavered in places, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop. It was like the words had been rotting inside her, waiting for someone─anyone─to listen.
But I wasn't just anyone.
And I wasn't in the mood to hear about some certain dude called max or whatever.
The second his name left her mouth again, something inside me snapped. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, and without thinking, I slammed my foot on the brake.
The car jerked to a hard stop.
She gasped beside me, thrown slightly forward, then turned to look at me, wide-eyed.
I didn't meet her gaze.
I stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, the heat in my chest twisting into something darker.
"Shut up," I said, voice low and razor-edged. "Or I'll leave you in the middle of nowhere."
The words hung in the air, sharp and final.
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't have to.
She went completely still and quiet.
Good. Her voice had started getting under my skin.
The silence sat thick between us, exactly the way I liked it ─ no more whining about about some dude, no more memories or rants I hadn't asked for. I kept my eyes on the road, jaw locked, my fingers drumming once against the wheel before curling back tight.
But then, she shifted beside me.
I didn't look, but I could feel it ─ the subtle lean forward, the almost hesitant way she moved. My senses, already razor-sharp from the tension, caught the breath she drew before she spoke.
"Would you… like to… uh, y'know?"
Her voice was soft. Careful.
Too careful.
The kind of careful that made my instincts go on high alert.
My grip tightened. Ugh can she just sit quietly without making any sound, my ears hurts.
"Why not what?" I asked, keeping my tone flat, indifferent.
There was a pause, and then she leaned closer. I could feel the warmth of her body now, the subtle shift in her perfume, the way her words came out low and smoky.
"Why not… us? Together."
She said it like a dare.
The words hung in the air, laced with desperation, defiance, and a raw vulnerability that scraped something I didn't like acknowledging — not in myself, not in her.
I didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
My silence was louder than any reply. I knew the power of not speaking, of letting someone twist in it, feel it dig in.