"I still don't like him," Ella mumbled for the third time as they waited for their ride. Her heels dangled from one hand, mascara slightly smudged, hair wild from dancing. "He's got 'trouble' tattooed all over his body."
Mel gave her a small smile. "I know."
"I'm serious, Mel. You're the kind of girl who drinks tea at 9 p.m. and watches documentaries for fun. He's the kind of guy who races sports cars at midnight."
"I don't even like documentaries."
Ella shot her a tired look. "Not the point."
Their ride pulled up, and Mel helped her into the back seat, giving the driver her address. Ella clutched her arm loosely.
"Text me when you're home," she mumbled. "And stay away from him. He's... complicated."
"I will," Mel whispered, brushing hair from her friend's forehead. "Promise."
The car pulled away, and suddenly the street was quiet. No more pulsing lights. No crowd. Just a breeze and the hum of city life from a distance.
She didn't call a ride for herself.
She needed to walk.
Needed the cool night air to sort through the fog in her mind.
Jace Morgan. That name had kept repeating in her head since Ella said it. Morgan—as in James Morgan, CEO of Morgan Enterprises. Her boss's boss. The man who built a multi-billion dollar empire from scratch.
Jace was his son?
It didn't add up.
The man she'd seen tonight wore a scuffed leather jacket and boots. He didn't talk like he was raised on board meetings and etiquette classes. He didn't look like money. He looked like grit. Like chaos wrapped in charm. A punch wrapped in silk.
And yet...
She remembered the way he stepped between her and danger. The way he said he remembered everything. He didn't act entitled. Didn't brag or try to impress her.
If anything, he seemed like he was running from something.
Maybe even from who he really was.
She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and glanced up at the dark sky above the buildings.
He couldn't be that Jace. Could he?
But if he was... what was he doing in clubs like that? Why wasn't he out there running companies, rubbing shoulders with billionaires, or dating models?
None of it made sense.
And yet, as she walked block after block under the streetlights, one truth kept floating to the surface:
She wanted to see him again.
Even if he didn't make sense.
Even if he was nothing like the world she'd built for herself.
Because in that alley, and again in that club... he made her feel something she hadn't in a long time.
Alive.
---
jace (pov)
--
Jace leaned against the hood of his car, cigarette between his fingers, though he hadn't lit it. The night was quiet now. The city always got like this around 3 a.m.—too late for the chaos, too early for the calm. Just that strange in-between where everything felt honest.
His mind hadn't shut up since she walked away from him.
Mel.
He didn't know why her name lingered in his head like a song he couldn't stop humming. She wasn't flashy. She wasn't throwing herself at him like most girls at the club. In fact, she looked like she didn't even want to be there. Like she was fighting the night just to prove something to herself.
That's what made her different.
There was a softness to her, sure. But beneath it—steel. The kind that didn't bend just because he flashed a smirk or said the right line. She stood there and met his eyes like she wasn't afraid of him. Like she saw through the layers.
That terrified him more than anything else.
He flicked the unlit cigarette across the street and rubbed the back of his neck, sighing.
I know you. How can I help you again?
Stupid line. He wanted to say more. Wanted to ask if she was okay, if she was sleeping better, if she kept looking over her shoulder like he did. But he didn't. He didn't know how to.
Because the truth was—he wasn't supposed to care.
He wasn't supposed to see people anymore. Not really. Not since he walked away from the world with his last name stitched into every corner. Morgan. Son of a man who ruled buildings full of suits and silence.
He didn't want that life.
Didn't want the weight of a name that came with expectations, with empty dinners and cold boardrooms.
But Mel... Mel had looked at him like he was more than a shadow.
And that scared the hell out of him.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, jaw tight.
If she knew who he really was—who he belonged to—she'd look at him like all the others eventually did. With caution. With calculation.
But she hadn't yet.
She just looked at him like a girl trying to understand a puzzle she didn't realize she was already part of.
And he didn't know what was worse—
Wanting to tell her the truth...
Or wanting to keep her in the dark, just so she wouldn't leave.
---
The elevator dinged as it reached the top floor of the building. Jace stepped out into the quiet hallway of his penthouse, keys jingling in his hand. His muscles ached with a familiar tension—the kind that no amount of driving, drinking, or darkness could shake.
He opened the door and was instantly greeted by the smell of pizza and the sound of old-school hip-hop pulsing softly from the speakers.
"About time," a voice called from the couch. "I thought you got murdered in some alley."
Jace smirked and dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. "Nice to see you too, Alex."
Alex was stretched out across the leather sofa, legs propped up, a beer in hand and a box of half-eaten pepperoni pizza on the coffee table. His hair was messy, his shirt wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp. He'd been Jace's best friend since prep school, one of the few people who didn't treat him like a walking bank account or a tabloid headline.
"You missed a good fight on TV," Alex said, tossing a piece of crust into his mouth. "Guy got knocked out cold in the second round. You would've loved it."
"I had other distractions."
"Let me guess," Alex grinned. "Clubbing again? Or were you off saving kittens and chasing thrills in your batmobile?"
Jace didn't answer. He walked to the fridge, grabbed a beer, cracked it open—but he didn't take a sip. His mind was still back at the club. Still watching her walk away with fire in her eyes and questions on her lips.
Alex tilted his head. "You're quiet."
Jace leaned back against the counter.
"Just tired."
"Bull," Alex said, sitting up a little straighter. "That's your 'I saw a ghost' face. Or worse—'I saw a girl' face."
Jace's jaw ticked. He looked down at the bottle in his hand.
"It's nothing."
Alex smirked. "Nothing has a name?"
"Mel," he muttered.
Alex blinked. "Mel...?"
"She was walking home late last week. Got jumped. I stepped in." Jace exhaled. "Didn't think I'd see her again."
"But you did."
Jace nodded.
"At the club."
Another nod.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "And now you're... thinking about her?"
Jace met his eyes for the first time since walking in. "I haven't stopped."
Alex let out a low whistle. "Damn. Must be serious."
"It's not," Jace said quickly. "I don't even know her. She probably thinks I'm some washed-up adrenaline junkie."
"Are you?"
Jace shot him a look.
Alex held up both hands. "Hey, just asking. Look, you're not exactly Mr. Clean Slate. But if you're thinking about her this much, maybe there's something there."
Jace didn't answer.
He didn't know how to explain it—the way her voice stayed in his head. The way her eyes had looked through all the noise and smoke and seen something real.
She didn't want anything from him.
She didn't know who he was.
And somehow, that made her more dangerous than anyone else.
Alex grabbed another slice. "So, what's the plan? You gonna see her again?"
Jace finally took a swig of his beer.
Nahhh that's not me, going after a girl never
---
l