Chapter Three:
I should've said no.
I should've stayed at the bar, finished my drink, and walked out with my head held high and my dignity intact. But instead, I followed him—step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat—up a narrow staircase that smelled like secrets and old decisions.
The lounge was nothing like I expected.
It wasn't flashy or crowded. It was private. Dim. A low velvet couch sat in the center, and soft jazz played from a vintage record player in the corner. It felt like another world. A dangerous one. One where he still had power over me.
Jace closed the door behind us, and I turned to face him before he could say anything.
"Don't think this means anything."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall like he owned the room—and maybe, he did. "Never said it did."
"Good," I said.
"Great," he said.
But the way he looked at me told a different story. He didn't just see me. He studied me—like he was trying to remember the details he'd once known by heart. The ones he probably shouldn't still remember.
I crossed my arms, needing a wall between us. "Why did you really want me up here?"
He paused. "Because you're lying to yourself."
"Excuse me?"
"You say you're over me. You say you didn't come here for anything. But your eyes say something else."
I laughed, bitter. "You're still so full of yourself."
"And you're still bad at pretending you don't care."
He stepped closer, slowly, like I was a flame he couldn't help but walk into. His voice lowered. "Do you ever think about that night? The last one?"
My throat tightened. "Don't."
"I do. All the time," he whispered.
And suddenly, we were inches apart. Close enough to feel the heat between us. Close enough that all the reasons I hated him blurred into why I once loved him.
His hand hovered near mine, not touching, not yet.
"Tell me to stop," he said softly.
I should have.
But I didn't.