It had been a week, and Jimmy still hadn't answered my calls or come to see me. With a heavy sigh, I threw myself onto the bed, the silence around me pressing harder than usual. Boredom gnawed at me, and my fingers itched for my phone. I dialed his number again, but like every time before, there was no reply.
Maybe I really made a mistake by crossing the line with him. I only wanted to help him… and he enjoyed it, didn't he? My thoughts tangled as I rubbed my temples in frustration. Should I go visit him? But what if seeing me at his workplace only makes him angrier?
"Damn it, Dane. You always create a mess," I muttered, scolding myself.
Finally, I pushed the thought aside. If Jimmy wanted distance, then fine—I'd give him space. Right now, what I needed was distraction. A new billionaire prey was waiting somewhere out there.
I got up and began to prepare, letting the ritual pull me out of my gloom. In the mirror, I studied my reflection and smirked. Damn, I really do look good tonight. A few sprays of my favorite cologne filled the room, sweet and intoxicating, lifting my mood instantly.
Once ready, I grabbed my keys, stepped out of the apartment, and headed for the night that awaited me.
The club was packed as always—loud music, flashing lights, and the constant roar of people losing themselves in the night. I slipped through the crowd and made my way to the bar, sliding onto a stool with a practiced smirk I couldn't quite manage tonight.
"One whiskey," I told the bartender.
The glass was set down in front of me, amber liquid glowing beneath the neon lights. I picked it up, forced a smile, and downed it in one long swallow. The burn seared my throat, but the weight in my chest didn't lift.
"Another," I muttered, rubbing my temple as if that would quiet the storm inside my head.
The second glass went down too easily. Then the third. The fourth. By the time the fifth and sixth followed, I had lost count. Maybe more than six—who the hell knew anymore?
Another glass slid across the counter toward me. I wrapped my fingers around it, staring into the swirl of amber liquid as if it held some kind of answer. My grip tightened.
My body felt heavier with every breath. Too heavy.
Shit.
I swallowed hard, my blurred reflection staring back at me from the glass.
I drank too much.
With clumsy fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed Jimmy again. No answer. My lips curled bitterly as I typed a message with blurry vision:
Jimmy, I drank too much. Can you come pick me up, please?
I hit send and looked up, scanning the crowd through my dizzy haze. That's when I noticed him—a man sitting alone at a table, his sharp eyes fixed on me. He had that look, polished and expensive, the kind of aura that screamed money. When our gazes met, he smirked, but I quickly turned away.
I couldn't stay here. I had to leave.
Pushing myself off the stool, I tried to stand, my legs wobbling beneath me. Each step felt heavier than the last. The room spun, music pounding in my skull, until finally my balance gave out.
"Woah—"
I stumbled, ready to hit the floor, but the impact never came. Strong arms caught me, pulling me against a steady chest.
"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asked, deep and steady.
I blinked, struggling to see the man holding me. My eyelids drooped, too heavy to fight against. His face blurred, his warmth the only thing keeping me upright.
And then, everything went dark.
My body feels weird. Heavy. Dizzy. My head hurts like hell when I open my eyes.
Where the fuck am I?
I blink, forcing my vision to focus. A hotel room. The sheets smell expensive, the kind of place billionaires rent for one night of fun. But what makes my chest clench is the man lying beside me, sleeping peacefully.
Panic floods through me. Did I hook up with him?
I sit up fast, stretching my sore neck, searching for answers in the blur of last night. My hands run over my body, my clothes still on, no marks, no aches. Clean. Untouched.
Relief. But also confusion.
If I didn't sleep with him, then why the hell am I here?
Slowly, carefully, I lean down and reach for the blanket covering his face. My fingers shake as I whisper to myself, Come on, Dane. Let's see who this angel is—the one who didn't take advantage of you.
I tug the blanket down. Inch by inch.
And then I freeze. My blood runs cold. My heart skips a beat so hard it hurts.
Kyle.
My ex-lover. The boy who kissed me first, the boy who promised forever, the boy who disappeared like I was nothing.
I stumble back, hands trembling. My whole body feels pale, empty. How the hell did I end up here—with him?
My eyes dart around the room, searching for my phone. Nothing. My panic spikes. I move fast, almost running, but then his voice hits me like a knife.
"Your phone's broken," he says, his tone calm, familiar. "It fell last night when you collapsed."
That voice—years haven't changed it. It rips open the part of me I buried. For a second, I don't feel like Dane anymore. I feel like Damien again.
But Damien is dead.
I don't turn. I don't dare. My shoes are half on when he sits up.
"At least tell me your name," Kyle says, stretching like nothing's wrong. "I helped you last night. Don't you think I deserve a thank you?"
My chest burns. He doesn't recognize me. Not at all.
I force myself to turn, slowly. His face is just as sharp, just as beautiful as before. Still Kyle. Still the boy who broke me.
"Thanks for helping me," I say flatly, no emotion.
He studies me, then reaches into the drawer by the bed. He pulls out my phone, screen cracked, completely dead, and holds it out. My hands tremble as I take it, gripping tighter than I should.
"What's your name?" he asks again.
I meet his eyes. Searching. Hoping. Wondering if maybe—just maybe—he's pretending not to know me.
But nothing.
"Dane," I say. Just Dane.
I turn and walk out, not giving him another chance. My chest feels tight, my thoughts a storm.
It's good he doesn't recognize me. Safer. Cleaner. Easier.
So why the hell am I angry?
Why does it burn that he forgot me?
I don't know if I should be happy or sad. Maybe both. Maybe neither. But I know one thing—Dane doesn't look back.
I rush out of the hotel, book a cab, and head home.