The drinks in the club flowed generously, the people on the dance floor danced and bumped to the music but in the VIP section high above, the mood was somber.
It had been someone's suggestion that they go out for drinks but now that they were there, Alaric sat nursing the drink in his tumbler and wondering what he was doing there when Marco, one of their old university friends interrupted his thoughts.
"So," he started, leaning closer and speaking in a confidential tone. "I heard Ivy St John is going to inherit everything, the estates, the stocks, the shipping company… Hell, At this point she owns half of Port North."
"Her future husband sure is a very lucky man." He added as he looked between Rhys, Alaric and Castiel suggestively.
"Yeah," Rhys snorted and swallowed everything in his tumbler in one go. "Some lucky man." He muttered, the distaste heavy in his words.
"Come on, We all know it's going to be one of you three. The four of you have always been inseparable, we sure wondered if there would have to be a duel for a victor." Marco pressed. "Damn you are lucky."
He could only imagine what a wife with that kind of wealth would feel like. They all knew that nobody had a chance, Ivy only had eyes for the three.
Castiel's jaw muscles tightened, his soft "Don't." Silenced the table and the only sounds heard was the clink of ice in a tumbler.
Marco laughed aloud at Castiel's expression. "What? Are you worried that she might not chose you?" He asked.
Alaric looked up at last, the glare in his eyes icy. "This is not funny Marco."
"It's just, I feel like I don't know her anymore." Alaric said. "Like in my head there is an idealized version of her that does not translate into real life, not for a while."
"Come on, relax." Marco laughed and waved his hands. "It's not like I'm saying anything new, Ivy is a catch, anyone would be lucky to have her."
"Not me." Rhys said flatly. "They couldn't pay me enough to marry her."
Ivy
"You know you can't hide in here for the rest of your life right? You are going to have to get out at some point."
Maliya's voice cut through the darkness as she stepped into my room, the door shutting behind her with a decisive click.
"Please go away," I groaned, my voice thick with exhaustion.
I curled deeper beneath my blankets, cocooning myself from the world.
Ever since my birthday, nothing had made sense. Days blurred into nights, and the only thing that brought me even a fraction of comfort were the boys' visit, brief, infrequent, and fading like everything else I once relied on.
It had been a month since that horrible night. A whole month since my father died.
And still, the ache hadn't dulled even a little.
He had been my pillar, my constant. Without him, I felt adrift, like a boat without an anchor to keep it stable.
I was miserable. Hollow. And Maliya's presence, though well intentioned, scraped against my raw nerves. I just wished she would leave me alone.
"I'm not leaving until you get out of there," she said, her voice muffled through the blankets.
"What do you want?" I sighed, finally pulling the covers away from my face in surrender knowing that she was not likely to leave if she was not satisfied.
She sat on the edge of my bed, worry etched deep into her expression. "You haven't been out in a whole month. You know your dad wouldn't like that."
The words landed painfully.
"Mom's set the table. Why don't you come eat with us."
Aunt Cherie, my mother's cousin had moved in after my father's death. I knew they meant well, but their constant presence felt suffocating. I didn't want company. I wanted solitude. I wanted to drown in my grief without an audience.
"I'm not hungry."
Maliya didn't respond for a moment then I heard her footsteps retreat and I felt relief, brief and foolish.
Because she returned.
"Get up and get dressed," she said firmly. "We're going out. And I'm not taking no for an answer."
An hour later, we were headed to Upscale.
The club was alive, music pounding, bodies moving in reckless joy that felt wrong to me. I followed Maliya through the crowd, detached, numb. As we climbed the stairs toward the VIP section, she stopped suddenly.
"I'm going to the restroom, then I'll grab us drinks," she said. "Why don't you go secure a table?"
I shot her an irritated look but she was already walking away.
I considered leaving altogether, after all I did not want to be here in the first place but she'd driven. I had no choice but to wait.
Dragging my feet, I headed up the stairs.
Then I saw him.
Castiel.
My breath caught, and for the first time in forever my heart felt light.
I walked toward their corner, drawn by instinct, by familiarity.
I was close enough to hear them when I stopped.
"The only thing Ivy has going for her is her wealth," Rhys said casually, almost bored, "and even that isn't enough incentive to marry her."
"I'd rather die than marry that girl," Alaric added.
"Marry?" He scoffed. "Forget marriage, the only reason I am even friends with her is because our families are friends. I could never marry Ivy."
"As a matter of fact, I have someone that I actually want to marry and she is not Ivy." Came Castiel's soft reproach.
"Getting married to Ivy is torture that even the worst criminal should not have to endure."
The world went silent.
My fingers loosened around the strap of my bag.
It slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull, thud that somehow drew attention despite the noise all around.
Every head in the booth turned.
For one unbearable moment, our eyes met.
Then I turned and ran.