The bar was louder than Ivy expected.
Low ceilings. Dim lights. Bass heavy enough to vibrate through her ribs.
Sydney nightlife didn't whisper — it pulsed.
She hadn't planned to come.
But after the harbor night… after his controlled detachment… after the way he had left with a calm "This was fun" like nothing had shifted —
She needed noise.
Distraction.
Distance.
She stepped inside, heels sharp against the floor, hair loose, confidence pulled on like armor.
And then she saw him.
Not alone.
Of course.
He was at the bar, leaning casually, drink in hand.
A girl stood close to him.
Too close.
Laughing at something he said.
Her hand brushed his arm.
He didn't move away.
Ivy felt it instantly.
Heat.
Not sadness.
Not heartbreak.
Heat.
He spotted her seconds later.
Recognition hit his face like a quiet spark.
Not shock.
Awareness.
He straightened slightly.
The girl followed his gaze.
"Friend?" she asked him.
He didn't answer immediately.
Ivy walked closer.
Slow.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"Kylian."
Her voice carried above the music just enough.
The girl glanced between them.
"You two know each other?"
Ghost smiled faintly.
"Something like that."
Ivy tilted her head.
"Didn't know you were busy."
The girl laughed lightly.
"I'm not exclusive," she said casually.
That stung.
Not because of him.
Because of the truth in it.
Ghost studied Ivy carefully.
Testing.
"You look different tonight," he said.
"You said no attachments."
"I did."
The girl sensed the tension and stepped back slightly.
"Okay… I'm going to get another drink."
She disappeared into the crowd.
Now it was just them.
The music throbbed.
Neon lights flickered across his jawline.
"You're playing a game," Ivy said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You came to a bar."
"You brought her close."
He smirked.
"You walked in looking like you wanted a reaction."
He wasn't wrong.
That annoyed her more.
"So what if I did?"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You don't get jealous."
"I'm not."
He leaned closer.
Close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne.
"You are."
The bass dropped.
People flooded the dance floor.
Ivy stepped back.
"Enjoy your night."
She turned.
Walked straight into the crowd.
The music swallowed her.
She let it.
Hands raised.
Body moving.
Not thinking.
Just motion.
A guy stepped up beside her.
Tall. Confident. No hesitation.
He smiled.
"You look like you're trying to forget someone."
She laughed.
"Maybe I am."
He took her hand without asking.
Spun her.
Closer.
His hands settled at her waist.
She didn't stop him.
She needed friction.
Distraction.
Proof that she wasn't the only one who could be detached.
From the edge of the dance floor—
Ghost watched.
He didn't move at first.
He didn't rush.
But his jaw tightened.
The guy leaned closer to Ivy.
Whispered something in her ear.
She laughed.
Too loud.
Too free.
Ghost finished his drink in one swallow.
Then he moved.
Fast.
He cut through the crowd like he had a target locked.
The guy's hand slid lower along Ivy's waist.
And then—
A grip on her arm.
Firm.
Not painful.
But claiming.
She turned sharply.
Ghost.
Eyes darker than before.
"Come with me."
Not a request.
A command.
She pulled slightly.
"You don't own me."
He leaned closer.
Voice low.
"No. But I'm not watching that."
The guy stepped back, sensing territory he didn't want to test.
Ivy's heart was racing now.
Anger.
Desire.
Adrenaline.
"You said no attachments," she reminded him.
He didn't release her arm.
"I didn't say no reactions."
The air between them thickened.
"You don't get to be jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
His grip tightened slightly.
"I just don't share."
That wasn't distance.
That was instinct.
She stepped closer deliberately.
"Thought this was fun."
"It is."
"Then let me have fun."
His eyes dropped to her lips.
Then back up.
"Not like that."
The music swallowed their silence.
People brushed past them.
The world narrowed again.
He pulled her through the crowd.
Down a short hallway near the restrooms.
She didn't fight him this time.
She matched his pace.
Breathing heavier.
He pushed the restroom door open, checked quickly—
Empty.
Locked it behind them.
The tension snapped.
"You don't get to walk in here with another guy," he said.
"You walked in with another girl."
"That's different."
She laughed sharply.
"Oh, is it?"
He stepped closer.
Backing her gently against the cool tile wall.
"It is."
"Why?"
"Because I don't care about her."
Silence.
That landed.
"And you care about me?" she asked quietly.
His jaw flexed.
"I don't want to."
That was honest.
Painfully.
He kissed her then.
Not playful.
Not controlled.
Rough.
Possessive.
Frustrated.
Her hands gripped his shirt.
The tile cool behind her.
His hands firm at her waist.
The world reduced to breath and heat again.
Not slow.
Not romantic.
Anger-fueled desire.
"You're impossible," he muttered against her neck.
"You started it."
"You came here to provoke me."
"And it worked."
He pulled back slightly.
Breathing heavy.
"You don't get to walk away with someone else."
"You said you're leaving."
"I am."
"Then don't act like you're staying."
The truth sat between them like exposed wire.
He looked at her for a long second.
Then lowered his forehead to hers.
"I don't want to care."
"But I do."
Her breath softened.
"You're bad at distance."
He exhaled sharply.
"And you're worse at pretending."
He kissed her again.
Slower now.
Less anger.
More inevitability.
He placed his hand on her throat slowly, just enough to make her shiver, then forced her to turn toward the mirror.
Her eyes met his in the reflection — dark, intense, impossible to escape.
With his free hand, he undid his pants without looking away.
She didn't even have time to think before he lifted her dress, pressing her against the sink.
Her heart was racing, her breath caught between surprise and excitement.
He moved closer, his body against hers, his warm breath on her neck.
Without giving her time to react, he pushed into her with a firm movement, staring straight at her in the mirror.
The shock made her tense, her fingers gripping the edge of the sink, but she didn't stop him.
Their eyes stayed locked in the reflection, as if neither of them wanted to look away.
Each movement became faster, stronger, and she felt herself losing control.
She parted her lips, unable to hold back a sound, while he kept going without slowing down, still watching her in the mirror.
The noise from the bar almost drowned them out,
as if the whole world kept moving outside while theirs stopped right there,
in that small locked bathroom.
She didn't know if it was madness, desire, or just him…
but she didn't want him to stop.
The rhythm grew faster, harder, until she completely lost control.
She cried his name, unable to hold back, while he kept moving without slowing down.
Their eyes stayed locked in the reflection, as if neither of them wanted to look away.
The tension built suddenly, too strong, too fast.
They reached pleasure almost at the same time, in a sharp movement that took her breath away.
The bathroom door rattled suddenly from outside.
Someone trying to enter.
He stayed still for a few seconds behind her, catching his breath, his eyes still fixed on the mirror.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he stepped back.
He adjusted his pants slowly, zipped them up, and put his clothes back in place calmly.
His face had returned to that cold expression she knew, almost indifferent.
She remained leaning against the sink, still shaken, her heart beating too fast, unable to move right away.
He ran a hand through his hair, looked once more at his reflection in the mirror, then at her.
Not a word.
Just that heavy, intense look, like he knew exactly what he had just done.
He opened the door without hurrying.
The noise of the bar rushed in immediately — music, voices, laughter.
Then laughed under their breath.
Reality crashing back in.
Regaining composure,
Always pulling back first.
Always controlling the exit.
Before stepping out, he looked at her again.
"You're trouble."
"You like trouble."
He gave a half-smile.
"Too much."
Then he walked out.
Leaving her there.
Breathing heavy.
Pulse wild.
Ivy leaned back against the wall.
This wasn't casual.
This wasn't clean.
This wasn't a simple one-night.
He could pretend distance.
He could say he was leaving.
He could call it fun.
But jealousy doesn't come from nothing.
And neither does possession.
Outside, the music continued like nothing had happened.
But something had shifted again.
He wasn't just flirting anymore.
He was losing control.
And that—
That was far more dangerous than attachment.