Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I can’t seem to settle into a routine—at least not one that doesn’t feel like I’m faking stability. Hope feels intrusive, almost disrespectful. I’ve spent most of the week combing back through cases I shelved before the holidays, before Axel’s hospitalization threw my life off its axis.
Still, I cling to the quiet, fragile belief that he’ll find his way back to me.
It’s na?ve, I know that. But I’ve always prided myself on knowing when someone’s worth holding on to.
Whether Axel blames me or not, I refuse to let go until we’ve spoken.
And yet… I’ve stopped reaching out. After four unanswered days of calls and texts, I got the message loud and clear: he wants space. Solitude. Maybe silence.
The truth is, I don’t know what he’s been through or how deep his trauma goes. And without that conversation… I don’t know how to ease the ache that’s opened up inside me.
“What do you say to a night out?” Jada drops into the chair across from my desk, her voice light but probing.
I hum a vague response, barely lifting my gaze from the pile of files I’m sorting through. She groans.
Honestly, a night out might be exactly what I need to get out of my own head, to stop replaying Axel’s silence on a loop. I have no interest in men tonight, but I know Jada’s probably made them the center of her plans.
“Cass?” she presses again.
She doesn’t know about Axel. About what he meant to me, or still does. I haven’t said a word. I’ve kept it locked inside, a wound I refuse to show anyone other than my best friend. Whether she’s ignoring my mood or just unaware, I’m not sure.
“Yeah, sure,” I sigh, rifling through paperwork like I can hide in the admin.
“Gemini Lounge. Eight-thirty?”
“Sure.”
Apparently satisfied with my half-hearted yes, she leaves. As the door clicks shut, I glance at my watch. Ten minutes left in the day. Not enough to dive into another case, but more than enough to sit with thoughts I’m tired of entertaining.
By the time I get home, the apartment is sunk in shadows. Lexie is obviously working late tonight.
I toe off my shoes and move through the silence, shedding the stiffness of the day along with my blazer.
The soft pad of my feet against the hardwood, the faint creak of old floorboards, it’s my own private soundtrack to this in-between moment.
I shower quickly, letting the water wash the day off my skin, scrubbing until I feel more like a woman and less like a suit with a pulse.
The closet stares back at me like a challenge.
I don’t do club wear, not really—but Jada doesn’t take no for an answer and I don’t feel like arguing with the version of myself that’s too tired to try.
I slip into something simple: green satin that clings just enough, heels sharp enough to make me feel dangerous.
A swipe of dark lipstick. Smoky eyes. Hair down, wild like the parts of me I pretend aren’t still alive.
By the time I get to the club, the line is long, but I don’t bother with it. Jada’s already added us to the guest list. The door guy spots me, waving me past the velvet rope like I’m royalty or trouble—maybe both.
Inside, the bass music rattles through my ribs, lights strobe across a sea of sweat and skin. I understand why Jada wanted to come. The men here all look like they walked off the pages of a lifestyle magazine—powerful, dangerous, magnetic. Every single one of them has an agenda.
I scan the crowd until I see her, draped over a leather booth like she owns the whole damn place, drink in hand, grin slow and wicked. She lifts her glass when she sees me and I saunter over.
“There she is,” she purrs, like I’m late to something important.
Jada has ordered two cosmos, in anticipation for my arrival. I feel eyes on me, that prickling sensation that burrows under the skin, but I can’t find the source. No one’s gaze meets mine directly, but the feeling won’t leave. I shake it off when Jada hands me the drink, downing half in one breath.
“Let's go to the back,” she yells over the music. She doesn’t give me time to respond, just takes my hand and drags me through the hoard of dancing bodies.
Her champagne-colored dress clings to her like it was poured over her skin, liquid silk that catches every glint of club light and turns it into gold.
The fabric hugs her curves like a secret, the high slit teasing the curve of her thigh with every step, the low back revealing smooth skin that seems to shimmer as she moves.
It’s the kind of dress that doesn’t just make you look—it makes you forget everything else.
Every man we pass turns to stare, their conversations faltering mid-sentence, drinks halfway to their lips.
Their eyes rake over her, full of hunger and possession, like they’ve never seen a woman before, or like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to see this one.
Some are subtle, flicking glances and shifting closer.
Others are blatant, jaws slack, eyes dark, practically undressing her with every look.
But she doesn’t even blink.
She walks like she owns the room, like their attention is her birthright and not a gift, but a given.
When she glances back at me over her shoulder, there's a flash of something else—something wicked and knowing, like she can feel the way my breath catches and my pulse stutters.
Like she knows the power she holds in that dress…
and exactly who she wants to ruin with it.
We slide into a booth, drinks in hand, the leather seats cool against the backs of our thighs.
The bass from the dance floor thrums through the soles of my shoes, vibrating up my spine, setting everything inside me just slightly off-balance.
The lights cast the whole place in a dreamlike haze—shifting blues and purples, flecks of gold catching in Jada’s hair like stardust.
She leans back, her drink balanced effortlessly between two fingers, and glances past me with a slow, sly wink. I follow the direction of her gaze just as two men break off from the crowd and start walking our way.
The blonde is tall and clean-cut, all charm and confidence, like a walking invitation. Jada shifts with a little smirk and makes space for him beside her, brushing her thigh against his as if by accident—but we both know better. She always moves like she’s dancing to a rhythm only she can hear.
The other man’s attention falls on me.
He’s darker, sharper in a way that makes the air feel thinner.
His eyes are obsidian-dark, so deep I could fall into them and not find the bottom.
They flick over me with heat, but there’s something else there, too.
Like he’s already trying to solve me before I’ve even spoken.
His hair is black as ink, messy in a way that looks deliberate, and when he smiles…
God. It’s not just a smile. It’s a slow unraveling.
The kind that could make a girl forget her own name.
The kind that doesn't just disarm—it seduces.
I swallow, too aware of the way my skin suddenly feels too tight over my bones. Still, I lift my chin, playing it cool, and offer a polite smile in return. Then I shift slightly, my knee brushing his, giving him room to sit.
He takes it, but he doesn’t close the space between us like I thought he would. His cologne hits me next—dark spice, warm wood, and something smoky. Dangerous. Intoxicating. He leans in, his voice low and smooth, like it’s made for secrets in the dark.
“Noah,” he introduces, holding a hand out to mine. His voice is rough velvet. I take it briefly, cautiously. He’s handsome, but he’s not Axel. No one is.
My lips tilt in a half-smile as I take his hand. “Cassie,” I murmur.
He nods, slow and measured, his gaze unwavering.
We sit quietly at first, sipping our drinks while Jada flirts across the table. Noah leans in close. “Want to get another drink? Give them some space.”
“Sure,” I say, voice lighter than I feel. I slip out of the booth, following him back to the bar.
“What’s your poison?” he asks, his hand resting low on my back.
“Cosmo.”
That familiar sensation of eyes on me slithers up my spine. I glance past Noah’s shoulder and my stomach turns.
Cooper.
I haven’t seen him in over a month, but the bile rises instantly. I grit my teeth. Noah catches the change in me, his brows twitching.
Then Cooper’s voice cuts through the noise. “Cass?”
He claps a hand on Noah’s shoulder, grinning like we’re old friends. “Mind if we talk?”
Noah doesn’t even blink. “I do, actually.”
He shifts closer, protective. Usually, I’d tell someone like Noah to back off, but something calls to me. A familiarity? I don’t know what it is.
Cooper sneers but stumbles away, his drink sloshing in his glass.
I exhale. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“Ex?” Noah asks, handing me my drink .
“Yeah,” I say, the word bitter on my tongue.
It’s like Noah senses the lack of comfortability I now feel because he lets out a chuckle, as if he understands. He nods knowingly. “Recently?”
“Too recent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I urge. “I moved one.” Bile threatens to rise up as soon as the words are out. They hold more meaning than I intended because sure, I’m over Cooper. I think I was a long time ago.
But that’s not the person my mind drifts to.
His smile dims with understanding.
Well,” I raise my glass to him, “to moving on.”
Our glasses clink, and we sip back the alcohol.
We fall into easy conversation after that. We talk. Really talk. About heartbreak and betrayal, and how sometimes love just isn’t enough. I share the bare minimum about Cooper. I keep Axel buried. Untouchable.
Then I listen carefully as Noah explains his own failed relationship. A girl who stole his heart but didn’t quite feel the same; a tragic love story where there was no happy ever after for him.
I refrain from asking more about her because it feels like he’s said all he has to say.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, hoping I can convey my sympathy towards the man.
“Don’t let that deter you from happiness,” I placate.
“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. I’m sure there is someone out there for you, for us. ”
There’s a quiet understanding that settles between us, something unspoken but comfortable.
The conversation flows easily, dipping between light teasing and deeper threads, the kind that makes you forget how late it’s gotten.
Laughter comes effortlessly. By the time we realize our friends have vanished and the music has thinned to a distant pulse, the night has softened around us .
Outside, the air is cooler, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Noah glances at me, hands in his pockets, that same easy charm still playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You want me to walk you home?” he offers.
I shake my head with a soft smile. “I’ll grab a cab.”
He leans in, brushing a gentle kiss to my cheek. It lingers just long enough to leave warmth in its wake.
“Lovely meeting you, Cassie.”
“Likewise,” I say, watching him go before turning to the street, heart just a little lighter than before.
I wait for a taxi, shivering in the chill, arms wrapped around myself. That’s when I hear it again. For a brief moment, I don’t feel the ache of Axel’s absence. It’s still there, lingering beneath my skin, but the weight of it has lessened.
“Cass?”
I stiffen.
“Not tonight,” I snap. “I’m not doing this, Cooper.”
“I just want to talk.”
“There’s nothing left to say.” I go to walk away, but he follows, cutting me off.
“Please, Cass.”
“Leave it!” My voice is sharper now, rising. He grabs my shoulders.
“I’m sorry.”
“Get off me!”
“I’d heed her request if I were you,” another voice cuts in.
I freeze.
Hunter.
“It doesn’t concern you, pal.”
Before Cooper can react, Hunter’s fist slams into his jaw.
“Hunter!” I scream, grabbing his arm before he lands another blow.
Cooper stumbles back, wiping blood from his lip. Shock widens his eyes and I can see the determination in them, but I also see the fear. The decision to back away before things get worse.
I watch his retreating form disappear into the shadows before I whirl on Hunter. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, smirking. “Looked like you needed a hand.”
“I had it under control.”
“Sure you did.” He jerks his head toward a sleek black Porsche parked nearby. “Come on.”
I blink. “You drove here?”
“Thought you might want a ride.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Cass.” He laughs. “Next time, check who owns the club before you show up.”
“You own Gemini Lounge?”
“Among others,” he mutters, opening the passenger door. “Get in.”
There’s no concealing my hesitation and skepticism, yet I still take slow paced steps towards the car.
“Let’s just save us both the headache, Cassie.” He scratches a brow through a long, exasperated exhale. “Allow me to take you home, yeah?”
My eyes flit between him and the car, then to the taxi that’s coming to a stop across the road.
“If you say no, I’ll just drag you,” he warns, voice low and dry.
I roll my eyes but climb in anyway.
The leather seats are warm, his cologne already clinging to the air inside—woodsy, dark, intoxicating.
He slides in beside me and shuts the door with a finality that echoes louder than it should.
The hum of the engine starts, but the silence between us crackles with something heavier. Something waiting.