King of Power (Club Velvet Petal #1)

1. Shadows of the Past

Shadows of the Past

Evelyn

T he moment we step outside, the cool Columbus night air hits me like a splash of ice water, sending a shiver down my spine. I draw in a deep breath, trying to shake off the heaviness from the meeting, but the chill only intensifies the knot in my stomach.

I hate these meetings. Being forced to talk about my feelings and how my marriage—and asshole of an ex-husband—impacts my mental health. But if I want to keep my job, I’ve got no choice but to do this. Captain’s orders.

The streetlights cast a warm, amber glow, painting the sidewalk with patterns of light and shadow, but they do nothing to ease the weight pressing down on my chest. Each step feels like a struggle, as if the very air around me is filled with an unseen pressure, a reminder of the burdens I carry.

“How do you feel?” Lydia asks, her hazel eyes searching mine. We haven’t known each other long—just since I started coming to these meetings last year—but she always knows when I’m about to crack.

“Fantastic,” I mutter, crossing my arms tightly around my torso. I should have worn my scarf. The October evening air is too cold for my thin jacket. One of these days my stubborn ass will learn what season it is.

She slides her red cat-eye glasses down her nose just enough to give me a pointed stare over the rim, her eyes narrowing with that all-too-familiar scrutiny. I can’t bullshit Lydia. She sees right through me, and the weight of my own facade feels heavier with each step.

“Ugh.” I relent. “Like I just bared my soul to a bunch of strangers. It fucking sucked.”

Olivia laughs, but it’s strained. “Well, at least you didn’t throw a chair this time.”

Olivia’s been coming to these meetings for about six months.

She moved to Columbus from New York City to escape her abusive husband.

She’s got family here that are providing her with safety and security while she works through her demons.

And now she has us. We understand her struggles more than anyone.

“Or storm out,” Lydia adds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Progress, I suppose.”

The last time it was my turn to share, I lost it.

I don’t like talking about my ex. He’s a piece of shit and doesn’t deserve the free rent he currently occupies in my thoughts.

It’s bad enough that I can’t get the horrid memories of him and what he did out of my head.

Talking about it—putting words to those memories—is torture.

We start walking down the dimly lit sidewalk toward the parking garage. The sound of our shoes against the pavement feels oddly comforting in this moment of vulnerability.

Lydia bumps her shoulder into mine playfully. “You did great tonight, Eve. Seriously. Sharing isn’t easy.”

“Yeah, right.” I kick a pebble on the ground, watching it skitter away into the shadows. “You guys make it look easy.”

“You know it’s not,” Olivia chimes in, her voice laced with sincerity. “But you faced it head-on.” She brushes her long black hair behind her ear and glances at me from the side. “I still can’t put words to what Vinny did to me.”

“You’re dealing with your own stuff,” I reply softly. “It’s not a competition.”

“I think we’re all in this together,” Lydia says with that bright smile of hers that could light up this dark evening.

“Together,” Olivia echoes before pausing, looking at me again. “Do you think sharing those details helps?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I admit, letting out a breath that feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Sometimes it just feels like … more weight.”

Lydia nods as if she understands all too well—because she does.

“Did anything trigger you?” Olivia asks cautiously.

I swallow hard, glancing at the ground again as memories flicker through my mind—harsh words hurled at me like stones—and then there’s silence among us.

“No.” It comes out sharper than intended. Probably because it’s not true. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about what Ryan did to me without having a breakdown. He made me feel weak and small and useless. Not exactly good traits for a detective.

Lydia halts abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she plants her hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t believe you.”

Our eyes lock in a staring contest, neither of us willing to give in.

But the longer little miss sunshine holds her ground, the more I feel the weight of her unwavering gaze.

The silence stretches thin, and I can almost hear the seconds ticking away.

Eventually, I relent, a small sigh escaping my lips as I break the stare.

“Ugh … I’m weak, okay. And it’s tearing me up inside,” I admit, the weight of my truth pressing down on my shoulders.

“You’re not weak,” she insists, her voice unwavering.

“Yes, I am! I’m second-guessing every decision I make, both in my personal and professional life.

I can’t afford to second-guess myself at work.

Too much is at stake— lives are at stake.

I always thought I was too strong to let something like this happen to me, to let someone like Ryan break me.

Yet, here I am, questioning everything, a shadow of the woman I used to be. ”

I rub my temples, trying to stave off the headache creeping in. The tension coils tighter, almost suffocating. “I never wanted this. I wanted a family, too, you know? I wanted the house with the white picket fence and a couple of kids running around. But now …”

I trail off, staring into the distance as the memory of Ryan’s anger echoes in my mind like a bad song on repeat. The thought that I can’t have kids eats at me, gnawing at my insides like a ravenous beast.

At first Ryan blamed my age, blamed me for putting my career first—insisted we should have started sooner—but I’m only thirty-two. Turns out my age had nothing to do with it. I’m defective.

“You deserve better,” Lydia says softly, stepping closer. Her warmth seeps into me, a brief reprieve from the chill surrounding us.

“Yeah? Well, what if better doesn’t exist for someone like me?” My voice shakes despite my effort to keep it steady.

“Don’t do that,” Olivia interjects, her tone firm yet gentle. “You’re not broken. You’re just … human.”

I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, well. Being human is the problem.”

Lydia steps in again, determination written on her face. “You are allowed to feel all of this—the hurt, the anger, even the confusion.”

Her words wrap around me like a lifeline thrown in turbulent waters. But I can’t hold onto hope. Hope leads to disappointment.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say sharply, catching both women off guard.

They exchange glances. Each of them knows how stubborn I can be when it comes to admitting vulnerability.

“You don’t have to share every little detail,” Lydia says slowly. “But keeping it bottled up won’t help you either.”

“Then what’s your suggestion? Go home and cry myself to sleep?” I shoot back before I can stop myself.

Olivia shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches me with concern simmering beneath her bright demeanor. “Sometimes that’s exactly what you need. Let it out.”

My breath hitches as I fight back the urge to scream or cry or whatever will relieve this pressure building inside me. Instead, I bury it deeper where no one can find it.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie through clenched teeth.

Lydia leans in closer, lowering her voice as if she’s afraid someone might overhear us even though we’re alone on this quiet street corner. “You know we’re here for you, right? Always.”

I nod slowly but can’t shake off the feeling that their kindness is just another reminder of everything I’ve lost—everything I’ll never have again.

We keep walking. Shadows wrap around us, trying to pull me further into darkness and away from this fleeting moment of connection.

These days, I have to hang onto joy wherever I can find it. Lately, these ladies are it.

I glance at the dimly lit parking garage, a sense of unease creeping in as we step onto the concrete.

The echoes of our laughter bounce off the walls, but my thoughts are heavy like a leaden fog.

Lydia walks ahead with her usual cheerfulness, while Olivia bounces on her heels, bubbling with excitement.

“C’mon, ladies!” Olivia turns, her eyes gleaming like diamonds. “It’s Friday night! We should celebrate surviving another week.”

“Celebrate? That sounds like work.” I scoff, trying to mask my discomfort. The idea of going out makes my stomach churn.

Lydia glances back at me. “It does not. It’ll be fun!”

I shake my head. “Not for me.”

“Oh please.” Olivia rolls her eyes dramatically. “You can’t tell me you want to go home and binge-watch another crime documentary.”

“Maybe I do.” I cross my arms, refusing to give in.

“Just this once!” She clasps her hands together, a look of mock pleading on her face. “Let’s hit Club Velvet Petal! I’ve heard good things about it, but I’ve never been. We can unwind, dance a little … you know? Maybe find someone to get lost in for a night.”

“Olivia—” I hesitate, searching for an escape route from this discussion.

“I hear it’s got an awesome vibe,” she continues, not taking my reluctance as an answer. “Have you ever been? It’s supposed to be one of the best dance spots downtown. The lights, the people, the music—just think about it!”

A flood of memories wash over me—the kind that don’t belong to someone who works cases involving violence and abuse. I hate nightclubs. The throbbing beats echoing through clubs remind me too much of chaos.

“I’m not really into that scene,” I mumble under my breath. The truth is, I haven’t been to a nightclub since the early days when Ryan and I first started dating. He loved to go dancing, get lost in the sea of people.

“Oh come on!” She nudges me playfully. “You’ve been cooped up long enough! You don’t have parental duties tonight. You said Leo was staying the night with a friend, so you can’t use him as an excuse. Just think of it as a distraction from all … well, you know.”