Chapter 9 #2
Forget Yarina.
Forget the impossible choice the Flynn patriarch had forced upon me—kill Romeo or watch my mother die.
The decision hung over me like a death sentence.
The music swallowed everything else.
I barely noticed the passing traffic as the city lights blurred beyond my windows.
Before I realized it, I had reached the club.
I parked, switched off the engine, and released a long, weary sigh before stepping out.
Club 007.
I had been here countless times with Egor back when we were simply friends.
Back before everything had become so complicated.
It was one of the city’s most exclusive establishments, catering almost entirely to wealthy businessmen, politicians, and billionaires.
Security was notoriously strict, and anyone who caused trouble was escorted out almost immediately.
That knowledge offered me the smallest measure of comfort despite the dress I was wearing.
I walked inside.
The guards recognized me immediately.
“Good evening, Miss Sokolov.”
Neither of them questioned my appearance as they stepped aside to let me pass.
Inside, the atmosphere was unexpectedly subdued.
The club wasn’t particularly crowded tonight.
Soft, melancholic music drifted through the room while couples swayed beneath warm amber lights. Some danced with their wives.
Others with women who clearly weren’t.
Crystal glasses caught the dim lighting, sending shimmering reflections across polished marble floors.
I slowly scanned the room, searching for Egor.
“Looking for me?”
The familiar voice came from beside me.
I turned.
A quiet sigh escaped me.
Egor.
The memory of our last encounter flashed through my mind—his desperate confession, his marriage proposal, and the ugly threat he’d made after I rejected him.
My expression hardened.
“I’m really sorry about what happened last time,” he said, nervously pushing a hand through his hair.
“I loved you so much that... I didn’t know how to handle being rejected.”
I said nothing.
The silence between us stretched uncomfortably.
Seeing the anger still written across my face, he forced an awkward smile.
“Come on.”
He gestured toward the back of the club.
“I already reserved a private booth for us.”
His smile became tentative. “We can talk first.”
A brief pause. “And... if you feel like it later, we could dance.”
I almost laughed.
Dance?
With him?
Not a chance.
Without responding, I followed him toward the secluded booth.
He sat across from me while signaling a waitress.
A few moments later, she returned carrying two drinks.
The instant she placed mine on the table, I wrapped my fingers around the glass and emptied it in one swallow.
The burn of alcohol slid down my throat.
It wasn’t enough.
Nothing felt like enough.
Anything...
Anything that could numb this pain.
Egor stared at me.
Concern replaced the hopeful smile he’d been wearing.
“Juliet...”
His brows drew together.
“Are you okay?”
I pushed the empty glass toward him.
“Pour me another.”
He hesitated.
I nudged the glass closer.
“Please.”
Without another word, he reached for the bottle and refilled it.
I drank the second glass just as quickly.
I couldn’t think about my mother.
I couldn’t think about Romeo.
I couldn’t picture him sitting beside Yarina’s hospital bed, looking at her with the tenderness I had foolishly hoped might one day be mine.
I refused to think.
“Another,” I whispered, sliding the empty glass toward him once more.
This time, Egor didn’t move.
He slowly shook his head.
“No.” His voice was gentle but firm. “That’s enough.”
“Juliet...” His eyes searched mine. “You’re drinking far too much.”
“Just pour me another. I’m not drunk yet.” I snapped, reaching for the bottle.
Egor tightened his grip on it. “If you drink another glass, you will be.”
“So what if I am?”
His expression softened, almost pleading. “Then you won’t be able to dance with me. We won’t even be able to talk properly.”
I stared at him blankly.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Egor.” My voice came out colder than I intended. “I’m a married woman now.”
I held his gaze.
“And no... I won’t be dancing with you.”
He leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.
“First,” he said with infuriating confidence, “you’re married to Romeo for two years. When those two years are over, you’ll walk away from him and come to me.”
His gaze held mine. “I can wait.”
A bitter laugh almost escaped me.
He actually believed that.
“Second,” he continued, “why won’t you dance with me? I already apologized. I miss us.”
Without another word, I snatched the bottle from his hand.
Before he could stop me, I filled my glass to the brim and swallowed every drop.
The liquor burned all the way down.
Almost immediately, warmth spread through my body.
The room shifted.
Not much...
Just enough for the lights to blur around the edges.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, followed by an overwhelming heaviness in my limbs.
I forced myself to sit straighter.
“When I divorce Romeo,” I said slowly, willing the room to stop spinning, “I won’t be coming to you.”
I met his eyes. “I don’t love you.”
The words came out steady despite the alcohol. “I never will.”
I pushed the empty glass aside. “So bury that fantasy before I decide to walk out of here.”
Frustration flashed across his face.
He let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting both forearms on the table.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Let me take you home.”
“I don’t trust you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“And besides...” I blinked, trying to steady my vision. “I’m not done here.”
The room had begun to split into two.
Beyond Egor, couples drifted across the dance floor beneath soft golden lights.
The DJ laughed with someone beside the booth while seamlessly blending one slow song into another.
Everything seemed strangely beautiful...
And impossibly far away.
“Juliet...”
Egor’s voice pulled me back.
I glanced down and found his hand resting over mine.
My fingers stiffened beneath his touch.
For one absurd second, my eyes lingered on the place where a wedding ring should have been.
Romeo had given me one at the altar, but I had tossed it away the moment we returned home.
He had cut his palm at the altar, publicly humiliated me, and sworn that he would hate me. Yet he still expected me to wear his ring.
Hell, I didn’t even know where it was anymore.
“I really hope you can forgive me,” Egor said quietly.
I immediately pulled my hand free.
“Don’t.”
Even speaking suddenly felt exhausting.
My eyelids were growing heavier with every passing second.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stood.
Before I could react, he slipped an arm around me and gently pulled me to my feet.
My legs nearly gave out beneath me.
The alcohol had hit harder than I’d realized.
I tried to steady myself, but my body refused to cooperate.
He draped one of my arms across his shoulders while wrapping his other arm around my waist.
“Come on.” His voice was low. “I’ll take you home.”
I attempted to pull away.
“I said...” My words slurred slightly. “...I don’t trust you.”
There wasn’t enough strength left in me.
As he guided me toward the exit, he leaned closer.
“You know...” he murmured near my ear, “you’re unbelievably beautiful, Juliet.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “So fucking beautiful.”
My stomach twisted. “I wish you were really mine.”
Without warning, the hand around my waist slid lower.
His fingers deliberately squeezed me.
My entire body went rigid.
A surge of revulsion cut through the haze clouding my mind.
I planted my feet as firmly as I could.
“Stop.”
The word came out weak...
But it was still a command.
He lifted his hand. Only for a second.
Then he smiled.
“You keep telling me to stop,” he murmured, “but I know you want this just as much as I do.”
Before I could react, his hand shoved between my legs, grabbing me hard through the thin fabric of my dress.
The crude violation ripped through what little composure I had left.
We were standing in the middle of the club.
People were everywhere.
Anyone could have seen.
It didn’t matter.
Whether in public or behind closed doors, this was wrong.
He was taking ruthless advantage of the fact that I could barely stand.
Rage surged through me.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I swung my hand toward his face.
He caught my wrist before it landed.
His grip tightened.
Without missing a beat, he flashed an easy smile at the curious people beginning to glance our way, casually nodding as though reassuring them everything was perfectly normal.
Nothing to see here.
Everything’s fine.
My stomach turned.
“I’m sure you’ll be begging me for more once we get to my house,” he said smoothly.
Still holding my wrist, he tugged me toward the exit.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Egor shoved me forward with far more force than necessary.
I stumbled, barely managing to keep my balance.
The last traces of alcohol-induced numbness evaporated, replaced by a chilling realization.
He wasn’t taking me to my home. He had never intended to. He was taking me to his.
Cold dread flooded my body.
I should never have come here.
I should have listened to the voice warning me not to trust him.
I should have known he hadn’t invited me here out of concern.
Suddenly, something changed.
The atmosphere inside the club shifted so abruptly it was almost tangible.
The music lowered.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
Laughter disappeared.
One by one, heads turned toward the entrance.
Several influential guests immediately stepped aside, some lowering their heads in unmistakable respect.
Others hurried out of the way altogether.
Even through the haze clouding my mind, I felt it.
Power.
Raw, unquestionable power had just walked into the room.
A tall man dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit strode through the entrance with unhurried confidence.
Around him moved a wall of dangerous-looking men in equally expensive suits, their expressions cold, alert, and utterly devoid of mercy.
The entire room seemed to part for them.
The man’s face tugged at my memory.
I knew him.
I was certain I knew him.
But my alcohol-clouded thoughts refused to cooperate.