Liana found herself drawn toward a glowing sign that read The Vesper.
She'd heard of the place before. It was the kind of high-end bar people mentioned when they talked about the city's elite. Expensive, private, untouchable. The kind of place you only entered if you belonged to that world.
Liana didn't. Not even close. But right now, she didn't care. She just wanted somewhere no one would notice her, somewhere she could disappear.
The rain hadn't stopped since she left the apartment. It clung to her hair, her lashes, her clothes, as though the night refused to let her go. The cold soaked through her coat, but she welcomed it. It numbed everything that still hurt too much to feel.
She pushed past the velvet rope at the entrance. The host gave her a quick, judging look, the kind people used when they thought you didn't fit in. Her soaked jacket, messy hair, and trembling hands didn't help. Still, she walked straight in.
Inside, the room was dim and expensive-looking. Gold and shadow bled together under the low amber lights. The air smelled faintly of perfume, bourbon, and quiet power. Conversations floated like smoke too soft to understand, too false to matter. People smiled with their eyes half-empty.
Liana ignored them all and walked to the farthest corner of the marble bar. She sat down, her wet jacket sticking to the seat.
The bartender approached, his polished politeness faltering for half a second when he took in her appearance. She spoke before he could.
"Whiskey. Straight."
He hesitated maybe wanting to ask areyousure? but the look in her eyes made him think better of it. He nodded once and moved away.
When the glass hit the counter, she didn't hesitate. She took a deep swallow. It burned going down, sharp and heavy. The pain was the first real thing she'd felt all night. It made her eyes sting and her chest tighten, but at least it was something.
She took another sip, slower this time, and stared down at the golden liquid. It looked calm, steady and everything she wasn't.
Liana Brooks. The name didn't even sound like hers anymore. It belonged to someone who had plans, a wedding, a life. That woman was gone.
Now she was just a fool who had lost everything. Her fiancé. Her sister. Her future. All in one night.
Her fingers pressed against her temples. She kept seeing their faces. Michael's fake smile. Juliet's fake sympathy. All those little moments that hadn't made sense before but suddenly did. The late calls, the distance, the whispers she'd ignored because love had blinded her.
How blind had she been?
The thought made her sick.
She set the glass down and tried to steady her breathing, but the air in her chest felt too tight, too heavy. The music faded into the background, a dull thrum that matched the rhythm of her unsteady aching and lost heartbeat.
That was when she felt a shift in the air beside her.
Someone was watching her.
She didn't look right away, but she could feel it. Not the kind of stare that made your skin crawl, but one that reached straight through you.
When she finally glanced sideways, she saw him.
He sat a few seats away, quiet and still, a glass in his hand that he hadn't touched. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but somehow focused directly on her. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't even trying to look interested.
But he saw her.
Not the ruined, messy version of her sitting in a soaked jacket but something else. Something raw.
He was handsome in a way that made her heart skip sharp suit, broad shoulders, everything about him controlled and effortless. But there was something broken in him too. She could see it in his eyes a kind of cold, heavy sadness that mirrored her own.
Liana looked away quickly, embarrassed, but her reflection in the bar's mirror betrayed her. Their eyes met there instead through the glass, in that half-blurred space between them.
It lasted only a second, but it was enough.
He wasn't offering comfort or pity. He wasn't even curious. It was more like recognition. Two people caught in the same storm.
Liana's chest tightened. She lifted her glass again, tilting it slightly toward him in a silent toast. A reckless, quiet acknowledgment of her own downfall. To being broken. To being done with pretending.
He noticed.
The faintest curve appeared at his mouth. Not a smile more like a small, tired reaction that barely reached his eyes. Then he lifted his own glass, downed it in one smooth motion, and set it back down with a soft clink.
He stood, slow and deliberate, his movement drawing attention even in the crowded room.
He was coming toward her.
And for the first time that night, Liana didn't feel sadness or anger. She felt reckless, and alive.