By the time I finished dressing, the silence in his office felt louder than any argument we've ever had. I stood there like an afterthought. Like something unfinished.
He had left me exactly as I was. Naked, breathless and still aching from the heat of him. There was something humiliating about that combination. Something that scraped against my pride until it bled. Especially after the clusterfuck that was today.
He had walked away first, and that was what stunned me. I had expected him to fight, to claim me just as he always had, then we'd be okay. But he had just walked off like that. Like I had broke him, somehow.
I forced myself to move, to gather the pieces of dignity I had left and pull them back over my skin. Fabric felt foreign after the heat of his hands. But I dressed slowly, mechanically anyway, refusing to let my fingers tremble. I reapplied the little makeup I've packed in my workout bag, letting my hair fall naturally down my shoulders, which I rarely did nowadays without at least styling it somehow.
My gaze drifted around the room.
His office was dim, lit only by a single lamp that cast long shadows across the walls. The rest of the space remained swallowed in darkness, as if light existed only where it was necessary and nowhere else. His documents were stacked with meticulous precision on one side of the desk. Like nothing was out of place.
I took a deep breath, my mind drifting back to what had happened moments before. The way Alex had walked out without looking back. Guilt gnawed at my chest, slow and merciless. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, implied that Joshua might've loved me more, especially after what he had done. The words were meant to wound, and they had.
His office began to feel suffocating, the walls pressing in with the weight of everything at that thought. So I forced my feet to move and walked out.
I made my way downstairs, where the music thundered through the speakers, vibrating through the floor and into my bones. Dressed in my black sweater and jeans, I felt painfully out of place. The women here shimmered under the lights, glitter dusting their skin, neon threads woven through their hair as they moved through the crowd like they owned every inch of it.
If there was one thing about places like these, it gave the men the illusion of power. While it was always the women who truly wielded it. Sex had never really been about desire, after all. It was about power. And there was nothing more intoxicating than power.
From across the room, I caught Crystal's eye.
She was standing in the corner, a cigarette poised between her fingers as she spoke to a man in an expensive suit, relaxed and confident. But the moment she saw me, she murmured something to the man, dismissing him without hesitation before making her way over.
She took my arm gently, steering me away from the center of the room.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Now that she'd asked, I had no answer. Truthfully, I didn't know what I was doing here anyway. I just...needed to get out.
She studied my face for a moment, then exhaled softly. "If you're looking for boss, you certainly won't find him here."
"No," I said automatically, the word leaving my mouth before I could think better of it. "I'm not. I'm actually..."
My voice trailed off, the lie refusing to form.
A slow grin spread across her lips, sharp and knowing. "Ah," she said softly, her smirk deepening. "I see." Her eyes flicked over me, taking in everything. "You're looking to have fun."
I nodded.
She grabbed my hand before I could protest, pulling me toward the small door tucked discretely behind the bar. The one I had seen women slip in and out of, emerging transformed, glittering and untouchable.
"Well," she said over her shoulder, pushing it open, "you can't be having fun looking like that."
I stumbled slightly as she guided me inside. The noise from the club dulling the moment the door shut behind us. The room was smaller, different from the locker room I had changed in.
No, this one was lit by vanity mirrors rimmed with yellow bulbs that cast everything in a forgiving glow. Costumes hung from racks along the walls. All the sequins, lace and leather.
My brows drew together. "It's not like I packed for a strip club," I muttered, glancing down at my plain black sweater and jeans. I looked like I had just walked into the wrong life by accident.
Crystal turned to face me fully, crossing her arms as she leaned against one of the mirrors. "Sweetheart," she said, her tone almost amused, "you don't have to do anything. But if you don't want to stand out there, you either look like you belong...or people are going to notice."
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate.
"So tell me," she murmured, reaching past me for a hanger glittering with something far less innocent than what I was wearing. "Which one are you trying to be?"
Half an hour later, I walked out of the room dressed in a red mini corseted top and a grey mini skirt, short than anything I would normally wear. The corset hugged my ribs like a secret, lifting my breasts and cinching my waist with my red hair, cascading down my back in curls.
I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. But then again, I was also surrounded by women who wore far less and carried it like armor, so I blended in seamlessly. Not to mention, I loved the way my black pumps made my legs looked longer, sharper. More dangerous.
Crystal had given me enough tequila while I did my makeup to leave a pleasant buzz beneath my skin. Not enough to blur me, but definitely enough to soften the edges.
It didn't take a minute after we stepped back into the club before a man approached me.
"Are you available for a dance?" he asked, his eyes dragging over me with open interest.
"I'm not working," I told him coolly.
He leaned in slightly, undeterred. "Everyone's working for something."
Before I could answer, it happened.
That feeling. The sharp, electric awareness crawling up the back of my neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
My spine stiffened before I could stop it.
I lifted my gaze instinctively, scanning past the bodies, past the lights, the illusion of freedom everyone here pretended to have.
Then I saw him.
Alex stood across the room near the emergency exit, half-hidden in the shadows. His broad frame leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His black shirt clung to him, sleeves rolled up, collar open just enough to expose the hollow of his throat.
The man in front of me kept talking, oblivious. "Just one dance."
I didn't hear him.
Because Alex didn't move. He didn't need to.
Those eyes were locked on me.
And fuck, I hated how my body betrayed me. How the sight of him standing there, all cold and furious, still pulled at something deep inside my chest. Something raw. Something that will always belong to him.
My feet moved before my pride could stop them.
One step. Then another.
Like I was tethered to him. Like I always had been.
He didn't even reach for me.
He just walked me come back to him.