The booth was massive. Horseshoe-shaped. The kind of space for seeing and being seen. But tucked directly behind it, hidden by a heavy velvet curtain and a keyed door, was the real sanctuary. An attached private lounge, sound-dampened and dim. It had its own stocked bar, a low couch and a one-way mirror looking out at the dancers. The moment the door clicked shut, the roar of the club dropped to a low, rhythmic thrum.
April's phone buzzed in her clutch.
Then again.
Then three more times in rapid succession.
She pulled it out. The screen lit up with notifications; texts from old coworkers, names she hadn't thought about in months, all with variations of the same panicked energy:
Stephanie:"APRIL. IS THIS ABOUT CHAD???"
Erin:"Girl did you SEE this song"
Katie:"You need to call me RIGHT NOW"
Alyssa:"Wait the Cupcake Song is about YOUR Chad??"
April stared at the screen. The song had been trending when they left the gala. Now it was everywhere.
Her phone buzzed again. Laura this time.
Laura:April.Is this song about CHAD.
Laura:Are you okay??
Laura:Did you actually meet Jiro??
Laura:You said gala.
Laura:Then Mateo’s.
Laura:Now a club??
Laura:WHAT is happening.
April blinked at the screen. That was a fair question.
"I need—" She cleared her throat, tried again. "Bathroom. I'll be right back."
Killian's hand was on her elbow immediately. "I'll come with you."
"I'm fine." She managed a smile that probably didn't reach her eyes. "Just need a minute."
Arthur was already standing, his eyes scanning the room. "We should—"
"I'm fine," April repeated, firmer this time. "I just need to... I'll be right back."
She didn't wait for permission. Walked toward the back of the club, following the neon signs that pointed toward therestrooms, her heels clicking against tile that was probably supposed to look expensive but mostly looked sticky.
The bathroom was all black marble and purple LED strips, trying very hard to be upscale and mostly succeeding if you didn't look too closely at the grout.
April locked herself in a stall. Counted to three. And then to ten.
The music was muffled here, just a distant thrum of bass that she could feel in her chest. Her phone buzzed again. She looked down at the screen. More texts. More notifications. A missed call from her mother.
Her mother.
Oh god.
