At the top, the city opens up. Lights stretching endlessly. Buildings layered in shadow and glow. Traffic moving like veins of red and white beneath us.
I inhale slowly. “It’s beautiful.”
He doesn’t look at the skyline.
He looks at me.
A quiet smile touches his mouth. “It really is,” he says, almost absently, like the city isn’t what he’s talking about. And for a second, I forget the view entirely. The moment lingers longer than it probably should. Then, we both turn back toward the skyline.
A quiet smile lingering between us. We stand there for a while, just watching the city. No one else around. No distractions. Just… the two of us, the night, the lights, and the faint, dangerous thrill of doing something completely stupid.
I check my phone, and Clara’s words drift back to me, her reminder to push the line, but not fall over it. We linger on the rooftop a little longer, just the city lights and the quiet thrill of doing something reckless.
Then Lucien finally gestures toward the street below. “Back to the hotel?” he asks. I nod, my pulse still buzzing from the view and the danger of being out at night with him.
As we walk, my phone buzzes. I glance down.
Dominic: Hope you’re having fun. Love you.
A hollow sound escapes my throat. Not quite a laugh. What a scumbag. Did he really think he could keep both of us? One life at home. One upstairs in my bed. Or does he think I’m stupid enough not to notice? Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he’s texting because the silence got uncomfortable. Maybe she wasn’t everything he thought she’d be. The thought doesn’t comfort me the way it should. Anger rises instead, slow, hot, curling through my chest like smoke.
I look at Lucien.
“Last shot,” I murmur. “On me.”
We head back down to the hotel. Back at the bar, three more shots appear between us before I even realize I ordered them. The tequila burns its way down my throat, sharp and punishing, but I welcome it. Anything to quiet the ache sitting heavy in my chest. Anything to make my brain stop replaying what I saw.
Lucien’s phone buzzes on the bar. A name flashes across the screen.
Abby.
He glances at it and exhales softly.
“I need to take this,” he says, already sliding off the stool. “I’ll be right back.” He steps away, voice lowering as he answers. I stare into my empty glass and let out a quiet, disappointed laugh.
Men. Liars. Cheaters.
Different faces. Same story.
They really do make disappointment look effortless. Why can’t they just stick to one person? Is it really that hard? Commit. Stay. Mean it.
Penguins can do it. Actual birds. With tiny brains and flippers. They pick one partner and waddle through life together like emotionally stable little gentlemen. So what’s the excuse?
They’re all the same, Era.My sister’s voice echoes in my head. God, I hate when she’s right. Maybe it’s ego. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s the constant need to feel wanted by someone new. Like one person’s love eventually stops tasting sweet enough.
Or maybe I just keep picking the wrong ones. That thought stings worse. Because if they’re all the same… What does that say about me?
I glare at the bartender. He just shakes his head, like he’s watching a conversation only I can hear and silently disagreeing.
“Excuse me?” I say, my words slightly blurred together. “Can I help you?”
“Ma’am,” he says evenly, not even a little intimidated, “tomorrow morning you come back and I’ll make you the best hangover cure you’ve ever had. But tonight, you’re done. No more alcohol.”
I push back from the stool and stand, the room tilting just enough to irritate me. Oh, we are not doing this. Heat rises up my chest, thatfamiliar mix of alcohol and anger, and I open my mouth, fully prepared to argue with this man about absolutely nothing.
Lucien is behind me before I get the chance. “Sorry about that,” he says smoothly, his voice calm and controlled. “My wife needs to go to bed.” His hand settles lightly at my back, steadying me.
“She’s had a little too much.” He lifts his hand slightly as he speaks, the ring catching the light just enough for the bartender to notice.
