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The music pulses through the floor, vibrating up my legs, while the air wraps around us—perfume, sweat, and the faint sweetness of tropical cocktails blending into an intoxicating scent.

God, I’ve missed this. Missed her.

Before she started dating Nick, Sierra and I were practically inseparable. Even after I moved to be closer to her, I tried to give her space, to let her live her relationship without me constantly hovering around.

And when Serena came into the picture… well, let’s just say I can’t really steal her away for myself anymore.

And that’s fine. It really is.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.

The realization hits harder than I expect, tightening something in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I pull her into a tight hug.

She freezes for a moment, caught off guard, then wraps her arms around me, holding me just as firmly.

“I love you, Sierra,” I murmur, my voice unsteady despite the music pounding around us. “Being your friend means more to me than you could ever imagine.”

When I pull back, the surprise on her face makes me almost smile. I know I’m not the kind of person who says things like that easily—if you knew the environment I grew up in, you’d understand why—but that’s what I feel. And she deserves to hear it.

“I love you too, Thalia,” she says softly. “You’re the sister I’ve always wished I had.”

“Everything okay?” Nick’s question cuts through the moment, concern passing across his features.

We both laugh, turning toward him.

“Yes, baby,” Sierra says quickly, smiling. “I just missed spending a little time with my best friend.”

He exhales, visibly relaxing, then he laughs quietly.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you two to it.” He presses a kiss to her forehead before glancing at me with a playful wink. “I’ll be at the table if you need me.”

“No, it’s fine,” I tell him, catching his arm for a second. “I’m just going to grab a drink. Stay and dance with Ser.”

Leaving them behind, I make my way through the crowd toward the bar. Honestly, I need a drink tonight—something strong enough to stop the mess running through my head.

As I get closer, someone from a group dancing nearby stumbles backwards and bumps into me. I barely keep my balance, muttering a quick “It’s fine,” but when I lift my gaze…

I stop. Completely.

At the top of the stairs leading to the VIP section stands Ethan.

Of course, he’s not alone.

A blonde is draped over him, the kind of woman who looks like every man’s fantasy brought to life—tight pink latex hugging every curve of her body, silver heels elongating her legs, flawless hair, makeup that belongs on the cover of a magazine. Everything about her is precise, intentional. Effortless.

She fits there. Next to him.

Both her hands press against his chest as she leans in, whispering something into his ear with a slow, knowing smile. Her breasts brush deliberately against him, the movement too calculated to be accidental.

And Ethan… He looks exactly the same. Cool. Composed. That infuriating smirk resting at the corner of his lips, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as if none of this requires effort.

He’s wearing jeans and a crisp shirt, the top buttons undone enough to reveal the edge of the tattoos across his chest, the sleeves rolled to expose the ink winding along his forearms.

This version of him feels different.

Less restrained.

Like the island stripped away the constant pressure of work and left behind the man who doesn’t need to try.