The night was winding down. The warm amber light of the bar flickered gently as the group gathered their things, ready to leave. Damien adjusted his jacket, glancing toward Celeste who was chatting amiably with Ethan and his father. Lucien stood quietly nearby, eyes sharp and observant.
Just as Damien reached for the door handle, a voice called out from behind them.
"Celeste?"
The tone was soft, familiar — a voice that immediately pulled her attention. She turned, and there he was: a young man with a gentle smile, warm eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses, and an air of calm charm. His hair was slightly tousled, and there was something quietly handsome about him that caught the eye.
Celeste's face lit up instantly. Without hesitation, she broke away from the group and rushed to him, throwing her arms around him in a hug so natural it was as if no time had passed at all. He laughed softly and spun her around once, then twice, his grip steady and affectionate.
The two moved effortlessly toward the drinks counter, leaving Damien, Ethan, and Lucien behind. The atmosphere around them shifted—an invisible bubble of warmth and familiarity separating them from the rest of the bar.
Celeste's laughter rang clear and bright as the former classmate reached out and pulled her toward the bar stools, sliding into one beside her. She settled next to him, still glowing with the happiness of the unexpected reunion.
"I can't believe it's really you," Celeste said, her voice a mix of surprise and joy. "How long has it been?"
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Too long. I've missed this—seeing you, talking like we used to."
They ordered drinks, their conversation flowing naturally, punctuated by bursts of laughter and quiet smiles. Their words were soft and low, spoken in a way that kept the others at a distance—not intentionally secretive, but clearly meant to be shared just between the two of them.
At the other end of the bar, Ethan's gaze flicked repeatedly between Celeste and the newcomer. His lips tightened, a subtle but unmistakable flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Damien, meanwhile, remained still, his jaw clenched and eyes darkening with a storm of emotion he fought hard to contain.
Lucien watched the scene unfold with a knowing smirk, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. He caught Ethan's eye and gave a slight nod, as if silently confirming the tension was mutual.
Damien's fists clenched at his sides. Despite himself, a flicker of insecurity gnawed at him, twisting the evening's warmth into something sharp and uncomfortable. He reminded himself that Celeste was free, that past connections didn't have to mean anything now—but the sting lingered.
The classmate caught Celeste's hand gently, his thumb brushing over her skin in a way that was comforting, familiar. Her eyes softened in response, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, cocooned in a bubble of shared history.
Back near the door, Damien turned away, clearing his throat and forcing himself to focus on the others. Ethan's eyes followed him, but Lucien's smirk never faded.
Celeste's laughter floated back across the room, light and carefree, but the undercurrent of complex emotions in the air was impossible to ignore.
As the evening deepened, the trio at the bar—Damien, Ethan, and Lucien—remained locked in their silent contest of control and restraint, each man watching Celeste's interaction with the newcomer in his own way. The night was far from over, and the game had only just begun.
The buzz of the bar grew warmer, voices mixing with the steady rhythm of the music as the night deepened. Ethan's father, a tall man with a distinguished salt-and-pepper beard, raised his glass in a quiet toast, nodding toward Damien and Lucien.
"To new projects and old friendships," he said, his voice calm but commanding.
Glasses clinked softly, and the group drank, the amber liquid sliding down their throats with ease. Celeste, still glowing from the surprise reunion, felt the pleasant warmth unfurl inside her chest, mingling with the light buzz from the drinks.
Her former classmate was a skilled conversationalist, weaving stories with a gentle humor that made her laugh easily. Ethan attempted to interject a few remarks, but the moment between Celeste and the newcomer was palpable, like a private world untouched by the tension lingering elsewhere in the room.
Damien sat quietly, his gaze flicking from Celeste to Ethan and back again. Lucien's smirk deepened as he watched Damien's subtle but growing agitation.
The music shifted, a deeper, pulsing beat replacing the softer melodies that had played earlier. It was a call to move, to shed the constraints of the evening and lose oneself in the rhythm.
Celeste caught the beat in her chest and smiled mischievously at her old friend. Without hesitation, she stood, slipping effortlessly from her seat.
"I think it's time to dance," she said, voice steady despite the warmth flowing through her veins.
He nodded with a grin, following her lead to the center of the bar's small dance floor. The space was limited, but Celeste didn't seem to mind. The crowd's attention turned toward them as the confident energy she radiated cut through the room.
Her steps were precise yet fluid, every movement balanced between grace and fire. She danced like she owned the moment, swaying her hips with a practiced ease, her eyes sparkling as she lost herself in the music.
The drinks she'd taken lent her movements a carefree edge, a fearless abandon that drew more eyes. The usual polite smiles turned into appreciative glances and some discreet whispers.
Damien watched, his jaw tightening. There was something intoxicating about the way Celeste moved—powerful and free—and yet beneath it was the unmistakable vulnerability she often masked so well. A flicker of possessiveness and awe warred inside him, clashing with the chill of jealousy he couldn't quite hide.
Ethan's gaze was sharp, though there was a flicker of reluctant admiration even in his calculating eyes. Lucien remained the picture of cool detachment, but even he allowed a small smile to twitch at the corner of his mouth.
As the song reached its crescendo, Celeste's confidence peaked. She stepped up to the bar counter, her body moving in time with the beat as she danced with effortless skill. She drew closer to the edge, her silhouette illuminated by the flickering neon lights.
The room seemed to hold its breath. Patrons paused their conversations, glasses halted mid-air, and even the bartender leaned in to watch.
Celeste's dress clung to her curves, the fabric catching the light as she moved. Her hair tumbled in soft waves around her shoulders, catching just enough light to shine like silk.
She was intoxicating—wild and controlled, bold yet elegant.
The previous restraint she had maintained throughout the evening melted away as the rhythm took over completely. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and then she opened them, locking gazes with the classmate who had drawn her out tonight.
He smiled back, a mixture of admiration and something softer, more protective.
The crowd's attention was undeniable now, and Celeste owned it without hesitation.
Her movements grew bolder, her steps sharper, the heat of the moment visible in every gesture. The subtle sway of her hips, the tilt of her head, the arch of her back—it was a dance not just of body, but of spirit.
The tension in the room thickened. Damien's heart hammered painfully in his chest, a mix of longing and frustration coiling inside him. He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to step forward, to pull her away and remind her of what they shared.
But she was hers, and not his—not just yet.
Ethan's jaw tightened as he took in the scene, his eyes darkening with competitive fire.
Lucien, ever the observer, finally broke into a quiet chuckle. "Well, that's one way to make an impression," he murmured, his eyes flicking between Damien and Ethan.
There was something in her look—a challenge, an invitation, or maybe just a spark of wild freedom—that both thrilled and terrified him.
The night was far from over, and the dance between desire, possession, and freedom was only at it's chapter one.
The pulsing bass thrummed through the bar, and under the changing lights, Celeste was a vision in motion. Standing confidently on the counter—barefoot now, hair wild from dancing—she swayed with the music like it was written for her. The beat had shifted to something slower, steamier, and so did her movements. Fluid, hypnotic, unapologetically alluring. Her hips rolled to the rhythm, one hand in her hair, the other holding a half-empty glass she occasionally sipped from, drunk giggles spilling past her lips.
Damien stood frozen near the VIP section, one hand clenched around a glass of untouched scotch. His jaw tightened with each beat. Every man in that bar had their eyes locked on her. Even Ethan, the smug brat, looked like he was on the verge of biting his lip. But Celeste didn't seem to notice—or maybe she did. That teasing little smirk she threw their way before tossing her head back and dancing harder said she was very aware.
Lucien leaned in, amused. "She's setting the room on fire, boss."
Damien didn't answer. His eyes hadn't left her. Watching her laugh with her former classmate earlier had already scratched at something raw inside him. But this? This was a burn.
Celeste twirled, narrowly missing a bottle behind her. The bartender moved out of her way, chuckling nervously. And then, she locked eyes with Damien.
That one look—that tipsy, glowing look filled with mischief and challenge—snapped the last thread of his control.
Without a word, Damien put down his glass, stepped away from the VIP area, and started walking. People moved out of the way like the Red Sea parting for Moses. Every step was precise. Intentional. His eyes never wavered from her.
Celeste, still smiling, wobbled slightly on her heel. "D-Damien?" she laughed, watching him come closer. "Hey, relax—I'm just dancing—"
He didn't answer. He reached the counter, placed his hands firmly on her waist, and in one smooth motion, pulled her into his arms—earning a surprised yelp from her—then tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
"Leclair!" she squealed through giggles, upside down now. "What are you doing?"
"Getting you out of here," he muttered, storming toward the exit.
Her hands lightly thumped against his back. "You're being dramatic!"
He ignored the amused glances and gasps from the onlookers. Behind him, Celeste turned her head, waved lazily at the bar.
"Byeeee Logan! Good night Ethan and Lucien!" she called, completely unbothered.
Damien heard Lucien's soft snort and Ethan muttering something under his breath whereas her former classmate, Logan was speechless.
But he didn't stop.
Outside, the cool night air hit them. Celeste gasped at the temperature shift, then laughed as Damien walked to his car, still carrying her like some caveman with a prize.
"I was having fun, you know," she mumbled, resting her head against his back.
"I know exactly what kind of fun," he gritted out, unlocking the car with one hand and setting her down gently on the passenger seat.
Celeste pouted as he buckled her in. "You're so jealous."
"I'm territorial," he corrected, voice low. "That's different."
"You didn't have to carry me like a sack of potatoes," she teased, poking his chest.
Damien leaned in, his voice brushing her ear. "Keep calling it that and I'll show you exactly how possessive I can get."
She shivered. Not from the cold.
Lucien leaned against the bar, fingers curled loosely around a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched in minutes. His sharp gaze scanned the scene before him—the air was thick with bass, perfume, and tension, but it wasn't the music that intrigued him. It was the way two men—very different in manner, yet strikingly similar in interest—were looking at the same woman.
Ethan Fairchild, seated near the VIP booth, exuded that reckless charm that only the extremely young and wildly rich could afford. At twenty-three, with his tailored navy suit, boyish smirk, and messy-styled hair, he was every bit the prodigy CEO he was hailed as. Confident, cocky even, with a sharp tongue that liked to flirt as much as it liked to provoke. His eyes hadn't left Celeste since she entered the bar, and Lucien could practically hear the gears turning in that calculating mind of his. Ethan wasn't just admiring her—he was assessing her. Like a prize worth chasing. And with how often he looked Damien's way, Lucien knew he wasn't above playing dirty to see if he could win.
Then there was the former classmate—the opposite of Ethan in almost every sense. Tall, lanky in an academic sort of way, glasses slipping down his nose, a quiet warmth in his demeanor. He wasn't showy or territorial. His laughter with Celeste was easy, genuine, untouched by motive. But that sincerity? It made Lucien smirk. Sometimes it was the quiet ones that left the deepest marks.
Still, between the two, Lucien's focus returned to Damien—his boss, his friend. He knew Damien like he knew the back of his own hand: stoic, guarded, deeply proud. And yet, Lucien had never seen him this visibly shaken, not even during million-dollar negotiations. Celeste had always been his blind spot. And now, watching these younger men circle her like moths to a flame?
It was no longer just a matter of jealousy.
It was a test of whether Damien believed he still deserved her.
Lucien sipped his whiskey finally, letting the burn settle in his throat.
This night was far from over. But if Ethan and Logan thought they could challenge Damien Leclair without consequences, Lucien almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.