CASPIAN
I wasn't in the mood to sulk in my mansion over some morally bankrupt bureaucrat, so I decided to hit the club. Seb and a few others were supposed to join. We had something to celebrate, Director Marco had called earlier and asked for a meeting. That told me one thing: the footage had worked.
When I said I always get what I want… this is exactly what I meant.
I arrived at one of our clubs, ours meaning mine and Seb's.
It's one of our legitimate investments to get the authorities off our back.
We owned a few scattered across the city. This one was more upscale, more velvet-rope exclusive.
The type of place where the elite came to forget their morals, not their names.
The moment I walked in, heads turned.
I moved through the crowd and went straight to VIP, amused by how the staff tripped over themselves to serve me.
I hadn't called ahead.
I never did.
I liked surprising people.
Catching them off guard.
It was a habit that served me well, in business and otherwise.
I ordered a drink and took my usual corner seat, high enough to see everyone, private enough to avoid the noise.
The glass in my hand was cool, expensive, and useless against the heat simmering just beneath my skin.
I was halfway through my second glass when I noticed Seb hadn't shown.
I checked my phone and shot him a quick message:
—yo bro, where are you?
The reply came quick:
—there's this chick… anyway, sorry bro, I'm out tonight. Busy.
Typical.
I was trying to drink a certain black-haired girl out of my mind, and my wingman ditched me for a lay.
I rolled my eyes and sent another text:
—supposed to be bros before hoes. This is the end of our friendship.
No reply.
Figures.
I sighed and ordered another round.
If I was going to sit here alone, I might as well get drunk doing it.
The bartender knew my taste, neat, strong, no filler.
By my fifth glass, the buzz was settling in.
I loosened my tie, leaned back, and let the bass of the music vibrate through my chest. The club lights flickered over bodies dancing, laughing, grinding.
That's when she walked in.
Tall, legs for days, blonde hair that looked too perfect to be real.
Her face was sharp and smooth, too smooth. The result of too many fillers, too many trips to whatever plastic surgeon catered to Italy's elite.
Kaia Ray, supermodel, influencer, former fling.
I think we went out once or twice, maybe three times.
Hard to keep count.
She was part of that blur of women who passed through my life like staged scenes in a commercial, flawless, empty, forgettable.
"Hey Cas," she called in that sultry, practiced tone, sliding into view like she owned the room. "Knew it was you. Been a while."
I gave her a nod. "Kaia. Yeah, been a while."
She slid into the seat beside me without waiting for an invitation, her perfume hitting me like a memory I didn't ask for.
"I wasn't sure it was you at first," she said. "But then I saw the guards, thought, who else rolls that deep in a club? Definitely Caspian Rosinni."
"Well," I said, swirling my drink, "they're not doing their job very well if you managed to get past them."
She smirked. "They probably figured I'm harmless. Just a girl."
"Are you?"
She leaned in. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"
I chuckled, more out of habit than amusement. "Be my guest."
She raised a brow, fingers lightly skimming her glass. "Is that an invitation?"
"Let's call it a temporary truce," I said, standing and gesturing toward the private VIP suite tucked behind the lounge, a glass-walled enclave that overlooked the club but remained soundproof, insulated from the noise, the mess, the temptation.
She didn't hesitate.
I led her through the short hallway, a pair of security guys parting the way. Inside, the lights were low and the sofa long and curved, leather smooth as sin.
I dropped onto one end, letting her choose her position.
She slid close, closer than necessary, her legs curling underneath her, eyes scanning the room like she was already calculating the value of everything she saw.
"You always had good taste," she said.
"I never settle for less."
"Still ruthless, I see."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Her fingers trailed the rim of her glass. "Depends on what you're being ruthless about."
I watched her.
Watched the way she moved, talked, tried to fill the silence with sensuality and ego.
She was beautiful, polished, poised—but not real.
Not the kind of real that kept me up at night.
Not her.
Kaia leaned into me, breath sweet with champagne. "So? Am I staying tonight?"
I considered the question.
Maybe I should've said no.
Maybe I should've told her to go back to whatever glossy magazine shoot she crawled out of.
But I didn't.
Instead, I took the glass from her hand, set it down, and kissed her.
It was mechanical.
Hollow.
Like tasting nostalgia that had gone sour.
But I went through the motions, because I needed to feel something, even if it was the wrong thing.
Kaia responded immediately, hands on my collar, breath catching like she thought she was winning.
I didn't stop her.
I let it happen, let her press closer, let her straddle my lap and whisper the things she thought I wanted to hear.
I even smiled when she bit my lip.
Smiled when she moaned.
But the whole time, I wasn't really there.
My eyes were open, but my mind was somewhere else.
Back in that damn orchard.
Back in a field soaked with silence and mystery.
Back with her.
The girl with wild dark hair and a stare like defiance carved into ice.
I'd seen hundreds of women, kissed dozens, bedded more than I'd admit in polite company.
But none of them made me feel like she did.
And I didn't even know her name.
Kaia pulled back, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded. "You're distracted."
"Maybe."
"You're thinking about someone else."
I didn't answer.
She laughed, light but bitter. "Wow. You really are still a bastard."
I took a breath. "You knew what this was."
She sat back, crossed her arms. "And what exactly is this?"
I stared out at the dance floor beyond the glass. "A distraction."
She looked like she wanted to be angry, maybe she was.
But she also wasn't surprised, that was the thing about girls like Kaia, they were used to being used, just like they used everyone else.
She stood, adjusted her dress, grabbed her clutch.
"No hard feelings," she said, but her voice was colder now.
"None taken."
She was halfway to the door before pausing. "You'll regret it, you know."
"Probably," I said.
And then she left.
I stayed there, alone again, the room suddenly too quiet.
I poured myself another drink, let the ice melt slowly, and leaned back on the couch.
Outside, the club was still alive with music and sweat and laughter. Inside, I was alone with the thoughts of a dark hair and blue eyed bombshell.