I should have gone home.
I should have listened to my gut when Darren texted, *"Working late, don't wait up."*
But something about that message felt... off. So I didn't wait. I came home early.
The second I opened the front door, I knew.
There was music playing. Laughter. A wine glass half full on the hallway table—his glass. I bought that set. We only used them on special nights.
Apparently, tonight was special.
The bedroom door was open just enough. I didn't even have to push it. I just... looked.
And there he was. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, now—hovering over my best friend like she hadn't once held my hair back while I puked, cried, and made life plans.
His back, bare and flexing.
Her hands, nails digging in like she'd claimed him ages ago.
My best friend.
The girl who knew every one of my insecurities.
The one who once cried with me when I thought Darren might be cheating.
And him
Darren, the man who held me like I was the answer to his chaos.
Hovering over her like I'd never existed at all.
They didn't flinch. Didn't even have the decency to look ashamed.
Darren just blinked. "Jade—"
I turned around before I could hear the excuse forming on his tongue.
I didn't cry. Not then. That would've given them too much power.
*****
The city was too loud. Too bright. Too uncaring.
Perfect.
I walked aimlessly, thoughts buzzing like static. I should've been in bed, prepping for tomorrow's interview at Blake & Pierce. Instead, I ended up at some bar I'd never been to. Somewhere anonymous.
I ordered tequila.
Then another.
That's when he spoke.
"Rough night?"
The words cut through the low hum of the bar like a soft chord, unexpected but not unwelcome.
I turned toward the voice and saw him—leaning against the worn mahogany, sleeves rolled to the elbows, one hand wrapped around a half-empty glass of whiskey. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, like someone who'd seen too much but carried it quietly. He didn't look like he said much—but something about him told me that when he did, you'd want to listen.
I gave a tired smile. "You could say that."
He didn't press. Just offered the faintest nod and slid his glass a little in my direction, an unspoken invitation—not to drink, but to stay.
So I did.
We sat side by side, not quite touching. The silence between us was deliberate, not awkward—like a song you didn't need lyrics to understand. The kind of silence that wraps around you gently, like a blanket, and says, You don't have to explain.
No names. No pretense. Just small, weightless stories tossed back and forth like stones into water. He didn't ask about the red in my eyes or the exhaustion carved into my shoulders. And I didn't ask about the sadness that lived just behind his smile.
He was calm in the way cliffs are calm—still, but powerful. Steady. He made the noise in my chest go quiet for the first time all day.
I didn't even realize I was leaning in until I was already there.
The kiss was slow. Intentional. Not hungry, but aching. And when I kissed him, I didn't feel pathetic. I didn't feel broken or reckless or lost. I felt… free.
It wasn't just about him—it was about the way the weight I'd been carrying seemed to lift, if only for a little while. About how, for one night, I could be someone else. Someone untouched by betrayal. Someone whole.
The rest blurred like a dream you try to hold onto in the morning. Lips. Hands. A low hum of breath and skin. Sheets tangled around legs. Soft, whispered nothings that didn't have to mean anything, and maybe meant everything.
And when I finally slept, I slept deeper than I had in weeks.
The bed was cold when I woke.
His side was empty—no imprint, no warmth left. No note. No goodbye. Just a quiet room, washed in pale morning light and a silence that was both familiar and final.
That was fine.
Expected, even.
Still… for a moment, I let myself lie there. Let myself remember the feeling of being seen—if only briefly. Of being held without being questioned. Of choosing something, just once, for me.
Then I got up.
And I didn't look back.
******
Even if my life was currently a mess, I had one of the biggest interviews of my life and I couldn't miss it
Walking into Blake & Pierce for my interview twenty minutes late, hair still damp from a too-fast shower, nausea curling around my ribs, and a hangover clinging to me like guilt. I clutched my coffee like it was oxygen—caffeine and sheer hope the only things keeping me upright.
I had barely opened my mouth to apologize when the receptionist—bright and unbothered—smiled up at me and said, "Mr. Pierce will see you now."
I blinked. "Sorry, did you say Mr. Pierce?"
She nodded, already on the phone with someone else.
The name echoed in my skull like a dropped glass.
No. Couldn't be.
I followed the hallway, heels too loud on polished floors, heart hammering harder with each step. A name is just a name, right? I told myself it was coincidence. A fluke. The universe doesn't have that kind of humor.
I stepped into the office.
And my stomach hit the floor.
There he was.
Rolled-up sleeves. That same sharp jaw. Whiskey eyes that froze the air between us.
The man I'd kissed like I had nothing left to lose.
The man whose name I hadn't bothered to ask.
Now sitting behind a desk, jaw just a little tighter than last night, hands folded calmly on a stack of interview papers with my name at the top.
My one-night stand.
Now my new boss.
I felt the color drain from my face. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. We stared at each other like two people seeing a ghost.
He didn't say anything at first. Just the faintest raise of one brow, like this was amusing. Like he'd been waiting for me to catch up to the horror of it all.
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
He leaned back in his chair, cool and collected. "Miss Jade, is it?"
His voice was perfectly even. Not a flicker of recognition. Professional. Polished.
But I saw it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He knew. And he was enjoying this.
Somewhere in the distance, I remembered to breathe.
"Y-yes," I said, trying to swallow the word. "Sorry I'm late. It's been a—"
"Rough night?"
My blood turned to ice.
He said it just like he had last night at the bar. The same exact words.
Only now, we weren't strangers in the dark. We were something much more dangerous.
We were colleagues.
Or, worse—he was my boss.
To be continued…