Chapter 4 Four

Aminae

I watched the clock like it was daring me to flinch.

7:58 in the evening.

My fingers were frozen around my lip balm, half-lid open, unmoving. My dress was still on the hanger. My shoes sat on the floor like strangers. And Yasmin, ever the opposite of my nerves, was twirling in front of the mirror with half a curl pinned and gloss already glistening on her lips.

"You're going to stare a hole through that clock," she said without looking at me.

"I don't think I can do this," I said quietly.

"You can," she replied, peeling off a strip of double-sided tape for her bra. "You're just overthinking. Again."

"My dad only agreed because I said it was just you and me, and we'd be back by eleven-"

"It is just you and me. And we will be back by eleven. Ish."

"Yasmin-"

"You don't need to explain," she said, turning to me. "I know this isn't you. But maybe that's the point. You deserve a night off from being what they trained you to be."

I stared at her. Her calm. Her wild confidence. I wanted to drink it.

"Come on," she said, tugging me off the bed. "Get dressed. If we're late, the hot ones get taken."

We left the house at exactly 8:32 p.m. after Yasmin distracted my father with a lecture about pre-marital fertility supplements and how she thought Giovanni looked like someone who might have slow swimmers.

He let us go after that. No follow-ups.

We got in the car, and she cranked up the music, humming along as she adjusted the straps on her dress. I sat stiffly, trying not to tug at the hem of mine.

Yasmin glanced at me. "You look gorgeous, by the way."

"I feel like a lie."

"That's the spirit."

The club was just outside the city. Industrial. Low-key from the front but buzzing with light underneath. We pulled up in an Uber, streetlights flickering overhead, and already the sidewalk was lined with heels, laughter, perfume, and cigarette smoke curling like temptation.

"God, I love this place," Yasmin whispered as we stepped out.

There was a line. Of course. But Yasmin flashed her smile-and a well-timed tip to the doorman-and suddenly we were slipping through velvet ropes like we belonged.

Inside, it was louder than I expected. Heavier. The bass hit my chest before I even saw the lights. Red strobes. Glass floors. Neon dripping like heat from the walls. Sweat and expensive cologne. Body to body. A blur of mouths, hands, hips, desire.

I paused just inside the threshold. My whole body tense.

Yasmin turned, already dancing in place. "Do not freeze up on me now."

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Drink first. Then dance. Then flirt. I'll keep my phone on vibrate in case you need an escape signal."

She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

I made my way to the bar.

My heels felt too tall. My dress too tight. My throat too dry.

The bartender smiled like he already knew I was new to this.

"Vodka soda?" he asked.

"I... sure."

The first sip was bitter. The second burned. The third went down smooth, and I started to feel my shoulders loosen. Just a little.

The music sank into me.

For a moment, I didn't think about Giovanni.

Or my father.

Or the way my hands shook when I imagined my wedding night.

I was just a girl. Alone. In a room full of strangers.

I lasted twenty minutes inside.

The heat. The bodies. The music thumping like a second pulse in my skull-it was too much. The alcohol was already crawling through my veins, wrapping around my balance and judgment like a warm, invisible vine.

Yasmin had disappeared into the dance floor, her laughter trailing behind her like glitter. She waved once before vanishing entirely, swallowed by sound and strobe lights.

I stood there, alone at the bar, ice melting in my empty glass. My skin buzzed. My legs ached. My lungs suddenly decided they couldn't do this anymore.

I shouldn't have taken the third shot.

The first was for the nerves. The second was for the lie I told myself about not caring. But the third? That one was reckless. That one tasted like freedom.

The music was heavy-bass rattling in my chest, lights strobing like the world was trying to forget itself. I let my head fall back, let my hips roll with the rhythm. Sweat slicked my skin. I laughed at something I didn't hear. Some guy had come up behind me, his hands not quite respectful, but I didn't stop him.

I just didn't care.

Everything felt warm. Loose. Distant. Like I was dreaming in velvet.

I didn't know Cassian was there.

I didn't know until the guy behind me was suddenly gone-shoved, maybe slammed-and the heat against my back vanished.

I stumbled forward with the momentum, confused, half-spinning to curse whoever ruined the vibe. But when I looked up, everything in me dropped.

Cassian Romano.

Leaning into the strobe-lit dark like he owned it. One hand on the guy's collar, the other fisted, tattooed, and ready to ruin someone.

His eyes weren't angry.

They were murderous.

The guy mumbled something-probably drunk apology, probably scared out of his skin-and Cassian shoved him off like trash. Then his gaze snapped back to me.

And now I felt it. That pull-not some romantic thing. No. This was gravity. It was threat. It was heat curling low in my stomach because I knew what that look meant.

He hadn't come for drinks.

He hadn't come to party.

He came because I was here.

"I didn't know you were-" I started, my words slurring, half-defensive.

He didn't let me finish.

"You should've worn a longer dress."

The heat that flared up my throat wasn't from the alcohol. And I hated the way it made me ache.

"You don't tell me what to wear," I bit back, lifting my chin.

He stepped closer. My back hit the wall. My breath caught.

"I do when you're promised to my brother."

My blood went cold. Then hot.

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to lean in and see if his mouth tasted like the sin he spoke in.

Cassian didn't move.

He just stood there, like he was daring me to speak. Like he was giving me a single, silent chance to make this something it didn't have to be.

I hated the way my skin burned under his stare.

"I'm not yours," I said. Quiet, but not soft.

He smiled. But it wasn't nice.

"No," he said. "But you're not his either. Not really."

I swallowed hard. The music behind us kept pulsing, bodies swaying around us, but we might as well have been alone. A whole damn club of people and still-this moment was ours.

He tilted his head, eyes dropping down my dress and crawling back up like a hand. "You think he'd let you come out looking like that?"

"Maybe I didn't ask permission."

Cassian's jaw ticked. "That's not how this world works."

"Then maybe I don't want this world."

He let out a breath-sharp, through his nose. Like I'd said something I wasn't allowed to say.

Then, suddenly, he stepped in.

Too close.

His hand landed on the wall beside my head. The smell of cologne and danger and sin wrapped around me like smoke.

"You have no idea what you're playing with," he said, voice low. Controlled. But under it, I heard something cracking.

I looked up at him-at this man who was supposed to mean nothing to me. This man I should be afraid of. This man whose hands had just nearly broken a guy's jaw for touching me.

"I'm not playing," I said.

He stared at me-longer than was safe. Then his mouth moved, quiet and low.

"You're drunk."

"And you're here."

He didn't answer.

Because we both knew what that meant.

My back pressed harder into the wall. Not from fear. From instinct. Because his presence felt like a current and I was already soaked.

Then-without warning-his fingers brushed the hem of my dress. Just barely. Just a whisper of contact. But my breath hitched like he'd set me on fire.

"You should go home," he murmured, though his fingers didn't move.

"I was fine before you showed up."

"No, you weren't." His voice was steel. "You were about to let that idiot drag you into a car."

I blinked. "So you followed me?"

He didn't answer.

I stared. "Cassian-"

"Say my name like that again and I swear to God-"

His voice broke. He cut himself off, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.

I should've walked away.

I should've pushed him back.

But I didn't move. Neither of us did. The air between us felt like glass-thin, sharp, waiting to shatter.

And then his hand-his rough, inked, calloused hand-lifted to my face. Just one finger, dragging slowly down my cheek.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second.

That was all it took.

Because the next moment, his mouth was on mine.