Chapter 4 THE UNLIKELY ENCOUNTER

"You're coming with me. No excuses."

Rachel's voice rang with authority over the video call, her eyes lit with something that could only be described as reckless determination. I stared at her through the screen, blinking slowly, utterly unconvinced.

"I just got off a twelve-hour shift, Rach," I groaned, roughly rolling my fingers through the tangled mess of hair I hadn't gotten energy to brush. "My legs still feel like jelly, and I look like a hopeless girl in this scrubs."

I rolled my eyes, slumping into my couch and watching my tea go cold beside me. Rachel was on her short vacation, taking a break from whatever luxurious pharmaceutical conference she'd been networking her way through. And of course, she'd come back wanting one thing: chaos. Connection. Us.

And I missed her. God, I missed her.

"Exactly why you need this," she said, twirling a caramel-colored lock around her finger like she was twirling fate itself. "You're in desperate need of fun, Elara. When was the last time you let loose? Actually had a night out without a pager buzzing at your hip?"

I rubbed at my temple, her words sinking into the parts of me I kept too busy to acknowledge. I hated how right she was. Life had been nothing but pressure lately-a slow, creeping tide that started with Darlington bleeding out on my journey and ended with headlines, hushed tones, and too much caffeine. Somewhere along the line, I'd stopped being a person and become...function.

"I don't have anything to wear to a club," I grumbled, looking at the weakest excuse I could muster.

Rachel didn't even blink. "I'm sending you an Uber and a dress. Something simple, don't freak. You'll look hot, I promise. Uber will be outside your building in thirty minutes. And no, you do not get a say in this."

The call ended before I could argue. Classic Rachel.

I sat in the silence that followed, the dim light of the living room painting soft shadows on the walls. A soft ache bloomed in my chest. I hadn't danced in over a year. I hadn't been in my feelings over a year.

Maybe it was time.

---

Rachel's idea of "something simple" was a goddamn trap.

The black velvet dress was soft and sinful, clinging to every curve like a secret. The neckline plunged with no apology, and the slit up the thigh was so high I felt like a gust of wind might make me a local legend. I held in at the hem in the Uber, with my flushed cheeks, already regretting every decision that brought me here.

The driver gave me a look in the rearview mirror that made me consider asking to be dropped off at a church instead.

Too late. We were already pulling up to the club.

The place looked like wealth had gotten drunk and spilled itself all over the sidewalk-gold trim, velvet ropes, and a line of people trying to pretend they weren't freezing in four-inch heels.

And of course, there she was. Rachel, waiting like a queen at the gate, lips glossy and eyes sharp. She spotted me and her jaw dropped.

"Damn, girl," she breathed, pulling me into a tight hug. "You clean up way too good for a trauma ward hermit."

"I feel like a sexy raccoon impersonator," I muttered.

She threw her head back and laughed. "Perfect. You're in character. Now, tonight, you're not a nurse. You're Elara, hot bitch in heels. Let's pretend we're irresponsible for once."

Inside, the music hit like a wave-bass so heavy it felt like it was syncing with my heartbeat. Lights flashed, bodies moved, and somewhere in all that chaos, I remembered what it felt like to be young. Untethered.

A waitress dropped champagne flutes in our hands like magic.

"You dragged me out just to drink overpriced bubbles and get tinnitus?" I yelled over the music.

Rachel only winked. "Also got us into the VIP lounge upstairs. Come on, there's a game going on!"

Of course there was.

---

The upstairs lounge was a different world. Darker, smoother. The kind of place that smelled like expensive perfume and heartbreak. Velvet couches. Amber lights. The buzz of whispers and low laughter.

Rachel dragged me to a circle of people mid-game-Truth or Dare, apparently. I tried to sit quietly, invisibly, but that was never going to fly.

"Elara's turn!" someone called out.

I blinked. "How do you know my-"

Rachel shrugged. "I might've mentioned you."

I glared at her, but it was already too late.

"Truth or dare?" the guy asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Uh... Truth?" I answered, voice unsure.

"Boring," he groaned. "Alright then, who was your last kiss?"

The question hit like a thrown rock. Images surged: blood on my hands, the sterile chill of the trauma room, Damien's broken body beneath mine. I hadn't kissed him, not really. But somehow, it still felt more intimate than anything I'd had in years.

"It's been a while," I said quietly, dodging.

Groans, laughter, someone handed me another drink.

"Next round! Elara again. And no backing out this time-dare!"

A girl with violet eyeliner leaned forward. "I heard Darlington Cross is in the club so I dare you to go downstairs, walk up to him at the bar, and get his number."

Oh God.

I stared at her, hoping maybe I could burst into flames and skip the whole scene.

But my pride was louder than my anxiety. So I downed the rest of my champagne and stood. "Fine."

Rachel's smile widened into something dangerously delighted. "Do it." She whispered something into my ears, "He won't even notice who you are. Unless you're scared."

"I work in an ER," I shot back. "I'm scared of nothing."

Lies. I was terrified of everything.

Downstairs, the crowd had only thickened. Music thudded like a living thing. I moved through the bodies, scanning for someone generically hot so I could get this over with.

And that's when I saw him.

Leaning at the edge of the bar, drink untouched, hair a mess like he'd clawed through it too many times. He looked expensive and disheveled. Haunted. And so familiar.

Darlington Cross.

My heart stuttered. I couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Before I could turn away, his gaze lifted and met mine.

And everything stopped.

He didn't recognize me. Not really. But his eyes lingered like they wanted to.

My legs betrayed me. I crossed the floor and stopped right in front of him.

"Hi," I said, breath shallow.

He tilted his head. "Do we know each other?"

I swallowed. "No. I'm... here on a dare."

A spark of amusement lit his eyes. "Let me guess. You're supposed to get my number?"

"Exactly."

He studied me. Not like a man who was flirting. Like a man trying to remember something impossible.

"My chest ached.

"You look like someone who's lost something," I said without thinking.

His eyes snapped back to mine. "You could say that."

We stood in silence for a moment, the world buzzing around us. The hum of music, clinking glasses, laughter-it all faded.

"So," he said finally, "you want my number?"

I swallowed. "Only if you want to give it."

He took my phone from my hand, typed something in, and handed it back. Our fingers brushed.

His voice dropped low. "Let's see if fate brought you to me for a reason."

I didn't have time to respond. Rachel's voice called out from the stairs. "Elara! You did it? Come on back!"

Before I could step away, he spoke again. "Wait."

I turned.

"What's your name?"

I hesitated. "Elara."

He said it once. Then again, slower. Like tasting it. "Elara."

"And you are?" I asked, even though I already knew.

He smiled, almost shyly. "You mean you don't know me? I'm not much of a bragger... but I'm Darlington Cross. Cross Empires."

The name hung in the air like a thunderclap.

And I stood there, heart breaking open, knowing this night had just twisted into something I wasn't ready for.

Something real.