Chapter 2 Beginning of the End

The music was too loud.

The drinks were too strong.

And I was way too sober for any of this .

I stood at the edge of the dance floor like I didn't belong-maybe I didn't. Not really.

I hadn't come here to party. Or flirt. Or find someone new.

I came to forget.

The dress clung to me like a secret I wasn't ready to tell. Red. Tight. Dangerous. It was my "revenge bitch era outfit " that was carefully locked away in my closet. No bra. No straps. Just curves and a dangerously high slit that revealed more thigh than I was used to showing in public.

I didn't wear makeup. Didn't have the time, or the energy, or the emotional bandwidth to paint on a new version of myself.

Just clear gloss on my lips and a prayer that the low lighting would hide the war going on behind my eyes.

The heels pinched. The room spun. And my heart hadn't stopped aching since this morning.

But at least here ,surrounded by strangers and synthetic beats I didn't have to think about the voicemail notifications piling up on my phone.

I didn't have to think about Jamal.

Or my jobless state.

Or the emptiness of a bed I used to share with someone who once promised forever.

The flashing lights painted the club in dizzying shades of red and, like a warning wrapped in temptation.

Bodies swayed all around me sweaty, smiling, lost. But I just stood there, pressed against the bar like I was trying to disappear into the wood grain.

My fingers curled tighter around the edge of the counter as my phone buzzed in my bag for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Jamal.

Again.

I didn't even need to check.

He'd been calling all night, alternating between calls and voicemails. I hadn't listened to a single one yet. I couldn't.

But I could feel them. The way you feel an old wound start to ache before it rains.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

It vibrated like a heartbeat I didn't want to claim anymore.

A part of me maybe the broken, scared part wanted to answer. Wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to believe that maybe he really had messed up. That maybe I was too cold. Too tired. Too much of a burden to love.

What if it was me?

What if I really was the problem?

He was all I had. All I'd built around.

The only one who stayed when my parents left. When the bills piled up. When the world forgot I even existed.

If I let go of him... what was left?

My stomach twisted, and I blinked hard to keep the tears at bay.

"Hey, you okay?" a girl's voice said beside me. Her breath smelled like mint and vodka.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just tired."

She smiled like she didn't believe me, then disappeared into the crowd with a guy who already had his hand on her ass.

Bzzz.

Another call.

I pulled my phone out this time, thumb hovering over the screen.

Jamal ❤️ – 27 missed calls. 9 new voicemails.

I stared at the heart emoji beside his name like it was mocking me.

My thumb slid toward play.

But I stopped.

Instead, I shoved the phone back into my purse and grabbed the drink someone left unattended next to me. I didn't care what was in it. I just needed to feel anything else.

The moment it hit my tongue, a shiver ran down my spine. Bitter. Strong. Perfect.

⸻

Six Hours Earlier

The key stuck in the lock like even the apartment didn't want me back.

I had to jiggle it twice before the door finally creaked open.

It was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I'd just grown too used to Jamal's place fancier furniture, working plumbing, a bed that didn't squeak with every breath.

But this?

This was mine.

The one-bedroom apartment I hadn't stepped foot in since I'd moved in with him a year ago. Dust coated the window . The air was stale, heavy with memories. A pile of unopened letters sat beneath the door.

I dropped my purse and kicked off my shoes, walking toward the kitchen on muscle memory alone.

The fridge clicked open with a groan. Inside?

One bottle of ketchup.

A half-empty carton of milk, probably expired.

And a single takeout container with something so moldy it could've grown legs and walked out.

I slammed it shut and leaned my head against the door.

"Welcome home, Ivy," I muttered to myself.

I crossed the living room in silence, tugged the curtains open, and coughed as a cloud of dust danced into the air. I cracked the window and turned on the tiny fan in the corner.

Then I stood there.

Still.

Staring at the blank wall in front of me like it had all the answers.

Who was I without Jamal?

Without my job?

Without anyone to lean on?

Maybe he was right. Maybe I'd let the pressure change me and make me cold. Maybe I should've just forgiven him. People make mistakes, right?

Maybe-

BZZZ.

Another message.

Another voicemail I didn't want to hear.

I felt like I was floating. Detached. Like I'd left my body behind and was watching this sad, broken girl spiral from above.

I needed air.

Or music.

Or a drink.

Or... something that would make me feel like I was still alive.

⸻

Back at the Club

I was on my second stolen drink and third emotional crisis when a voice cut through the noise like silk over a blade.

"You always give strangers water?"

I froze.

Slowly, I turned.

It was him.

The man from the sidewalk.

The one I'd handed my last bottle of water to because he looked like he needed it more than me.

But now?

He didn't look like he needed anything.

Tall. Dark. Devastatingly handsome. His black suit clung to him like it had been custom-made to wrap around sin itself. His eyes glinted under the strobe lights-steel blue, cold and sharp.

And he was smiling at me.

Like he knew things I didn't.

Like I was the game, and he already had the rules memorized.

"I-uh..." I fumbled, cheeks heating. "You remembered me?"

He stepped closer, and the scent of something expensive and dangerous filled my lungs.

"I don't forget kindness. Especially not when it's unexpected."

I swallowed. "You looked like you were melting."

He chuckled, low and rich. "And you looked like a girl trying to keep the world from falling apart."

That hit harder than it should have.

I looked away, but he reached out, brushing his fingers under my chin and tilting it gently back toward him.

"Rough night?"

"Rough life," I whispered.

He nodded slowly, eyes locked on mine like he could read everything I hadn't said.

"You don't belong here," he said softly.

I frowned. "Where do I belong, then?"

He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"With me."