Chapter 1
Elara’s head bobbed to the pulsing beat, her foot tapping as she sipped her drink. She’d protested when Violet suggested the club, but she had to admit, this was fun. It had been months since she’d gone out, not with lesson plans and grading swallowing her evenings, but tonight was different. Tonight was a celebration. Her almost-birthday celebration. And the news that she was – almost – about to land the promotion she’d worked so hard toward.
The moment Mr Green, Head of Department, retired, she’d applied for the position. He’d been her music teacher and mentor since high school, so it had felt like an honour to step into his shoes. Violet, queen of HR whispers, let it slip that the shortlisting was down to three candidates, and Elara was the frontrunner. She wasn’t officially appointed yet, but optimism mixed well with tequila.
“See?” Violet leaned in, sliding another round onto the sticky table. “I told you this was a good idea. Why don’t we do this more often?”
“Because this isn’t half as much fun as what we usually do,” Elara shot back, smirking. Their weekends usually involved junk food, movies and board games – safe, familiar and comfortably boring.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Well, one of us is really having fun.” She nodded toward Aria, twirling across the dancefloor, honeyed hair a halo in the strobe lights.
Aria was nothing short of stunningly beautiful. Men – and a few women – tracked her with hungry eyes, but she floated past them, untouched. Untouchable. She looked like sin but believed in abstinence until marriage; the irony was never lost on Elara.
“She really is having fun, isn’t she?” Watching her friend warmed Elara’s heart. Aria could usually be found with her nose stuck in a book heavy enough to knock a Titan unconscious, so it was nice to see her having a good time.
“Tonight is about you, though,” Violet said, pressing a glass into her hand. “And you’re not nearly drunk enough for an almost-birthday girl.”
“Good thing we’re not driving.” It felt good to be a little irresponsible for a change.
Moments later, Aria dragged them back to the dancefloor, and the night blurred into dancing until their legs gave out and drinking until the bartender’s frown no longer looked like judgment. Guys drifted over, but the trio took wicked delight in turning every one of them down.
When they finally collapsed into their booth, breathless, Violet sighed. “Isn’t it sad that we’re young, hot, and-”
“Drunk?” Elara cut in.
“Yeah, that too, but…” Violet tapped her chin, words trailing off.
“Who cares? We’re young, we’re hot, and that’s enough." Aria lifted her glass, grinning. “To being young, hot, and drunk!”
They clinked glasses, their laughter carrying over the music as the shot burned warmly through Elara’s veins. Then they were pulled back to the dancefloor, hips swaying, ignoring the hungry stares that followed. Not uninterested, just not interested in strangers or anything serious.
Enzo swirled the amber liquid in his glass, leaning lazily against the wall, half in shadow. His friends had dragged him here, determined to celebrate his freedom as if it were some grand victory. But freedom felt more like tinnitus when suffocated in bass this heavy.
“Explain to me again,” he said dryly, “why the best way to mark my exile from society’s gilded cage is standing shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty strangers?”
“Because,” Asher said, eyes shamelessly tracking the curve of a woman in a red dress, “this is where the fun ones are. Tell me you’re not tempted. Rebound fun is a form of therapy. One more drink and I’m out there, making bad decisions.”
“Rebound?” Enzo arched a brow. “I didn’t break up with anyone. I broke out. There’s a difference.”
That earned a bark of laughter from Jason, who clinked his glass against Enzo’s. “You’re the only man I know who can call refusing a billionaire heiress at the altar a break-out.”
Mycah leaned forward, his baby face too earnest for a club like this. “But seriously, you really walked away from everything? The house, the cars, the inheritance?”
“Correction,” Enzo said, slipping his tie loose with a casual tug. “They walked away from me.” His smile was sharp, brittle at the edges. “Apparently, filial duty requires being sold to the most beneficial bidder. I rejected the offer. Now I’m the reject. Proudly so.”
“You make it sound so poetic,” Jason smirked. “Tell it again, but slower, so I can savour the moment you decided to trade a penthouse view for a motel room.”
Enzo chuckled low in his throat, though the sound lacked warmth. “A motel room with peace of mind is worth more than a palace built with chains.” He took another sip, letting the liquor burn a reminder down his throat.
“Fuck,” Asher muttered. “You sound like a monk. Monks don’t belong in clubs.”
Their laughter spilt over, warm and unrestrained, but Enzo didn’t join them. His gaze was already drifting across the club.
And landed on her.
He’d noticed her on the dance floor before. Petite, flushed from dancing, eyes hazel with flecks that caught even the dim light. She wasn’t like the others in glittering, revealing dresses, trying too hard to be noticed; this one had something unpolished, real, like she belonged anywhere but a swanky club dancefloor.
“Enough!” Violet finally shouted over the beat. “I need a break.”
They returned to the table, cheeks flushed, hair wild. Aria leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Don’t look now, but there’s a criminally hot guy watching us.”
Which, of course, made them both whip their heads around like amateurs.
He was leaning against the wall by the back tables, all shadows and sharp edges, dark slacks and an undone shirt that exposed just enough chest to make her mouth go dry. He laughed at something his friend said, head tipped back, light catching on his jaw.
“Hot?” Violet snorted. “No. That man is illegal. Triple-hot-fudge illegal.”
Elara studied him, then tried to act like she hadn’t. “He looks like he took a wrong turn and ended up here by accident.”
“Exactly,” Violet whispered. “Like he belongs in a whiskey ad, not this place.”
Before Elara could protest, Violet’s grin turned wicked. “Dare.”
Oh no. That word never ended well.
“Dare who to what?" Aria asked.
“Elara, since it’s your almost-birthday, I dare you to talk to him.” She lifted her hands and counted down with cruel glee.
Seven seconds. That was the rule: seven seconds to accept or forfeit a dare. Not much time to think, but really, how hard could it be to talk to the guy? She could ask him the time, something harmless. “Okay, I ac-“
“Mutiny!” Aria cut her off.
Elara groaned, covering her face as Violet burst into giggles. They loved this too much. The mutiny rule meant someone could hijack a dare before it was accepted and add their own twist. And once challenged, there was no backing out. Unless you wanted to add triple the amount to their monthly savings jar.
She peeked up at Aria with her most desperate smile. “Just remember, without me, you two would have nowhere to go on a Saturday night. So, be kind.”
Aria batted her lashes. “I’m always kind. I dare you to kiss Mr. Triple-Hot-Fudge.”
Elara froze. Violet almost choked on her drink. They stared at her, mouths hanging open.
“What? You're turning twenty-six in a few days, and you’ve not even had your first kiss,” Aria said, unbothered. “This is me being the best friend.”
“You make me sound pathetic,” Elara muttered.
“Well, you are currently dating your job,” Violet added dryly. “Consider this an intervention.”
“Fine.” With a reckless laugh and liquid courage, Elara shoved back her chair before she could lose her nerve. A little unsteady, she clutched the table, then straightened and stalked toward the back of the bar area.
Her friends whooped behind her, but the music swallowed the sound as she wove through the crowd toward him. He was still half in shadow, watching the room with a kind of casual detachment, his friends deep in some banter she only caught pieces of.
“…better odds teaching a cat calculus than convincing you to settle down…” one said.
“…at least I wouldn’t have to listen to you misquote Shakespeare…” the other fired back.
The man—Mr Triple-Hot-Fudge himself—just shook his head, mouth quirking in dry amusement. Even his silence seemed to carry weight, a presence that dragged her forward until she was standing in front of him, heart hammering in her ribs.
He noticed her then. His eyes locked onto hers, a slow sweep that made her feel both seen and stripped bare.
How bad could it be? He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. She’d never step foot in this club again. What was the harm?
His first instinct when she stopped in front of him was to step back - God knew he'd had enough of women throwing themselves at him for the wrong reasons. But something in her eyes stopped him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just waited. The moment stretched, taut with tension.
She stepped closer, shoulders squared, determination in her stance and looked him dead in the eye, her voice steady despite the alcohol softening her edges.
“I’m going to kiss you in exactly three seconds,” she warned. “Dodge if you don’t want me to.”
Enzo’s brow arched. No one had ever said that to him before. Women usually tried to impress him, please him, trap him. None had ever given him an out.
And he didn’t dodge.
Her lips pressed to his - tentative at first, then bolder, urgent. She tasted like cherry lip gloss and tequila. The kiss was clumsy, unpractised, and somehow, it hit him harder than any perfect kiss he’d ever had.
Then she pulled back, breathless. “Thank you,” she murmured, and turned, weaving her way back to her friends before he could even think of how to respond.
His friends erupted behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Asher gaped.
“Did you just get ambushed?” Mycah laughed.
Jason clutched his chest in mock horror. “Finally, a woman who leaves the great Vincenzo Salvatore speechless? Someone call the press.”
Enzo lowered himself into the empty chair with infuriating composure, ignoring their jeers, though the ghost of her lips still lingered on his. Clumsy. Unexpected. Real.
Damn.
This was why he didn’t do clubs.
