Daniel's eyes found me through the crowd, and that knowing smirk curved on his lips.
It was a look that said he owned the air I breathed, a silent reminder of the heat still cooling between my thighs.
He looked invincible, the "Romeo" of the night, holding court with the boys as if the world was his for the taking.
But the rhythm of the club suddenly felt jagged.
The heavy bass of the track was punctuated by a sharp, piercing sound, not from the speakers, but from the entrance.
The crowd near the velvet ropes parted like a bruised sea.
A girl walked in.
She wasn't dressed in the casual-cool "student" vibe our group had mastered.
She was in a dress that looked like liquid gold, her hair a platinum-blonde sheet that caught every strobe light in the room.
She didn't walk; she marched.
And the second my eyes met hers, I felt a cold dread settle in my chest.
Mira.
The Ghost of a Promise
My breath hitched.
Mira was the reason Daniel and I had almost crashed and burned few months ago.
The "settled" business.
The girl he swore was a mistake of his life, someone who had no place in our future.
He had looked me in the eyes, his hands on my face, and promised that the drama was buried.
But Mira didn't look buried.
She looked like a woman on a warpath.
Caleb was the first to see her.
His arm, which had been draped around Daniel's shoulder, dropped like it had been burned.
Timi's laughter died in his throat, a piece of ice from his drink hitting the floor.
Daniel was the last to turn, his smirk frozen as if he'd been turned to stone.
"Daniel!" Her voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a frequency that sliced through the DJ's set.
She reached the bar in seconds, her eyes skipping over the boys and landing straight on Daniel.
She didn't even acknowledge me at first, standing just a few feet away with Saraph.
The Scene
"Mira," Daniel said, his voice dropping an octave, losing all that playful warmth he'd had only minutes ago.
"What are you doing here? We talked about this. It's over."
"Over?"
Mira laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound.
She reached into her clutch and pulled out a handful of printed photos, slamming them onto the bar top next to Daniel's expensive bottle of vodka.
"Is it over when you're still calling me at three in the morning?
Is it over when you're telling me you're 'bored' with your new little project?"
The "project?" She meant me?
The club didn't go silent, the music was too loud for that, but for our group, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
I stepped forward, my legs feeling like lead.
"Daniel?" I asked, my voice trembling. "What is she talking about?"
Daniel turned to me, his eyes wide, searching for the right lie to tell.
"Nuella, don't listen to her.
She's unstable. I haven't talked to her since the fight."
"Liar!" Mira shrieked, turning her fury toward me.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, her makeup perfectly intact despite the madness in her gaze.
"You think you're special, don't you?
You think because he takes you to fancy cafes and talks about the 'future,' you're the one who fixed him?
He's been in my bed three times this week, 'Lover Girl'."
The name. Lover Girl. The nickname Saraph used.
The nickname Daniel whispered into my ear while his fingers were inside me just an hour ago.
The "rough and wet" kisses in the lounge suddenly felt like a brand of shame.
"Daniel, tell her she's lying," Saraph stepped in, her protective claws coming out.
"Tell her before I drag her out of here myself."
But Daniel didn't say a word.
He looked between the photos on the bar and my face.
I looked down.
The photos weren't from months ago.
In one of them, he was wearing the same jacket he had on right now, the one I had just been gripping with my nails.
The "glue" Saraph said I was? I felt it cracking.
I felt the heat of the club turn into a suffocating fever.
"You promised," I whispered, the words barely audible.
"You said you settled it. You said there was no one else."
"Nuella, please," Daniel reached for me, his hand, the same hand that had just been making me scream in the shadows, now felt like a threat.
I stepped back, bumping into Jordan, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
Mira wasn't done.
She grabbed a glass of whatever Daniel was drinking and dashed it across his chest.
"Enjoy your 'team trip,' Daniel.
I hope she was worth the effort, because I'm done being your secret."
She turned on her heel and vanished back into the neon, leaving a wake of silence and a soaking wet "Romeo" in the middle of the club.
Daniel stood there, the expensive liquor dripping from his chin, the photos of his betrayal scattered on the bar like confetti.
The "all bills on me" hero was gone.
In his place was the man I had been warned about from the start.
Mateo, who had been watching from the shadows, stepped towards me.
He didn't say anything, but he held out his hand, offering me a way out of the lights, "…away from the guy who had used me to serve his own interests."
I looked at Daniel.
He looked broken, but for the first time, I didn't want to fix him.
I wanted to burn the whole night down.
The cool night air hit me like a physical slap, a violent contrast to the humid, sin-scented heat of the club.
My skin was still humming, a cruel, ghostly vibration from where Daniel's hands had been, but my heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a jagged knife.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
Saraph walked on my left, her heels clicking a furious, staccato rhythm against the pavement, her arm linked tightly with mine as if she were afraid I'd dissolve into the shadows.
Mateo walked on my right, silent and steady, his presence a grounded weight that kept me from floating away into a panic attack.
"That bastard," Saraph hissed, her voice trembling with a rage she was trying to suppress for my sake.
"The nerve," Saraph spat, her voice vibrating with a fury that mirrored my own.
"To say he's 'bored' with you.
To call you a 'project' while he's still digging his claws into that girl.
I should have broken a bottle over his perfect, lying head."
"That absolute, silver-tongued serpent.
I'll kill him, Nuella. I'll actually skin him."
"Don't," I whispered, my voice sounding thin, like paper tearing.
"He's not worth the effort."
But the image of the photos on the bar, the sight of him in that same jacket, his head thrown back in a laugh I thought belonged only to me, was burned into my retinas.
The "Lover Girl" comments.
The calls at 3:00 AM. While I was at home, thinking about "Us" and the trip, he was playing a double game.
The Weight of Silence
We walked toward the park at the end of the street, the neon signs of the club district fading into a dull, sickly glow.
Mateo finally spoke, his voice low and cautious.
"Nuella... What you said about friends not letting friends carry burdens alone?
It goes both ways.
You don't have to pretend you're okay right now."
I stopped at a stone bench, my legs finally giving out.
I sat down, burying my face in my hands.
The smell of Daniel, roasted beans, expensive cologne, and the salt of his skin, was still on my clothes.
It was suffocating.
"I'm such a fool," I whispered, the words catching in my throat.
"I actually believed him.
I thought everything was finally aligning.
I thought I was being rewarded for finally getting my life in order."
"You aren't a fool, Nuella," Mateo said, finally breaking his silence.
He stood in front of me, his shadow long under the streetlamp.
"He's a professional.
He spends his life practicing how to be the person people want him to be.
That wasn't your fault."
"I gave him everything," I choked out, a sob finally breaking through the wall I'd built.
"In that room... I thought it meant something. I thought we were... finally past the lies."
Saraph sat beside me, pulling me into a side-hug.
"He's a predator, Nuella.
He knows exactly how to make you feel like the only girl in the world while he's keeping the world on standby.
"He's used to girls like Mira who scream and throw drinks but always come back for more.
He thinks you're the same.
He thinks he can just 'settle' it with another deep kiss and a few expensive promises."
I looked at Mateo, then back at Saraph.
"Tonight, he saw me as a 'project.'
Tomorrow, he's going to see exactly what happens when the project finishes itself without him."
I stood up, smoothing out my skirt.
The fabric still felt tainted, but I pulled my sweater tighter around me, a physical barrier against the memory of him.
"I'm going home," I said, my voice steadying.
"I'm going to shower, and I'm going to wash every trace of that club off my skin.
And then, I'm going to pull up the presentation files."
Saraph stood up with me, a grin spreading across her face.
"And what are we doing with those files, lover girl?
We're rebranding, "we're going to the conference," I said, looking at Mateo.
"But we're not going as Daniel's 'disasters.'
We're going as a team.
And if he wants to join us, he can do it on our terms.
No more 'Romeo.'
No more secrets. We need to get ready for this trip.
Mateo nodded, a grim but satisfied look on his face.
"He's going to be looking for you tomorrow, Nuella.
He's going to have a million excuses ready.
He'll probably try to blame Mira, say she's stalking him, say the photos are old."
"Let him talk to the wall," I replied, turning toward my street. "I'm done listening."
The night wasn't over. The neon lights were still glowing, but the dream had changed.
I looked back toward the club, where the music was still thumping, unaware of the war that had just been declared.
I turned to Saraph. "You still have your laptop?"
"Always," she grinned. "Why?"
"Because," I said, stepping into the night with a purpose that had nothing to do with love.
"We have a presentation to rewrite.
And this time, Daniel Thorne isn't the star."
As I walked away with my two real friends, I didn't look back at the neon glow of the club district.
Daniel Thorne was back there, probably still trying to charm his way out of a liquor-soaked shirt.
He thought he had broken me, but he had only managed to wake me up.
The weekend wasn't over yet, and for the first time, I was the one holding the script.