If she returned now, she would remain the fiancée.
Decorative.
Predictable.
Safe.
And safety bored her.
The club pulsed like a heartbeat.
Music vibrated through the pavement before she even stepped inside.
Flashing lights.
Laughter too loud.
Conversations too close.
The scent of alcohol and perfume tangled in the air.
This was chaos.
Beautiful chaos.
She entered without hesitation.
Heads turned.
Not because she was loud.
But because she was composed.
She walked to the bar.
"Six shots," she said calmly.
The bartender raised an eyebrow but complied.
She drank the first without flinching.
The second burned.
By the fourth, warmth spread through her veins.
By the sixth, the world softened at the edges.
Not spinning.
Just distant.
She exhaled slowly.
The broken girl inside her loosened.
A man approached.
Well-dressed. Equally drunk. Confident in that careless way men became when alcohol erased caution.
"You don't look like you belong here," he said.
"Neither do you," she replied.
He laughed.
"Dance?"
She studied him.
He wasn't important.
He wasn't powerful.
He was noise.
Perfect.
"Fine."
The music swallowed them.
She let herself move.
Not seductively.
Not recklessly.
Just freely.
For once, she wasn't the loyal girlfriend.
Not the tragic fiancée.
Not the girl destined to die in chapter twenty-three.
She was just movement.
Pulse.
Breath.
The man leaned closer.
Too close.
"VIP?" he suggested, gesturing toward a secluded staircase.
She should have refused.
The original fiancée would have.
Tia didn't.
"Lead the way."
They climbed.
The VIP lounge was dimmer. Quieter. Isolated from the chaos below.
He poured more drinks.
Talked too much.
Laughed too loudly.
She listened without listening.
Her head buzzed, but not enough to dull her awareness.
And somewhere in the back of her mind—
A warning flickered.
Too easy.
Too smooth.
And then—
The music downstairs stopped abruptly.
The air shifted.
The kind of shift that didn't require explanation.
Footsteps approached.
Heavy.
Certain.
The VIP lounge door exploded open with a violent kick.
Wood splintered.
Conversation died instantly.
The man beside her froze.
Tia turned slowly.
And there he was.
The mafia heir.
Standing in the doorway.
Impeccable suit.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes burning colder than the night outside.
The entire room shrank around him.
No shouting.
No dramatic threats.
Just presence.
The drunk man stumbled backward.
"I— I didn't—"
"Leave," the heir said quietly.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't angry.
It was worse.
Final.
The man didn't argue.
He fled.
The door swung shut behind him.
Now it was just the two of them.
Tia blinked up at him.
Alcohol blurred her edges, but not her awareness.
"So," she said softly, a crooked smile tugging at her lips, "you found me."
His gaze traveled over her.
The dress.
The half-empty glass.
The flush in her cheeks.
"You were not difficult to find."
She laughed lightly.
"Surveillance must be exhausting."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You left the estate without clearance."
"I didn't realize I was imprisoned."
"You are not."
"Then why does it feel like I need permission to breathe?"
Silence stretched.
The club below had gone eerily quiet.
Everyone knew who he was.
Everyone knew better than to interfere.
He stepped closer.
Slowly.
Not aggressive.
But deliberate.
"You are behaving recklessly."
She met his eyes.
"I am behaving differently."
"Differently from what?"
"From a girl who dies quietly."
The words slipped out.
The air sharpened instantly.
His gaze darkened.
"What did you say?"
She exhaled softly.
Maybe the alcohol loosened her tongue.
Maybe she wanted to provoke him.
"I'm not her," she said.
"Not who?"
"The obedient one."
His stare felt like pressure against her skin.
"You have changed."
"Yes."
"How?"
She leaned back against the couch.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
There it was.
Not anger.
Not authority.
Interest.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
He stepped closer until he stood directly in front of her.
Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"You think this is strength?" he asked quietly.
"Coming here. Drinking. Dancing with strangers?"
"No," she said calmly. "I think this is choice."
"You are engaged to me."
"And?"
His eyes flickered.
"You represent my name."
She tilted her head.
"And do you represent mine?"
That question lingered between them.
Heavy.
He had never needed to justify himself before.
Never been challenged like this.
She rose slowly.
He didn't move aside.
They stood inches apart.
The alcohol faded beneath the intensity of his gaze.
"I won't be loyal just because it's expected," she said softly. "Loyalty has to be earned."
Something in his expression shifted.
Not fury.
Not exactly.
Recognition.
"You speak as if you've been betrayed."
She almost laughed.
"If only you knew."
He studied her face carefully.
As if trying to read something written beneath her skin.
"You are playing a dangerous game," he warned.
She smiled faintly.
"I was born into one."
That wasn't true.
But it felt like it.
The broken girl inside her stirred again.
Still hurting.
Still bleeding.
But no longer silent.
He stepped back finally.
"Come home."
It wasn't a demand.
It wasn't a plea.
It was something else.
She hesitated.
For a split second, she saw it—
Not the feared mafia heir.
But the man who would one day burn the world for someone.
Maybe for her.
If she rewrote him correctly.
She picked up her purse.
Walked past him.
Paused at the door.
"Don't mistake this for weakness," she said quietly.
"I don't," he replied.
She glanced back.
His gaze was no longer cold.
It was calculating.
Fascinated.
"Good," she murmured.
Because the soft fiancée?
She had disappeared tonight.
And in her place stood something sharper.
Fiercer.
Not gentle.
Not obedient.
Not predictable.
As they walked back toward the car together, the city lights reflecting off polished metal—
He realized something.
The girl he was meant to control…
Was becoming the one thing he could not.
And for the first time—
The heir felt something unfamiliar.
Not irritation.
Not authority.
Obsession beginning to take root.
And Tia?
She looked out the window as the estate gates opened once more.
The broken girl inside her was still there.
But she was no longer drowning.
She was evolving.
And if this world expected her to be fragile—
It would learn very quickly.
She was anything but.