Amelia’s POV

The bar was almost too loud.

It was not the fun kind of loud either, the grating kind, where the music didn’t blend into the background so much as to shove itself down your throat, bass rattling in your ribs until your body gave up and moved with it. Lights strobed red and purple across the walls, painting people in quick slices of color, like everyone was trapped inside a malfunctioning camera. The air was thick with sweat and perfume, clashing scents layered over the sour tang of spilled beer.

I hated it already.

But Cecilia… Cecilia was glowing.

She threaded her hand through mine, nails painted neon green like highlighters, dragging me through the crush of bodies like Moses parting the Red Sea. Her hair, black and shiny under the lights bounced against her shoulders as she grinned back at me, wild-eyed, like she’d been waiting for this night forever.

My regret was instant, sharp, and exhausting. Why had I said yes? I could’ve been in bed, Netflix humming in the background, eating leftover pad thai. Instead, I was being shoved by strangers who smelled like cologne counters and cheap cigarettes.

“Come on! Tonight’s gonna be legendary!” she yelled, voice impossibly high over the music, laced with both mania and confidence. “You need to live a little, Amelia, you need to feel this.”

I let myself be pulled, floating reluctantly through the undulating mass of bodies, pressed together in rhythm neither natural nor ordered. The flashing lights made my vision stutter, but Cecilia moved as though she was untouchable, her heels clacking against the floor with a staccato precision, hair swinging with every step, eyes sparkling with mischief and challenge.

We reached the bar. I squinted at the menu, letters blurred into pools of neon that made me dizzy. Cecilia leaned over the counter, flirting with a bartender who looked both half-asleep and half-offended by her audacity. “Two shots of tequila, two strawberry cocktails, fast,” she commanded, voice slicing through the din like a war general issuing orders before the battle began.

I gawked. “Tequila? We’re starting with that?”

She pressed the glass into my hand, laughing like it was the only reasonable choice. “Yes, this is a sad girl emergency.”

The word sad stung, but I didn’t argue. I lifted the shot to my lips, squeezed one eye shut, and downed it.

Fire, that’s what it was, liquid fire, searing down my throat, scorching a trail to my chest. For a terrifying second, I thought it was going to come back up. Then the warmth spread, heavy but not unwelcome.

Cecilia, of course, took hers like water, flipping her hair as she slammed the glass down. She always made things look easy.

We carried our cocktails to a booth tucked under a humming neon sign, its red glow soaking into the sticky leather seat. I took the smallest possible sip, trying to balance sugar against burn.

Cecilia launched straight into a story, words tumbling out in waves, hands carving the air. Something about a guy from her office who wouldn’t stop texting her.

“So I told him I had a boyfriend,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Classic, that usually works.”

“Depends on the boyfriend.”

I raised my brows. “And who’s yours?”

She smirked, savoring it. “Thor.”

I choked on my drink, strawberry syrup burning my nose. “You… made up a Norse god as your boyfriend?”

“Why not? Men lie about everything. Let me lie too.” She leaned back smugly, straw between her lips like punctuation.

I couldn’t help laughing, my shoulders loosening. “God, you’re insane.”

“You love it.”

Maybe I did.

For the first time in days, the weight pressing down on my chest lightened. Cecilia had a way of pulling me out of myself, like she was yanking me toward the surface before I drowned.

“So, where's my rich dream husband?” I teased, voice dry.

Cecilia raised her glass in a mock toast. “I’m manifesting it for you. A hot guy, maybe a businessman, maybe slightly dangerous. He’ll fall in love with you tonight and pay your rent.”

I snorted. “Right, because that’s realistic.”

The alcohol softened me anyway. My body was humming, not unpleasantly, and for once my brain wasn’t chewing itself to death. I leaned back into the booth, let the bass crawl up my spine, and let the night exist without fighting it.

Then I saw him.

Leaning against the bar, like he was born there.

Black curls spilling over his forehead. A jaw sharp enough to draw blood, his shirt was black, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms mapped with ink I couldn’t make out in the shifting light. He wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t soft, he looked… sharp, like a warning.

And his eyes.

Storm-gray, the kind of eyes that belonged in wanted posters and bad dreams.

He was staring at me.

My throat closed up. “Cecilia… that guy is looking at me.”

She twisted, spotted him instantly, and grinned so wide I wanted to crawl under the table. “Oh my gosh, he looks like a villain in a crime series. That’s perfect, go talk to him.”

“Talk to him? I can’t even feel my legs.”

She shoved my shoulder. “He’s undressing you with his eyes, go say something before I do.”

And then, too late, he was moving.

He walked straight toward us, the crowd bending around him like he carried his gravity. Heat rushed into my cheeks. My heart stumbled over itself.

He stopped in front of me.

Up close, his cologne hit, dark, expensive, heavy. My stomach flipped.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was low, deep, and roughened by an Italian accent.

Cecilia, traitor that she was, stood immediately. “I’ll leave you two, that blond over there looks like he needs attention.”

And she was gone.

I swallowed, my voice embarrassingly soft. “I’m Amelia.”

“Ricki.” He leaned back in the booth, but his eyes didn’t move. “You don’t look like you enjoy clubs very much.”

I barked a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“You look like someone with a lot on her mind.”

It felt unfair, how quickly he cut to the bone, my smile came out crooked. “Yeah… I’ve had a rough week.”

“Then we should make tonight better.”

We talked. Or rather, I talked. Nervous chatter, half-formed sentences, oversharing in bursts. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it sank. Every time he said my name, my stomach twisted in a way I hated and wanted.

At some point, his hand brushed mine on the table. My pulse skittered.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, quiet enough that I almost didn’t hear.

I didn’t pull away.

The night blurred, and drinks vanished, the crowd thinned and thickened in waves. We ended up pressed near the back hallway, bass vibrating through the walls. My spine hit plaster, his body heat bleeding into mine.

“This is crazy,” I whispered.

He smiled like it wasn’t new. “But you don’t want me to stop.”

I didn’t answer.

He kissed me, slow at first, then hungrier. His hand curled behind my neck, mine knotted in his shirt. He muttered something in Italian against my skin.

I didn’t care what it meant.

Somehow, there was a hotel room. His voice, low, saying Bella. My dress is sliding from my shoulders, my heartbeat fills the silence between kisses.

I didn’t think, I didn’t want to.

Sunlight hit my eyes like a slap.

I blinked hard, head pounding, mouth dry, my stomach twisted. The sheets weren’t mine, the bed wasn’t mine.

Panic shot through me, ice cold.

Then I saw him, Ricki, asleep beside me, one arm flung heavy over my waist. His chest rising and falling like this was nothing, like this was routine.

My throat tightened.

I didn’t even know his last name, didn’t remember half of what I’d said, didn’t know if he knew anything real about me at all.

Regret crashed over me, sharp and heavy.

I moved slowly, carefully, lifting his arm from me like it might explode, my dress lay crumpled on the floor. I yanked it over my head, fingers shaking as I shoved my feet into my shoes.

He didn’t stir, didn’t even twitch.

Of course not.

I grabbed my bag and phone, heart pounding, and slipped out without looking back.

The hallway smelled like bleach and old carpet. My heels clicked too loudly. I kept waiting for the door behind me to open, for his voice to call me back, but it didn’t.

One stupid night.

I’d never see him again.

I told myself I’d forget his name, his voice, those gray eyes.

But I knew better.

It was a mistake.

A really big, stupid mistake.