Eloise

I didn’t know how long I’d been driving. The city lights blurred past my window like streaks of gold and red, my thoughts louder than the radio humming beneath them. My fingers gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Lucian’s words kept replaying in my head — “a new chapter.”

My new chapter started with an ending.

I didn’t plan where I was going. I just drove until the ache in my chest turned into a dull, manageable throb. By the time I parked, I found myself outside a bar I’d never noticed before — small, dimly lit, the kind of place people went to disappear.

I slipped inside.

The air was thick with smoke and bass. Music thumped through the floorboards, so loud it rattled my bones — exactly what I needed. Noise. Something to drown out the silence that followed me home.

I walked to the counter, slid onto a stool, and ordered something I didn’t even taste. The burn in my throat felt like a relief.

I wanted to feel something. Anything.

“Another,” I said, when the first was gone.

The bartender hesitated, probably taking in the messy hair, the red-rimmed eyes, the too-bright smile. But he poured it anyway. I drank again, faster this time.

It wasn’t until my third glass that I felt the weight of someone’s gaze.

Across the bar, a man sat alone, one hand wrapped around his drink, the other resting lazily against the counter. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t staring in that usual way men do when they want something. He was just watching me, quietly, steadily, like he’d seen this scene before.

Dark hair, dark eyes, a jaw that looked like it had been sculpted to hold secrets.

He didn’t look away when I caught him.

I should’ve been uncomfortable. Instead, I was curious.

I turned slightly, raising my glass. “You staring because I have lipstick on my teeth, or because you’ve never seen a woman drink alone before?”

A corner of his mouth curved. “Neither.” His voice was deep, smooth, but there was something rough at the edges.

“Then what?”

He studied me, eyes tracing over my face, my trembling fingers, the untouched glass in front of me. “You look like you’re trying to forget someone.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I let out a short laugh, sharp and bitter. “And you look like you’ve done it before.”

He tilted his glass in my direction. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was charged, heavy with something I didn’t want to name.

“Do you come here often?” I asked, mostly to fill the space.

He shook his head. “No. You?”

“First time.” I paused. “Maybe last.”

His gaze softened. “Bad night?”

I met his eyes and took a slow sip. “Bad life.”

That made him laugh, a quiet, low sound that somehow made my chest ache in a different way.

“Then maybe,” he said, leaning slightly closer, “you’re exactly where you need to be tonight.”

There was a warmth in his tone, but not pity. It was the kind of voice that could make you believe it, even when you knew better.

“Name’s Mike, what’s yours?” He said, his tone soft.

“Eloise” I blurted out, regretting it the moment the word landed because that earned him a soft smile.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman” He said, smiling as he extended his hand.

I should have walked away. I should have gone home, washed off the makeup, and cried until I slept. But my body didn’t move.

The more I looked at him, the quieter the noise in my head became. I took his hand and said “Nice to meet you”

“My full pleasure, Eloise” He said, staring at me the way that made heat crawl up my neck.

I ignored him, and ordered some more drink.

The drinks kept coming. I couldn’t tell how many. He didn’t let me spiral, he just stayed there, steady, silent, and grounding. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn’t. But I always felt his eyes on me.

When I stood to leave, my legs felt light, unsteady. He reached out without thinking, his hand catching my wrist warm, firm, and gentle.

“You shouldn’t drive,” he said.

“Who said I was driving?”

His lips twitched. “Then walk with me.”

Outside, the air was already cold, hitting through my coat. I could still feel his hand lingering against my skin as we walked, not touching now, but close enough that every movement felt deliberate.

“Do you always save lost women at bars?” I asked.

“I don’t save anyone,” he said softly. “Most don’t want to be saved.”

“Then why me?”

He looked down at me then, really looked. “Because you…you remind me of myself.”

Something inside me broke at that, not the sharp kind of breaking, but the quiet kind. The kind that comes when you realize someone has seen right through you.

I didn’t think. I just stopped walking, turned to face him, and before I could talk myself out of it, I kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet or slow. It was desperate, two strangers clinging to the same problem. His hand cupped my face, and I tasted whiskey, warmth, and the faintest trace of sweetness.

For one stolen moment, I forgot everything, my name, my pain, the man who’d destroyed me.

It was just this: the night, the city, and a stranger who didn’t ask for my story. And I wanted to risk everything to keep feeling this way.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, he didn’t say a word. Neither did I.

We didn’t need to.

The silence between us was an agreement, one night, no promises, no past.