7

“That,” she said slowly, “is exactly what I need.”

Izzy whooped softly. “Knew it.”

“I’m in the mood for something strong,” Olivia admitted. “Very strong. Possibly with a lime. Or three.”

“Say less. Tequila it is.”

“Oh God,” Olivia groaned, though the heaviness in her chest had lightened by a fraction.

“Nine o’clock?” Izzy continued. “The Velvet Hour. Dress hot. Or comfortable. Or emotionally chaotic. Whatever vibe you’re feeling.”

Olivia glanced down at herself — rumpled blouse, skirt slightly creased from a full day of viewings. Emotionally chaotic sounded about right. “Nine’s perfect.” She said,

“Good. And Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t sound fine.”

The softness in Izzy’s voice made her throat tighten again. “I’m not,” she admitted quietly.

A beat of silence.

“Then tonight,” Izzy said firmly, “we fix that. Or at least numb it.”

Olivia let out a breath that felt like it had been lodged in her lungs all day.“Thank you, Izzy.”

“Always.”

They hung up, and the apartment didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. Olivia walked toward her bedroom, phone still in her hand.

Nine o'clock. Three hours to shower off the day, paint on confidence, and pretend her heart didn’t feel like it was splintering. As she laid her phone on the dresser, the screen lit up briefly from a delayed notification.

Her pulse jumped. She snatched it up.

Spam email.

She exhaled slowly, disappointment cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. Still nothing from Jack.

Fine. Tonight she wouldn’t wait for him to show up. Tonight she would show up for herself. And maybe, just maybe, forget her troubles with Jack… And the sound of Derek Hawthorne’s voice saying no harm, no foul.

Because harm? She was feeling plenty of it already.

_________

The apartment felt different now. Not lighter — not exactly — but purposeful.

Olivia stood in front of her mirror, the soft yellow glow of her bedroom lamp casting warmth over her skin. Music pulsed quietly from her speaker, something upbeat enough to drown out intrusive thoughts. Her bed was a mess of discarded outfit options — dresses deemed “too desperate,” skirts labelled “too effort,” and one soft sweater she’d briefly considered before deciding she refused to look like heartbreak tonight.

She chose the jeans. High-waisted, dark, fitted in all the right places. Knee-high black boots that gave her height and edge. And the black corset top — structured, unapologetic, hugging her waist and lifting her posture whether she felt strong or not.

She stared at herself for a moment.

Then she sat and began the real armor. Smokey eye. Dark, intentional, slightly dramatic. She blended until her sadness looked like seduction. A sharp line of eyeliner. Red lipstick — bold, dangerous, defiant. If her heart felt bruised, no one would see it.

When she stood again, she looked… hot. Undeniably so. Not fragile. Good.

She grabbed her bag and ordered a taxi. Driving was out of the question. Not with the kind of drinking she planned to do tonight. Not with the kind of night she needed. And honestly? She didn’t trust herself to be alone with her thoughts behind a steering wheel.

By the time the taxi pulled up outside The Velvet Hour, the street was alive.

The sign glowed in deep crimson against black brick. Bass from inside vibrated faintly through the pavement. Laughter spilled out every time the door opened. She paid the driver, stepped out, and inhaled deeply. Tonight, she would not think about Jack.

It was 9:30 when she walked in. Dim lighting. Gold accents. Velvet booths lining the walls. The air smelled faintly of citrus, perfume, and something expensive and smoky.

It didn’t take long to spot her friends. Tessa was already mid-laugh, head thrown back, her blonde waves cascading over her shoulders. Isabella sat opposite her, dark hair sleek and glossy, looking effortlessly polished in a fitted emerald dress. Olivia slid into the booth and both heads snapped up.

“Well,” Tessa breathed dramatically. “Who is she?”

Isabella's eyes widened as she slowly looked Olivia up and down. “Liv Carter, are we seducing someone or ruining someone?”

Olivia smirked. “Can’t it be both?”

They all burst into laughter, the sound warm and immediate and grounding.

“You look illegal,” Tessa added.

“You look like trouble,” Isabella corrected.

Olivia slid her small bag onto the table. “Good.”

Tessa immediately waved down a waiter. “Hi, yes,” she said sweetly. “We’ll take shots.”

The waiter blinked. “How many?”

Tessa glanced at Olivia. “How bad was the day?”

Olivia considered. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Sure.”

“Jack.”

Tessa didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take six. To start.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared.

“Love that for us,” Isabella said, adjusting her bracelet.

The shots arrived quickly. Clear liquid in neat little glasses, lime wedges on a small plate beside them. They didn’t wait. Glasses clinked.

“To bad decisions,” Tessa declared.

“To better ones,” Isabella corrected.

Olivia lifted hers last. “To not thinking.” she said

They drank. The burn was immediate. Sharp and cleansing, but they didn’t stop at one. By the third round, the music felt louder and Olivia felt warmer. Looser. The tight band around her chest had eased… not gone, but blurred. And that was when Tess leaned back against the booth and narrowed her eyes.

“Right,” she said. “Time for your Intervention… As promised,”

Olivia groaned and pouted. “Nooo”

“Yes,” Isabella chimed in smoothly. “We postponed. We did not cancel.”

Tessa pointed at her with a lime wedge. “Jack is a walking red flag.”

Olivia laughed lightly. “He is not.”

“He cancels on you constantly.”

“He’s busy.”

“He didn’t call after your fight.” Tessa told her, “You said so in your text this morning,”

Olivia hesitated slightly before forcing a casual shrug. “Maybe… He needs space to think after what I told him,”

Isabella leaned forward, voice gentler now but firm. “Liv, you can do better.”

The alcohol softened the sting of their words, but not entirely. Olivia smiled — calm, composed, and slightly flushed. “He’s not that bad. He’s just… bad at priorities. And communication. And timing.”

Tessa stared at her. “You hear yourself, right?” she asked.

Olivia let out a small laugh. “We had a fight. It’s fine. We’ll fix it.”

Isabella tilted her head. “Then why were you so sad when I called? I know it was about him.”

That hit, and Olivia’s smile faltered for half a second. “I was just tired,” she said, softer now. “We argued. It happens. It’s not the end of the world.”

Tessa's eyes softened as well, but she didn’t back down. “Liv—”

Olivia raised her hands lightly in surrender. “Please. I came out tonight to forget about him. Not dissect him. Can we not do this anymore tonight?”