Chapter One: Mistakes

Genevieve Everhart’s POV

I must’ve drunk a lot. Dizziness hit me as the world swayed beneath my heels, and the bass from the club still thudding in my chest like a second heartbeat.

The drinks I had chugged to death had started tasting like regret.

I had gone looking for my husband. It was the night before the day we get to finally separate, the night before the finalization of our divorce and I wanted to see him before everything. Still hoping and trying to see if he would magically change back to who he was three years ago.

He wasn’t answering my calls and couldn’t even find him in his office. Not until I got told that he went out to eat dinner and drink with a certain department of the company I barely understand what for.

I remember weaving through bodies in the club dancefloor, neon lights smearing everything into colors that hurts my eyes.

Until I saw him. Through a half-open door of a private room of the club.

He was kissing someone.

And when I saw who was it, my stomach dropped so fast I thought I might actually fall through the floor.

I didn’t barge in. I barely have the strength to do so. It felt like even my feet also gave up at the sight. I just watched, and even my tears can’t bare going out at any point. I smiled bitterly and then turned away about ten minutes of standing outside before he could ever see me standing there.

I looked at the ring on my ring finger and with all the stacked disappointment in me my husband had caused me, I bit my lower lip.

After that, I don’t remember choosing to drink but it just happened. Glass after glass, until my body stopped feeling like it belonged to me. Until my wedding ring felt like it was burning my finger.

I stopped caring what came next.

And that’s how I ended up in the room I wasn’t supposed to be in.

The room was darker than the rest of the club. But I was so drunk to even stand up properly, not enough to walk out of here.

I simply sat on the chair I recognized as a couch and decided to rest my eyes.

I thought it was empty, then I heard a man gasping air near me.

I turned around and saw a figure of a man leaning on the couch, trying to remove his necktie. One hand gripping on the armrest like he was holding himself upright through sheer will. His head was tilted slightly down, his hair falling across his face.

I tried to squint to analyze him more but even my sight is not helping. I held my head as dizziness hit me even further. It was too dim to see anyway.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, already trying to stand up and leave.

“Wrong room—”

His eyes lifted and everything in me stilled.

Silver. His eyes were silver.

His mask was still on.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he uttered.

His voice was rough, like it had been dragged through gravel.

I should’ve left, but I was so captivated by his eyes, a reason that the sober me would probably call absurd.

“I don’t care,” I heard myself instead.

A silence stretched between us and he stood afterwards, that was when I noticed how unsteady he was.

He took a step forward.

“What did they give you?” I asked without thinking.

His gaze flickered and said, “I’m fine.”

He took another step.

Closer to me.

“I just need—”

I didn’t get to finish my statement when he reached for me.

His hand brushed my wrist and heat just instantly snapped in me. It felt wrong in how it felt right. My breath caught in my throat as something inside me reacted before I even understood why.

His eyes widened slightly, noticing something I have no idea about.

“What are you—”

I surged forwards pulling him and pushing him back on the couch and sitting on his lap before grabbing his mask off, and kissed him with my eyes closed.

I kissed him.

I don’t even why. Maybe it was alcohol, or the grief of being cheated on, or something inside me that’s reckless enough, but regardless of the reason, I still did it.

And for a split second, he froze.

But as a second or two passed by, he kissed me back.

And it wasn’t gentle at all.

His hand moved to my waist, pulling me closer, like instinct took over whatever poison or fog was dragging him. His kisses felt like heat and desperation, something wilder I wish I could explain.

My fingers gripped his shirt like I could anchor myself to him.

It was too intense, too fast.

And then, it stopped.

His body went rigid as well as his grip on my waist loosened.

I pulled back, breathing hard, my lips trembling as I tried to understand what just happened.

“Wait,” I whispered, panic starting to break through me.

“Hey—”

He collapsed on the couch not like someone fainting, but he dropped like something inside him had simply shut off. I caught him instinctively, but he was too heavy.

We both went down onto the couch and his head tilted to the side.

And when I was about to see his face through the little light coming from the door.

A black cloth, half slipped from somewhere and had apparently fallen across his face.

My breath shook.

“Hey,” I said again, with a softer tone this time even if I was so dizzy to properly function.

“Wake up. I—I didn’t—”

Nothing.

His chest rose and fell steadily.

A drugged sleep.

My stomach twisted as the realization hit me like an ice water. I just kissed a stranger. In a club the same with where I saw my husband kissing someone else.

My hands started shaking as I looked around the room like it might offer answers. But all I saw was shadows, a bit of light and luxury with danger I didn’t understand.

“God,” I muttered.

My throat tightened as I stood up fast, stumbling slightly, gripping on the edge of the couch to steady myself.

I should call someone to help him, but panic in my started rising, with shame burning through the alcohol running in my system.

No.

I couldn’t.

I backed away.

My hand touched the door handle and shivers was sent down my spine when the cold metal started biting into my palm. I looked back once and looked at the man I didn’t know, asleep under barely dimmed light, and his face hidden.

“I’m sorry,” I remarked.

And then I left.