Chapter 40

‎In Ryan's mansion, he was still at home, pacing restlessly in his spacious living room, his mind weighed down with worry. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was going to coax Cleo into listening to him, let alone forgive him. The situation had escalated quickly, and he regretted letting it spiral so far out of control. Zoe, the troublemaker had already been dealt with. He had firmly instructed the security to remove her from the premises and made it clear she was no longer welcome in his home.

‎

‎Now, sitting slouched on the edge of his leather couch, Ryan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He had been trying Cleo’s number for over an hour, calling over and over, but she refused to answer. Each time the call rang out or went to voicemail, his anxiety grew. It wasn’t like her to go completely silent.

‎

‎Eventually, out of desperation, he had contacted his personal bodyguard, instructing him to track her down discreetly. Thirty agonizing minutes later, he received a message containing her location. The name of the place on the screen made his jaw tighten.

‎

‎"What a bad girl," Ryan muttered under his breath, staring at the address on his phone, a popular nightclub known for its wild scene.

‎

‎Without wasting another second, he sprang up from the couch, slid his phone into his pocket, and strode purposefully out of the living room. His long legs carried him quickly through the hallway, out the front door, and toward his private parking lot. As he approached, the security team, already alerted by his fast-paced steps, opened the gate without waiting for instructions.

‎

‎“What was she even thinking? What if she’s drunk and ends up doing something reckless?” he mumbled as he climbed into his sleek black car and started the engine. The low hum of the vehicle echoed in the quiet night.

‎

‎Pulling out of the estate and into the city streets, he pressed down on the accelerator, his eyes flicking between the road and the map on his dashboard. He wasn’t just going to sit around anymore, not when Cleo could be out there making a mistake she’d regret, all because of a misunderstanding he should have prevented in the first place.

‎

‎He was going to find her.

‎

‎And when he did, he’d make sure she listened.

‎

‎On Zoe's end, she had been seething with anger since midday. Ever since Ryan sent her away, her frustration had only grown. She wasn’t just upset, she was furious. She had come with plans, schemes, and even a little vial of something dangerous tucked away in her purse. She thought she could charm her way back in, or at the very least, stay long enough to execute her plan. But Ryan hadn’t given her the chance. He had dismissed her coldly, just because of Cleo.

‎

‎But Zoe had already done her homework on Cleo. She knew things. She had been quietly gathering information for weeks, preparing the perfect way to dismantle their relationship if she ever got the chance. She will make sure Ryan was her's. Still, the rejection stung. The fact that Ryan wouldn’t even entertain her presence burned more than she expected.

‎

‎“Whatever,” she muttered to herself, bitterness thick in her voice. “Guess I’ll just hit the club and get wasted. Maybe that’ll clear my head.”

‎

‎With that, she stood up, storming into the bathroom to take a quick shower. When she emerged, steam trailing behind her, she rifled through her closet for something that screamed confidence and danger. She chose a tight, short dress, one that clung to her curves, leaving her back entirely bare and exposing just enough cleavage to tease without giving it all away. The hem stopped high on her thighs, showing off her long legs. She looked like trouble, and that’s exactly what she wanted.

‎

‎After finishing her makeup with a bold red lip and winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut, she grabbed her small black purse. Before leaving, she slipped in the small bottle of her so-called magic drug, a substance she had used before to bend men to her will. It had worked more times than she could count. Everyone except Ryan.

‎

‎But tonight, she wasn’t going to think about that.

‎

‎She stepped outside, locking the door behind her, and strutted to her car like she owned the night. The city lights reflected in her eyes as she drove off, heading straight to the most exclusive nightclub in town—ready to drown her anger in music, liquor, and maybe a little revenge.

‎

‎As Cleo and Claire arrived at the grand entrance of the club, they stepped out of the taxi and adjusted their dresses under the glittering city lights. The exterior of the club gleamed with sophistication, tinted glass doors, velvet ropes, and a long line of hopefuls waiting to get in. But Cleo and Claire didn’t need to wait. With confident strides, they walked past the queue and approached the towering security guard stationed at the door.

‎

‎Silently, they handed him their exclusive entrance cards, proof that they belonged to the elite few allowed inside. The man barely glanced at the cards before stepping aside, letting them through with a respectful nod. This wasn’t a place for just anyone; only the rich, connected, and powerful gained entry.

‎

‎Inside, the atmosphere was electric. A low thrum of bass vibrated through the air, and neon lights cast a colorful glow over the sleek interior. The crowd was a mix of high fashion, expensive cologne, and subtle arrogance. Cleo and Claire paused for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dim lighting as they scanned the club for an empty table.

‎

‎“There,” Claire pointed, and they made their way to a semi-private booth near the back, away from the loudest part of the dance floor. They slid into the plush seats, the leather cool against their skin.

‎

‎A waiter appeared within moments, dressed in all black with a white towel over his arm. Without needing to glance at the menu, Claire ordered a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

‎

‎“It’s been a while since we’ve been here,” Cleo said, gazing across the dance floor where bodies swayed in sync with the pulsing music. The energy was wild, unrestrained, everything the two friends had been craving after a long stretch of quiet weekends.

‎

‎The waiter returned swiftly, placing the whiskey bottle and glass cups carefully on the table. "Thanks," they both muttered almost in unison, barely looking up as he nodded and walked away.

‎

‎Cleo wasted no time. She opened the bottle, filled her glass nearly to the brim, and took a deep gulp without hesitation.

‎

‎“Small, small,” Claire said with a furrowed brow, watching her friend with mild concern. “Pace yourself, Cleo.”

‎

‎Cleo waved her off with a smile. “My alcohol tolerance is strong, don’t worry.” She poured another glass and downed it just as quickly as the first, the fiery liquid sliding down her throat with ease.

‎

‎Claire shook her head with a soft chuckle, taking a slow sip from her own glass. “Just be careful, okay? You know I don’t have the strength to carry you home later.”

‎

‎Cleo grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. “Then let’s hope I don’t need carrying tonight.”

‎

‎They both laughed, the sound blending into the hum of the club around them. For now, the night was young, the drinks were flowing, and the possibilities were endless.

‎

‎