Aren’t you here to forget too?

Cassidy's POV

The city lights blurred as I sped my scooter down the road, wind whipping against my wet cheeks. Every breath hurt like fire, but I kept going.

Faster.

Harder.

I leaned into each curve, clutching the handlebars so tightly my knuckles faded to white. My hair flew out behind me, wild and tangled. I could still taste blood—the remnants of my mother’s slap, bitter and metallic on my tongue.

I never looked back. Not at the apartment complex growing smaller in my rearview mirror. Not at the life I’d left crumbling behind those cracked walls. With every mile, I was running from memories—Jason’s empty eyes, my mother’s poisonous words, the sound of my broken sobs that still echoed inside my helmet.

The city itself seemed to understand—neon and shadow, ugly and beautiful, rushing past too fast to hold onto anything. My hands shook, but I pressed harder on the throttle. Nothing mattered except escape.

At some point, I realized I couldn’t breathe.

At some point, my body stopped obeying the orders my heart screamed. My chest caved. My vision blurred at the edges with hungry grey shadow. I almost missed it—the ugly sign glowing pink and purple through the haze, letters flickering like they could barely hold themselves together.

**ECLIPSE NIGHTCLUB**

Where people go to forget.

I had heard about this place—rumors whispered in bathroom stalls and scribbled on girls’ wrists. Somewhere you went to lose your name, your past, and maybe your future. Somewhere you went when you needed to erase the person you’d been before.

I parked by the curb, legs trembling so badly I had to grip the seat to steady myself. I wiped my face with my sleeve, smearing mascara down my cheek, not caring if I looked like a wreck—maybe even hoping I did.

I stood there for another minute, bracing myself against a signpost. People drifted past, laughing, flirting, cigarettes glowing around their lips. Nobody looked at me. Nobody stopped to ask why I was standing alone, eyes red with rage and heartbreak. Nobody cared, and that was exactly how I wanted it.

Adrenaline crashed in my veins, burning away fear until only numbness remained. I ran a hand through my tangled hair, squared my shoulders, and strode toward the entrance like I had every right to belong in their world.

---

Inside, the bass hit me first—so dense it vibrated up my spine and made my skin tingle. The air was thick and sweet with sweat, alcohol, and perfume. Every single surface pulsed in time with the music.

Strobe lights sliced through the crowd, painting faces in fractured color—blue, red, purple, gold. The dance floor was a fever dream; bodies pressed together, moving in ways that bordered on worship or war, all tangled up in heat and longing.

Girls wore dresses that clung to sweat-slick skin, cropped tops and tiny skirts, glitter dusting their eyelids. Guys in ripped jeans and shirts with sleeves rolled up, tattoos crawling along their arms and throats. Some couples clung to each other desperately, lost in kisses that looked painful. Others danced alone, eyes closed to everything except the sound.

For a moment, I just stood there, breathing it all in—the wildness, the freedom, the promise of oblivion. My heart drummed in time with the beat, a strange, reckless hope starting to flicker in the pit of my stomach.

Here, no one cared who you were.

Here, scars were invisible.

Here, heartbreak was just another flavor of fun.

I moved through the haze, trying not to bump into anyone, letting the heat soak into my bones. I felt invisible and powerful—untouchable and utterly alone. I wondered, just for a second, what the old Cassidy would say if she saw me here.

I already knew.

She’d say: Run.

But I didn’t listen.

My mouth was so dry it hurt. The closer I got to the bar, the more conscious I became of my bruises—the sting along my cheekbone, the ache in my ribs. Was my face still red? Did the whole room see the mark left by my mother’s hand? Did anyone even notice?

Probably not.

I reached the bar—a slab of mirrored glass covered with sticky rings and discarded napkins. The bartender was tall, silver rings glinting on his fingers, a faded tattoo winding up his arm. He glanced at me for one second, his eyes lingering on the swelling of my cheek.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, voice flat, face unreadable.

I almost laughed. Poison sounded about right.

“Anything strong,” I said, voice rough from crying.

He nodded like he’d heard those words too many times before, pouring a double shot of something amber, then following it with another. No lecture. No judgment. Just silent understanding.

I took them both, hand trembling just enough to spill a few drops on the counter.

The first shot burned a trail through my throat, settling heavy in my stomach, making me shudder. The second went down faster, easier, almost soothing my raw insides. I closed my eyes, letting the pain blur into warmth. Letting memory blur into nothing.

For a moment, I just let myself drift.

Until a voice cut through the haze—a voice that was somehow both soothing and menacing.

“Bad night?” the voice asked beside me, casual as a cigarette on a rainy evening.

I didn’t want to look. I wanted the numbness, the silence, the promise of oblivion he’d interrupted.

But that voice…

That voice did something to me. It didn’t ask politely, it invaded.

Smooth. Low. Dark. Velvet-wrapped danger.

I turned, and forgot how to breathe.

He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever seen before. He was tall—easily the tallest person in the room—shoulders broad and muscles defined under a black dress shirt that clung like second skin. He lounged against the bar like he owned it, like he owned everything. Messy dark hair swept off his forehead, jaw so sharp it looked carved out of steel. His mouth was soft, lips curving into a slow, deliberate smirk that made my stomach curl.

His eyes were the worst—or the best. They pinned me in place, black as secrets, seeing too much. Reading everything. Burning holes right through my pain.

His presence made the entire world slow down, like fate paused to pay attention.

He tilted his head, gaze gliding over my face, lingering on the bruise blooming across my cheek.

“Running from something?” he asked, words rumbling inside my chest.

A strangled laugh escaped me. “More like someone.”

He nodded slowly, assessing, eyes traveling down my arm to where my wrist shook against the glass. A breath of silence lingered between us—charged, dangerous, alive.

“Let me guess,” he drawled, the edge of a smile on his lips. “Boy troubles or family drama?”

I raised my glass, swallowing another hit of alcohol before answering. “Both,” I said, voice clipped.

He grinned, showing a flash of teeth. “That’s the dangerous kind.”

I shrugged, trying to be brave, trying to pretend I wasn’t falling apart. “Aren’t you here to forget too?”

He shrugged one shoulder, the motion lazy, elegant, almost feline. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his knuckles grazing my cheekbone lightly.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I’m just watching people lose themselves.”

His words made me shiver. I felt invisible and seen at the same time. He didn’t look away—he didn’t let me look away, either.

“Drink with me,” he said, not a question, but an invitation with no room for refusal.

I shook my head, voice small. “I don’t drink with strangers.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm, cinnamon and whiskey, lips close enough to brush my ear. Every nerve in my body caught fire.

“Then don’t be a stranger.”

He held out a hand—clean, long fingers, a silver ring glinting in the club lights.

“Dante,” he said, voice like thunder, promise, and sin all at once.

The name hit me like a shockwave.

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Wrong in exactly the right way.

My hand found his, almost against my will. His skin was cool, strong, anchoring me.

“Cassidy,” I breathed, unable to lie, unable to pretend.

His eyes darkened, flickering with something electric. “Cassidy,” he repeated, tasting every syllable. “I like that.”

I felt heat crawl from my wrist to my spine. The room blurred around us—music, laughter, everything fading out until there was only this magnetic, impossible stranger.

“Why are you here tonight?” he asked quietly.

I almost told him everything. Almost let it all spill out—the ugly betrayal, the slap, the way Jason looked through me like I was invisible, the way my mother made me feel worthless.

But I just whispered, “To forget.”

He nodded, fingers tightening around mine. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor. “Just for one song.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a command.

And god help me, I obeyed.