Eighteen

Brielle’s POV

Jaxon’s house hadn’t changed a bit.

The same faded posters clung to the walls, curling at the edges. The same half-finished painting leaned against his desk like it had been waiting years for him to come back to it. The same worn couch slouched in the corner, cushions still bearing the memories of late nights—some sweet, some bitter, that we once shared.

The familiarity wrapped around me in a way that felt too close. Too loud.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Jaxon said, tossing his keys onto the side table without meeting my eyes. “Clean towels are in the cabinet. You and Mirren can use my room to get ready.”

Mirren was already halfway down the hallway, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder like she owned the place. I hadn’t even noticed her carrying it until now.

“Shotgun the mirror!” she shouted, disappearing into his room.

I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at everything like I’d walked into a ghost. The scent was the same, lemon cleaner mixed with his cologne. It used to make me feel safe. Now it made my chest ache.

“Still suits you,” Jaxon said suddenly.

I turned to him. “What does?”

“This place. The vibe. You.” His voice was low, almost hesitant.

I gave him a small, tight smile and turned away before the weight of nostalgia could sink its claws deeper.

“Brielle!” Mirren’s voice rang from the back. “Get in here and help me pick an outfit before I go out naked!”

I exhaled, clutching the strap of my bag.

“You can use the bathroom if you want privacy,” Jaxon said, watching me carefully.

“Thanks.” I didn’t move.

He studied me for a long moment, his head tilted slightly. “You’re still quiet. You don’t have to pretend, you know. Not with me. You’re not here just to party.”

I forced a shrug. “Maybe I am. Why else would I break out of Desmond’s fortress?”

The name slipped out sharper than I meant it to. His jaw tightened instantly.

“Are you really okay?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Lying felt heavy, but the truth was worse. So instead, I brushed past him, ignoring the way I could feel his gaze burning into my back.

Mirren was already in front of the mirror when I walked in. She’d stripped down to a black crop top that barely covered her chest and a leather skirt that clung to her hips. Her long curls framed her sharp smile as she twirled a makeup brush like a wand.

“I’m thinking rebel goddess. Daughter-of-chaos energy,” she announced, dusting shimmer onto her cheekbones. “What about you? Femme fatale? Untouchable temptress?”

I rolled my eyes. “How about… just Brielle?”

She snorted. “Your version of ‘just Brielle’ is either sweatpants or a sundress. Neither fits tonight’s vibe. You’re not just anything tonight. You’re bold. You’re free. You’re going to look so good that if Desmond shows up, he’ll combust on sight.”

Her grin widened.

I sighed and reached into the duffel bag she’d lugged here. My hand landed on the first dress I touched, a black slip dress, short, fitted, dangerous. One of Mirren’s old recommendations from before everything went sideways. I’d never worn it, but tonight wasn’t about logic. Tonight was about bad decisions.

Mirren’s jaw dropped. “You’re actually going to wear that? Damn. Okay, hold still. I’m grabbing the glitter spray.”

I ignored her excitement as I peeled off my hoodie and jeans, left standing in nothing but my underwear. My skin buzzed, not from embarrassment, but anticipation.

Desmond would hate this.

The thought made me smile.

I slipped into the dress. It hugged every curve, leaving little to the imagination. My reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me. It looked like a version of me who wasn’t trapped by walls, rules, or silence.

Mirren let out a low whistle. “Girl. If Desmond sees you like this, he’s either going to snap or kill someone.”

“Let him,” I muttered, adjusting the straps. “I’m not his to control.”

Mirren arched a brow. “But you want to be.”

I froze, meeting my own eyes in the mirror. “That’s the problem.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she pressed a pair of gold hoops into my hands and started dusting shimmer across my collarbone.

“You’re allowed to want him,” she said softly as she lined my eyes with black. “Just don’t disappear into that wanting.”

I nodded faintly. She was right. Tonight wasn’t about him.

The room filled quickly with perfume, hairspray, laughter, and Mirren’s off-key humming as she danced in heels too tall for her. She looked like freedom, reckless and unapologetic.

I was slicking gloss across my lips when a knock hit the doorframe.

Jaxon.

His gaze flicked over us, then dropped quickly to the floor. “You both ready?”

Mirren twirled, showing off her outfit. “Almost. Just waiting for our queen.”

His eyes lingered on me for half a second too long before he turned away. “I’ll be in the car.”

As soon as he left, Mirren smirked. “Still got him wrapped around your little finger.”

“Can we not?” I groaned.

She laughed. “Please. He couldn’t stop staring at your legs. Or your ass.”

I turned away from the mirror, ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks. “This night isn’t about Jaxon. And it’s not about Desmond either. It’s about me.”

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But if you feel like making either of them crawl, you know I’ll cheer.”

Minutes later, we were strutting out to the car, heels clicking against pavement, perfume trailing behind us like armor. For once, I didn’t feel like the girl who was always being told what to do. For once, I felt untouchable.

Jaxon held the door open without a word. I slid into the backseat, his eyes catching mine in the mirror briefly. Dark. Guarded. But not indifferent.

Mirren filled the silence, chattering about dancing on tables and flirting with strangers. I let her voice wash over me as my pulse thudded against my throat.

My fingers drummed against my thigh in rhythm with the bass spilling from the speakers.

Tonight wasn’t about reason.

It was about taking something back. Even if it was just a few hours of music, sweat, and freedom.

Even if Desmond was already closing in.

Even if a part of me still craved his presence, his anger, his control.

Because the truth was, Desmond could make me feel more with a single look than Jaxon ever managed with his hands.

But tonight? Tonight wasn’t his.

Tonight was mine.

And if he wanted to stop me?

He’d have to find me first.