Chapter three

Mia

Relief surged through me when the ceremony finally ended. After a stiff goodbye to Ariella, I walked briskly to my car. Finally free. Away from the noise, the eyes, the pressure.

It was hard to be happy for her. My doubts about men were too strong. And the guilt sat heavy in my chest. I loved her, but the dread wouldn’t let me rest.

I took a deep breath and started driving. At least I was away from the crowd.

My cold expression and black dress hadn’t done much to keep people away. Some still approached, asking questions I didn’t care to answer.

I told myself this was the last wedding I’d attend for a while.

It’s over, Mia.

But the thoughts came anyway.

What if she ends up like Mom? What if he lets her down? What if she hides her pain?

If he hurt her—I wouldn’t let it slide.

I meant that.

Eventually, I pulled up beside a bar. It looked clean, in a decent location. I didn’t plan to stay long—just one drink, and a little silence.

The moment I walked in, I hesitated. Too many people. Loud music. I didn’t fear crowds, but I disliked the chaos.

Still, I made myself walk forward. My steps were steady as I headed to the VIP section. The bouncers looked me over like I didn’t belong—too plain, too serious—but just as I reached for my card, one of them said something into his walkie-talkie and waved me through.

Strange.

But I didn’t question it.

I picked a quiet corner and sank into a wide leather sofa. Ordered a bottle of brandy. The warmth of the room, the soft lighting, and the polished elegance helped dull the sting of my thoughts.

The drinks came. All on the house.

Confused, I asked the waitress who had paid why that person thought I couldn't pay for my own drinks. Her answer was an awkward smile and a vague, “They wanted to stay anonymous.”

I rolled my eyes. A man—of course.

I took a sip of the brandy, savoring the familiar burn. Needing a distraction, I scrolled through my library of books and picked up where I left off.

After a few more sips, the tension melted from my shoulders. My mind wandered back to him.

The man from the wedding.

The one who stirred something in me I didn't think existed.

It was an unwelcome surprise to feel that kind of awareness - to know there was someone capable of turning me on so effortlessly.

I tried dating back in my so-called “normal” phase. Thought maybe I’d feel what novels promised. But reality disappointed me. Grossly

The warmth, the charm, the stories of passion—they all turned cold too quickly.

After my second relationship, I gave up. I didn’t just dislike dating; I disliked the emotional gamble. And I didn't help myself either, I constantly fed fears with stories of toxic, manipulative love, how it started always started with flowers and charm, and then, one day, the switch would flip.

I promised myself I would never experience that.

Romance belonged in stories. Fantasies not real life.

Still, I couldn’t deny the memory of his touch. How warm his hand had felt on the small of my back. How perfectly he held me. How one dance ignited sparks across my skin.

And my book? It wasn’t helping. The vivid steamy descriptions made me restless, And yet, part of me wasn’t ready to climb out of that mental gutter.

Foolishly I chugged down more brandy and let myself replace the MC in the novel, I imagined Matthew running his hands all over me making me feel what I shouldn’t feel, kissing me roughly, full of need his hands roaming my thighs and then rubbing my clit whispering dirty words in my ear. I gasped when I realized what I was doing and my cheeks burned with shame, I could not believe I was having inappropriate thoughts about someone I only met once, it was the alcohol yes I blamed it on the alcohol after all I was on my fourth bottle and so fairly drunk

My cheeks flushed.

I shut the book quickly, embarrassed at where my thoughts had gone. I blamed it on the alcohol—this was my fourth drink, after all.

Eventually, I lost track of time completely.

The lines on my screen began to blur. Midnight crept in silently. I stood up, purse in hand, and staggered out of the lounge. My head spun slightly, but I told myself I was fine.

The street noise pulled me toward another building—a club. Too loud. Too bright. But I wandered in by mistake, and almost immediately regretted it.

The lights danced wildly, the music pounded like a second heartbeat, and my senses begged for quiet.

I was about to crouch down and gather myself when a hand caught mine.

Firm. Warm. Familiar.

I looked up—into his face.

Matthew.

My mouth opened in a tipsy laugh. “Hi there, handsome,” I slurred, letting my hand press gently against his chest. It was firm, like I remembered.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mia?” he asked, his voice rich and controlled.

Something about the way he said my name made me shiver. His voice grounded me—but also drew me in.

I smiled, unable to help it. “You’re really... distracting, you know that?”

He raised an eyebrow.

I laughed again, tipsy and bold. “I’m not usually like this. I swear. But ever since I met you… you've been making me think about things I'm not supposed to be thinking about.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me—his eyes searching mine.

“What are you thinking about, Mia?” he asked softly. “And what do you want?”

I hesitated. Then I stepped closer, barely inches between us.

“I want to kiss you,” I whispered.

And before I could talk myself out of it—I did.