Chapter 6: A Glimpse Through the Smoke

Chapter 6: A Glimpse Through the Smoke

A full week had passed since that night—the night that should’ve been just a release, a fleeting escape from pressure and expectation. But it haunted Theo Lucas Guevara III like a stubborn ghost.

He sat stiffly in his custom silver-leather chair in his towering office, the cityscape a silent blur behind him. His jaw clenched, fingers tapping impatiently on the armrest as the private investigator he had hired stood in front of him, fidgeting nervously.

“She gave no traceable name. ‘Rose’ is clearly an alias,” the man stammered. “No ID. No digital footprint from the club. Mask policy blocked facial recognition. I—”

“Enough,” Theo growled, his voice ice-sharp. “You’re telling me I paid you to bring me air?”

The man looked down, silent.

With a sudden motion, Theo grabbed the crystal paperweight on his desk and flung it across the room. It shattered against the floor with a sharp crash.

“Get out of my sight, you useless fucker.”

The man didn’t wait to be told twice. He bowed and hurriedly exited, leaving Theo alone in the silence, which now felt heavier than ever.

Theo stood, pacing restlessly. That night hadn’t just imprinted itself on his skin—it had clawed its way into his mind. Her voice, her scent, the way her body trembled, the way she looked at him even through the mask—haunted him. She wasn’t like the others. There was something raw, almost painful, in the way she surrendered.

"What the hell have you done to me, woman?" he muttered under his breath.

---

Meanwhile, Janine moved on with her life as best she could. Her days were a blur of uniforms, trays, and tired feet. In the mornings, she served burgers and coffee at a fast food chain; by nightfall, she changed into a black dress to work as a waitress in an upscale restaurant-bar.

She tried to forget that night. Tried to forget the man with cold eyes and burning touch. It was just survival, she reminded herself. Just money for Mama. But her body ached at the memory, and her mind wasn’t cooperating. She hadn’t told Tina. She didn’t need to. Some things you carry alone.

It was a Friday night—busy, chaotic, and loud. She was assigned to the second floor that night, the VIP section with private rooms and wealth she never belonged in.

She steadied her tray, balancing premium wine bottles and imported beers. Room 3. She knocked once, entered carefully, and the air immediately changed.

Laughter. Male voices. Expensive cologne.

And then…him.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Theo sat at the center of the lounge sofa, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a glass of scotch in hand. He was laughing—or at least trying to—while his friends teased and taunted him.

“Damn, Theo, can’t believe you’re this hung up on a nameless woman,” Kevin laughed. “Must’ve been one hell of a night.”

“She didn’t even tell him her name. Ghosted our boy like Cinderella with no glass slipper.”

“She probably doesn’t even exist,” another chimed in. “Maybe you dreamed her up.”

Janine’s hands trembled, her steps faltering. She was the ghost they were mocking. She was the name he didn’t know. And now, she was here—face bare, no mask, no shield—delivering drinks like it was just another Friday.

One of the bottles slipped, tumbling off the tray and hitting the floor with a loud clink. It didn’t shatter, but the sound was enough to draw every eye in the room, including Theo’s.

She bowed quickly, heart pounding in her ears. “I apologize, sir. I’ll replace it right away.”

She turned to leave, her skin prickling with heat. Her steps quickened.

But Theo’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. Calm, suspicious.

“You… look familiar.”

Janine didn’t wait for the rest. She slipped out of the room before his words could find her fully. Her breath caught in her throat as she disappeared down the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her.

---

Inside the VIP room, Theo leaned forward slowly, narrowing his eyes toward the door she had just fled through.

His heart beat a little harder.

Messy bun. Slim figure. Those eyes.

Could it be?

No, it couldn't. And yet—he’d stared at her body once. Memorized it with his hands. He didn’t forget details.

That girl… that waitress…

He set down his glass. Something in him stirred—something sharp, hungry, and unresolved.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, standing abruptly.

“Where you going, man?” Kevin asked.

“Need air.”

But it wasn’t air he was after.

It was answers.