CHAPTER TWO

LUCIAN

I sat numbly, watching as Matt burst out through the club’s front entrance like he was being chased by the spotlight and for a second, I thought he might break into a dance number. He high-fived the bouncers, grinning ear to ear like a walking advertisement for poor decisions.

A ridiculous sash was slung across his bare chest with ‘Groom-To-Be’ printed in bold gold letters. And as if that wasn’t enough of a spectacle, a glittery plastic crown was seated lopsided on his head. 

I sighed. Loudly.

The secondhand embarrassment was almost too much to bear, but I wasn’t surprised. Not one bit. Matt thrived on attention. If he wasn’t the loudest voice in the room, he’d find a way to set something on fire just to fix that.

“He’s having the time of his life.” George muttered from the front seat, barely hiding his amusement.

“I can see that,” I deadpanned.

“I’ll be here when you’re done, sir.” George said, subtly prompting me out.

I gave a slight nod and finally stepped out of the car, the thick noise of music and laughter wrapping around me like heat.

The air outside was electric. Too bright. Too loud. Too much.

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets with my scowl firmly in place, already regretting this. I started walking towards Matt but he spotted me and rushed over.

“Lucian!” he shouted, grinning like an idiot as he ran toward me.

He threw an arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug which I didn’t return. “Man, you actually came!”

“You threatened to have my butler’s head for breakfast if I skipped,” I said flatly.

Matt scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “First of all, try to keep up with the times coz, nobody says butler anymore.” 

I stared at him impassively.

“…Okay, whatever,” he said quickly, linking his arm through mine. “The guys are all here. You’re the last.”

“I’m also the only one who doesn’t want to be here.”

He looped his arm tighter around mine and tried dragging me toward the club.

I didn’t budge. My shoes stayed firmly rooted to the pavement.

Matt’s grin faded just a little as he stopped to look at me, concern written all over his face.

“Lucian?”

I sighed heavily. “I really don’t think I want to be here, Matt. I mean the kids–”

“Are with your parents and well taken care of.” He interrupted.

“That’s not the point.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “But we’re not trying to force you into anything. If it gets too much, we leave. No questions asked.”

I gave him a dry look. “You do remember this is your bachelor party?”

He grinned. “And I’ll have another party next week. Hell, I’ll throw three more before the wedding. But you haven’t had a night off in what? Two years? You work like you're trying to outrun grief.”

I flinched. Just slightly.

I took a step back, crossed my arms. “So what’s the plan? Drag me in, make me fake it till I break, then bail?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a smirk.

I shook my head. “Thanks, Matt. Real inspiring.”

He laughed, nudging me again. “Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a hermit CEO. Trust me, the world doesn’t need that much gloom.”

His voice dropped. “We just want to you to drop the whole father-slash-hot, brooding CEO thing going on for a second before you burn out.”

I stared at him for a beat. “And by ‘we’, you mean…?”

He made an exaggerated gesture of zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “I don’t kiss and tell, coz. That’s just bad manners.”

Of course. My mother.

I shook my head. “She actually masterminded an intervention… at a strip club?”

Matt snorted. “Well, in her defense, this place does have decent dancers. Now come on. We’ll take it slow.”

I had no plans of staying for long. Maybe I’d sit in the corner and count down the minutes until I could leave. Maybe I’d hate every second of this. But just for tonight… maybe I could breathe.

Admitting defeat, I let Matt drag me to the entrance. As we approached, the crowd cleared from our path. Some people stared silently, others whispered openly, not even trying to be discreet with fingers pointed at us. 

I wasn’t used to the attention anymore. Not after three years of being recluse and out of the public’s eye, which was exactly why I avoided any spotlight when I could.

The bouncers gave us a pass without the usual checks, thanks to Matt’s connections, or maybe it was just his charm. Either way, we were in.

The club's main floor hit me with a wave of alcohol smell and writhing bodies — definitely not my usual scene. I wrinkled my nose. This was way rougher than I'd pictured. Tacky, even. Not what I expected, but then again, what had I expected?

I was ready to turn back, but Matt didn’t give me the chance. He steered me through the crowd with casual ease, ignoring the bar, weaving past groups of men shouting over the music. We made our way toward a far corner where a thick red door stood behind a velvet rope, guarded by a bouncer built like a truck.

This one took his job seriously. We had to pass a full body metal detector before he slipped a red wristband around each of our wrists without a word and opened the door.

The change was instant.

Gone was the blaring music and drunken screeches. Here, everything was softer. Smoother. And more intimate.

I let my eyes roam slowly, curiosity blending with detachment.

Plush velvet couches in deep burgundy curved around a sleek central stage. Thin, sheer curtains hung between sections, offering the illusion of privacy while still keeping the atmosphere open.

The air buzzed quietly with laughter and clinking glasses. Voices were low, intimate. Even the staff operated like shadows —waitresses in skimpy lace uniforms moved gracefully through the space, topping off drinks without ever interrupting conversation.

Matt jabbed me with an idiot grin. “What do you think?”

I slowly took in the room.

“It doesn’t look like a health violation waiting to happen.” 

“High praise coming from you,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go meet the others.”

Matt walked beside me through velvet ropes and curvature walls before leading me to a private VIP Lounge that opened into a very spacious elevated booth with an unobstructed view of the performance stage.

The guys were already seated with drinks in hand and their eyes glued on the performance stage where a couple of scantily clothed performers were dancing around a chrome-pole. The room pulsed with hoots and catcalls along with dollar bills flying around the venue like confetti in celebration of the performance.

Matt threw his arms out like a game-show host. “Gentlemen, the man of the hour… correction, the man who actually matters —Lucian.”

A few heads turned.

“Yo, what’s up?” one guy said, leaning in to fist-bump me. I accepted the gesture without any warmth.

Another guy offered a handshake. “Heard about you. I’m Connor.”

I clasped his hand for a second just for the sake of civility. “Likewise.”

Connor smirked. “Matt’s been hyping you like you walk on water.”

Matt scoffed. “Trust me, he does. He’s called corporate Jesus for a reason.”

The rest of them laughed.

The moment of introduction was over as quickly as it started. The group’s attention swung right back to the stage where another woman was now upside down, legs split, the crowd going wild. One guy whistled, another tossed a stack of singles that scattered across the platform like petals.

I slid into the seat beside Matt and he passed me a glass already half-filled with amber liquid. I took it without comment, cradling it in my hand instead of drinking.

I sat there unmoving with the music vibrating through the leather seat and the voices around me rising and fading like static. A sea of noise and bodies blurred at the edges of my vision.

I let it all wash over me.

Disconnected. Present but not part of it.

Honestly, I couldn't understand how anyone found this enjoyable —spending their nights drenched in noise, in sweat, in chaos. But then again, I wasn’t exactly the target audience.  

I was deep in that thought when Matt elbowed me lightly. I lifted my head.  

The room had shifted.  

Voices dropped. Movement stilled.  

Then the house lights were slowly dimmed as a hush swept over the room.  

And when the spotlight sliced through the haze, it landed on the stage. On her.  

Everything else fell away.  

She stood on the stage in red leather that left very little to the imagination and a black mask hiding half her face like she’d done this a hundred times. Like the room was hers before she even opened her mouth or moved a muscle.

My eyes locked. Just instinct at first.

But something held.

My spine snapped straight, something electric ripping through my stillness as my fingers tightened around the glass.  

She didn’t look at me. Not really. Just a sweep of the room.

A slow, dangerous heat suddenly pooled low in my body and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away from her.