02|Do you want to spend the night together?

Where do you go when you're at your lowest? When you have no one by your side? Or maybe when you've just run away from your own wedding?

For me, the answer was simple. The only place that made sense—the one spot where you could drown your sorrows in alcohol, cry your heart out, and let the music blast away the thoughts clawing at your mind.

A club. Not just any club, mind you—one of the most exclusive in New York, owned by none other than the infamous and dangerous business man, Alaric Voss.

My father’s friend.

To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why I had come here. There were plenty of clubs in the city, but perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, deep down, I wanted to see him. To see someone familiar, someone who could offer me even the slightest sense of comfort. My ruthless father was practically out of the picture, so maybe, in some twisted way, I sought out his annoying friend instead.

“More, pour me everything you have. Since all I have is fucking money, I’ll drink everything here and pay for it!” I shouted, a small smile tugging at my lips as I pushed my glass toward the bartender. He smirked in amusement as he filled my glass with whiskey.

“Runaway bride?” he asked, and I froze, my eyes widening. My hand instinctively covered my mouth in shock.

“How the fuck did you know that?” I asked, and he chuckled, giving me a quick, knowing glance.

“Pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

I tilted my head in confusion before following the direction of his gaze, realizing that I was still in my wedding dress. Ah, right, I hadn’t bothered to change before heading straight to the club. No wonder everyone was staring at me.

"Why'd you run away from your wedding? Did the groom cheat?" The bartender joked, but in a way, he couldn’t have been more accurate.

I shrugged, bringing the glass to my lips, downing it in one gulp. The burning sensation slid down my throat, but no matter how much I drank, it couldn't drown the pain—the suffocating ache in my chest. It was unbearable.

I slammed the glass on the table, my lips trembling, and before I knew it, the tears started to fall. I couldn’t hold it in any longer—each tear fell down my cheeks, blurring my vision, making my heart feel as though it had been stabbed with a dagger.

Why? Why, why, why?

Why was this happening to me? Why did I always end up disappointed? Why was I always betrayed by the people I cared for and loved?

Growing up, I was neglected and hated by my father, all because I was the cause of his wife—my mother’s—death. I didn’t know the full details, but all I was ever told was that she had died while giving birth to me. Since then, my father became the cold, distant man he was today.

He blamed me every waking second for her death, making sure that I lived my life regretting the day I was born.

“Your mother died because of you. If I had the choice, I would have traded your life for hers. But now that you're alive, you’ll live in regret for being the cause of her death.”

My cries slowly turned into laughter as I gripped the glass tighter, almost breaking it in my hand.

“I—oh my God, are you crying? Please, don't cry. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean it,” the bartender stammered, his voice filled with panic. I shook my head, taking off my glasses and wiping my tears with the sleeve of my dress.

“More,” I whispered softly, my voice barely audible. “Please, pour more.”

But before the bartender could refill my empty glass, a firm hand stopped him mid-motion, holding him in place.

I instantly stiffened at the presence beside me, my body recognizing the familiar cologne before my mind could process it. Without realizing it, I closed my eyes and instinctively relaxed.

“B-Boss…”

“Leave,” a cold voice commanded.

I opened my eyes just in time to see the frightened bartender bow slightly before scurrying away, as if he had just encountered the devil himself.

I didn’t even need to turn to know it was Alaric who had scared him off.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your wedding?” Alaric asked.

Finally turning, I found him seated on the stool next to me, his posture straight and composed. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine—so effortlessly attractive and flawless despite his age.

Black hair, gray eyes, and a face that could disarm anyone.

This man was thirty six? Impossible.

“I ran away from it,” I said, shifting my gaze away from him to stare at nothing in particular, yet I could feel his eyes boring into me.

And then, to my utter surprise, he did something that left me speechless.

He smirked and nodded before reaching for my head, his hand stroking it, making me stiffen slightly.

“I guess little rose isn’t so little anymore. Tell me, why did you run away from your wedding?”

I swallowed nervously, shaking my head. I refused to admit that I had left because my fiancé cheated on me— or because I had chosen to wait until our wedding night. Because I was a virgin, and I wanted my first time to be special.

Hell, he was my father’s friend. twelve years older than me. If I told him that, he’d probably laugh and call me boring.

And for some reason, I didn’t want to hear that from him.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was something else—some desperate need to prove that I wasn’t ugly, that I could be wanted if I chose to be. Maybe that’s why, instead of the truth, another set of words slipped from my lips.

“That isn’t important, but I have a question,” I said.

His head tilted slightly in amusement, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. My breath hitched.

“Speak, little rose" I swallowed nervously at the nickname he had always called me before opening my mouth.

“So… Do you want to spend the night together?”

That was the last thing I remembered; the rest became blurry, but I didn’t need to remember the details to know that I had made a grave mistake and that we had sex.