When Last Night Follows You

Ashlaine POV:

“I’m breaking up with you, idiot!” I yelled at the freaking jerk standing in front of me.

“You sure?” he replied, full of confidence. “I wonder how you’ll look crawling back to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

Tsk.

I couldn’t stop myself anymore.

SMACK! SMACK! Two slaps, straight to his face. No warm-up.

He deserved it.

“Enjoy it,” I said, holding myself back from crushing his ego even more. “Because I won’t be crawling back to you.”

I turned my back on him with a dramatic stomp, like I was walking a runway. Lol.

He was left speechless.

But inside me? I was still fuming.

Like, seriously? In the mall of all places? At 6:34 p.m., I catch him flirting—wait no, making out with the saleslady?!

Hello? It’s me. Ashlaine Selenne Soriano. Me, the one he cheated on?

The audacity.

Literal.

I had no plans of going home. Maybe I’ll just hit a bar by myself. Gosh, I need to wash my eyes after what I saw! Disgusting!

But first, I had to fix myself up. Damnit.

So, I went home, took a shower, and got ready. I picked my sleeveless, fitted black dress—the kind that’s classy but with a little I-dare-you-to-approach-me vibe. Lol.

Curled my hair. Makeup. Red lips, of course.

I looked in the mirror.

Dead eyes, but hot.

Good enough.

I grabbed my bag, walked out of the house, slammed the door shut, locked it, called a cab, and headed straight to the bar.

Fast forward.

Inside the bar.

“So loud…” I muttered to myself as I sat down on a stool near the counter. My eyes wandered around, silently judging everyone in my head.

I sighed. "Ash. It’s a bar, remember?"

What did I even expect?

But whatever.

I talked to the bartender.

"Excuse me, give me the strongest drink here" I ordered while my hand resting on my cheeks

The bartender looked surprised

“Are you sure, miss? Sounds like you’ve got something on your mind,” the bartender chuckled.

"Nah, just freshi'n up" I laughed bitterly

"Hmm, maybe I'll offer you. Old Fashioned, Negroni, Manhattan, Dirty Martini, Long Island Iced Tea."

"Dirty Martini, Extra Dirty" I responded

The bartender raised an eyebrow, and he said in tone with warning "You looked like you needed it. But be careful"

I perched myself on the bar stool, elbows resting on the edge of the bar counter as I watched the bartender prepare my drink.

The sound of glass hitting marble.

There it is. My drink.

"Thanks"

I pulled the drink toward me, fingers brushing the stem like it was second nature.

I didn’t drink it though. Not yet.

Instead, I shifted on the bar stool, letting out the smallest sigh. My heels tapped the footrest softly, like I wasn’t silently counting seconds just to feel something.

I turned.

Leaned my back against the bar counter.

And scanned the room.

I let my eyes move lazily across the dim crowd, skipping past strangers like their existence annoyed me—which, to be fair, it did. Half of them looked desperate. The other half? Worse.

They looked comfortable.

My eyes rolled before I even realized it.

God. Why am I even here?

I tilted my head back. Raised the glass.

Finally. First sip. Burned like it was supposed to.

I flinched how strong this is. I feel like I was hit right away. Damn.

I let the glass rest against my lips for a second longer than necessary before setting it down.

God. I hated places like this.

I shouldn’t even be here.

But here I was.

And then… I felt it.

That annoying weight. Someone watching.

Presence like that didn’t need introductions.

Someone dangerous, obviously.

Or worse—someone important.

I scoffed quietly to myself.

Then the footsteps shifted.

Toward me.

Of course.

Because why not?

I rolled my eyes internally.

Don’t. Look.

He stopped just close enough to let me notice the scent of expensive cologne.

And then he spoke.

“That's strong.”

My eyes closed for half a second.

Seriously?

Of all the men in this bar, I attract the one who thinks stating the obvious counts as flirting.

I glanced sideways, expecting smugness. Maybe arrogance.

What I didn’t expect… was calm.

Unbothered. Controlled.

The kind of calm that tells you he’s dangerous without saying a word.

And

He was wearing Tuxedo.

I blinked.

Did Mr. Tuxedo just talk to me?

Who the hell wears a tuxedo to a place like this?

Damn, it’s like he just came straight from an funeral.

I raised my glass slightly, kept my expression blank.

“Exactly why I ordered it.”

And I took another sip.

Another sip.

Another second of pretending he wasn’t still standing there.

God. Why wasn’t he leaving?

I could feel it—the weight of him beside me. Not just physically. The energy. The stillness.

Most guys? They talk.

They try.

They ask the stupid questions.

But him?

Nothing.

He just stood there.

Silent.

Calm.

I hated that.

Because silence meant control.

And I didn’t like losing control.

Say something, idiot.

But no.

Tuxedo guy just stayed there, like he had all the time in the world.

So, fine.

I turned—finally letting myself look.

And he wasn’t staring at me.

No.

He was looking at my drink.

Like it mattered.

Like I was just some background noise.

What the hell?

“Do you usually approach strangers like this,” I muttered, “or am I just special?”

I didn’t know why I asked that.

Am I already drunk?

Maybe? Or because I needed to hear his voice again?

He glanced at me.

Calm. Bored.

“Would it matter?”

God.

Who the hell talks like that?

I scoffed under my breath and turned away, raising my glass again—mostly to hide the fact that I suddenly needed the alcohol more than I thought.

Whoever he was… tuxedo guy had mastered one thing.

Annoying me.

Without even trying.

And worse?

I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.

I took another sip, longer this time.

Not because I wanted the drink.

Because I needed something to do.