The beer glass slipped from Sara's hand, hitting the floor with a sharp crack, splintering into a dozen jagged pieces. Amber liquid splashed across the tiles, pooling around her black boots, the mess glinting under the cellar's dim lights.
The noise cut through the brothel's buzz—people on the dance floor froze mid-step, heads turning slow toward us, eyes narrowing as whispers rippled through the crowd.
"What the fuck???" Sara and I said at the same damn time, our voices loud, overlapping, raw with shock. Her eyes went wide—huge—mirroring mine, her mouth dropping open as she stared at me.
I gulped hard, my throat dry, my mind racing in ten different directions at once. *Shit, shit, shit—if she tells Aeri, I'm done. Dead for life. Everything's fucked.* My pulse hammered, searching for an excuse, a lie, anything to keep this from blowing up.
Jonathan leaned back on the couch, flicking ash from his cigarette, his sharp eyes darting between us with a lazy grin. "Huh? Do you know her, Ezra?" he asked, his voice casual.
"Ahem," I coughed, my voice catching as I fumbled for words. "Y-yeah... kind of..." I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
Sara's glare burned into me, her jaw tight, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, the loose jacket slipping further off her shoulders.
"Why are *you* here?" she snapped, her voice low and fierce, teeth gritted like she was holding back a scream. Her boots shifted, crunching the glass underfoot, her denim skirt riding up as she stepped closer, radiating fury.
"I should be the one asking *you* that," I shot back, my own voice tightening, my eyes narrowing. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ma—" I stopped mid-sentence, my words choking off as I caught the stares around us.
The crowd was still gawking—some drunk guy in a leather jacket smirking, a couple of girls whispering behind their drinks, the bartender pausing mid-pour. No way I was finishing that thought out loud. Not here.
I grabbed her wrist quick, my grip firm but not rough, and yanked her toward the back.
"Come here," I muttered, dragging her through the cellar, past the leather couches and flickering neon signs, to a side door. She stumbled after me, her boots clomping loud, muttering something under her breath I couldn't catch.
I shoved one of the room's door open—a room for a couple to have their private time—and pulled her inside, slamming it shut behind us.
The lock clicked fast, my fingers fumbling with it, and the muffled thump of the music filtered back in, the party outside picking up where it left off. People returned to their dancing.
I shoved Sara back against the wall, the rough wood creaking under her weight as I pinned her there, my hands slamming flat on either side of her head.
My face hovered close—too close—fury burning in my chest, my breath hot and uneven. The room felt smaller now.
"Why are you here?" I demanded, my voice low and sharp, cutting through the muffled thump of music outside. "Aren't you getting married in a few days?"
She didn't flinch—just folded her arms tight across her chest, her black boots scuffing the floor as she tilted her chin up, meeting my glare with one of her own. Her eyes were hard, glinting under the dim light, her bralet barely holding on as her jacket hung loose off her shoulders. "What about you, Mr. Designer?" she shot back, her voice dripping with mockery, her lips curling into a sneer. "Jonathan said it's you who's gonna serve me tonight—does Aeri know about this little side gig?" She leaned forward just a hair, her stare boring into me, daring me to crack.
I gulped hard, my throat tightening, sweat beading fast along my temple, trickling cold down my cheek. My hands sliding off the wall, my jaw clenching tight.
"No..." I muttered, shaking my head side to side, the word barely scraping out. My stomach twisted—caught, exposed, no way to dodge it.
"Thought so... hmph," she said, her smirk widening, a flash of pity crossing her face before it hardened again. She tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder, and let out a low, taunting chuckle.
"Poor Ezra, tangled up in his own mess." She didn't miss a beat—never did—always ready to twist the knife, to mock me like it was her damn job. No way she'd let this slide easy.
I straightened up, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand, my glare locking back on hers.
"And what about you?" I said, my voice steadying, matching her edge. "Does Daniel know you fuck around ? Mr. Perfect fiancé got any clue?" I stepped closer again, my boots scuffing the gritty floor.
She didn't blink, just puffed her chest out a little, proud as hell. "That's exactly why I'm here," she said, her tone bold. "I'm getting married soon—got a few days left to enjoy this freedom before I'm locked down. Why waste it?" She shrugged, casual like she was talking about grabbing a coffee, her smirk never wavering.
"What the hell does that even mean—" I started, a loud sighhhh slipping out, my hands dropping to my sides as I tried to wrap my head around her logic. It was Sara—twisted, reckless Sara—so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, but it still threw me.
Before I could finish, she stepped forward, closing the gap fast, her hands shooting up to grab my neck. Her fingers dug in, pulling me down hard until our faces were inches apart, her grin turning wicked, evil glinting in her eyes.
"You don't have to care about that," she said, her voice low and smooth, her breath warm against my lips, "but if you want your little secret safe, you better keep mine." She held my gaze, unblinking, her lips slightly parted, our breaths mixing in the tight space—hers sharp with beer, mine ragged with panic.
Her grip tightened, possessive, daring me to push back.
My mind spun, reeling for a way out, but there wasn't one—not with her this close, not with her knowing what she knew. I was trapped, cornered, and she damn well knew it. I gulped again, my throat dry as hell, and forced the word out.
"Okay..." I said, my voice low.
She smirked wider, victory flashing across her face, and leaned in fast, catching my lips in a kiss—hard, sudden, her hands sliding up to cup my cheeks, holding me there like she owned me.