You're not saying no this time, babe," Ella declared, already halfway through her closet. "You've canceled on me three weekends in a row, and I will physically drag you out if I have to."
"I'm tired, Ella. Work has been—"
"Nope," she cut in, tossing a black sequined dress at her. "No excuses. You need to stop drowning in spreadsheets and start living again. You're too pretty to be this sad and single."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. Ella had a way of breaking through her walls with sheer force of will—and honestly, maybe she was right. Maybe she did need a night out. A reason to feel something besides stress and confusion and the lingering buzz of a stranger she hadn't been able to forget.
"Fine," she said at last, holding up the dress. "But I'm not wearing this. I'd rather not blind everyone."
Ella grinned triumphantly. "We'll compromise. I'll handle the music. You handle the shots."
By 10 p.m., they were walking into a dim, pulsing club on the east side—Crave, it was called. Lights flashed in hypnotic patterns, bass thumping through the floors. The smell of perfume, sweat, and something wild clung to the air.
It wasn't her scene.
But with Ella dancing ahead of her like she owned the place, and a drink cooling her palm, she let herself relax. Just a little.
And then she saw him.
Leaning against the far wall, half in shadow.
Black shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open just enough. His eyes scanned the room slowly, like he was both part of it and above it.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Ella," she said quickly, grabbing her friend's wrist. "I'll be right back."
Ella raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Go get him, tiger."
She walked over before she could overthink it.
He saw her coming.
Didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just watched.
When she stopped in front of him, she felt suddenly small—but not in a bad way. Like he saw right through the version of herself she wore for everyone else.
"I didn't get your name," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know you," he said. "How can I help you... again?"
"You helped me last time," she said, matching his calm. "I figured I owed it to myself to at least know who you are."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her for a beat. Then finally, "Jace. Just Jace."
She let the name sink in, this time spoken in a place filled with strobe lights and music instead of fear.
"I'm—" Mel
"Nice to meet you again Mel," he said softly.
The music faded behind them. It was like the club disappeared.
Just him. Just her.
And the weight of something beginning.
---
---
"NICE MEETING YOU AGAIN ."
Jace's words echoed in her head as she turned away from him, heat creeping up the back of her neck. He didn't ask for her number. Didn't offer to buy her a drink. Just let her walk away like he knew she'd come back if she wanted to.
And part of her did want to.
But Ella was waving her over from the dancefloor with both hands, looking way too excited—and suspicious.
Mel slipped back into the crowd and made her way to her best friend, trying to wipe the dazed look off her face.
"Girl," Ella started, hands already on her hips. "What was that? You disappeared like a Disney princess and then showed up talking to him of all people?"
Mel blinked. "You know him?"
Ella scoffed. "Everyone knows him. That's Jace Morgan. And before you ask—yes, that Morgan. Morgan Industries. His dad's some big-deal billionaire. But Jace? Jace is... not that."
Mel frowned. "What do you mean, not that?"
"I mean," Ella leaned in closer, lowering her voice, "he's like, club royalty. Always in and out of fights, fast cars, fast women. Rumor has it he dropped out of some Ivy League school just to 'find himself.' And I'm pretty sure finding himself involved a lot of vodka and questionable decisions."
Mel's eyebrows lifted. "You sound like his biographer."
"I read a lot of gossip blogs," Ella said with a shrug, then her eyes narrowed. "Wait—why are you even talking to him? What did he say?"
Mel hesitated. "He helped me. The other night. I didn't tell you because I was still processing it, but… I was walking home late, and some guys—there was almost an attack. He stopped it."
Ella's expression fell immediately. "What? Mel, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to scare you. I was scared enough for both of us."
Ella pulled her into a tight hug. "You should've called me. God, are you okay?"
"I'm fine now. He... he showed up out of nowhere. Just handled it, like it was nothing."
When they pulled apart, Ella's face had gone serious. "Okay, that's good. I mean, thank God he was there. But also—that doesn't mean you owe him anything."
"I know," Mel said, a little too quickly.
"Mel. He's dangerous. And I don't mean in a hot-movie-star kind of way. I mean he's unpredictable. Guys like him don't just rescue girls in alleys. They live in the shadows. You don't need that kind of trouble."
Mel didn't answer. Not because she disagreed. But because part of her wasn't so sure.
There was something in the way he looked at her.
Not like she was a rescue project. Not like she was a victim.
But like he'd seen her—even in the dark.
"I hear you," she said finally.
Ella narrowed her eyes. "That sounded suspiciously noncommittal."
Mel gave a weak smile. "I'm just saying… maybe there's more to him than what people think."
Ella shook her head. "You're already falling for him, aren't you?"
Mel's smile faded.
"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe I already have."
---