ARIA
By the time the motorcycle rolled to a stop, I was already regretting saying yes.
The place looked… expensive. That kind of expensive that didn't even bother to brag about it. Clean-cut architecture. Subtle lights. Doormen with Bluetooth earpieces and expressions carved from stone.
Sylas helped me off like we were stepping onto a red carpet and not just onto the pavement. He took my hand without asking... like it was muscle memory... and guided me through the entrance like I might run off and get lost.
I glanced down at my outfit. Jacket. Sweatpants. Sneakers that had probably seen better years. I didn't belong here, but I didn't really care either. I wasn't here to fit in.
I was here for the booze.
And maybe to not feel like I was unraveling for a little while.
Still… as we passed under the golden lights of the lobby and into a private elevator, something like guilt started to curl in my stomach.
Sarah.
