The bar buzzed with overlapping voices and clinking glasses. A thin haze of smoke curled from half-forgotten cigarettes, hanging off hurried lips. Yellow lights threw shadows across the wooden tables, and the music swung between electronic beats and old classics, as if the place couldn't decide which decade it belonged to.
Liora paused at the door, pulling her light coat tighter around her. The air smelled of alcohol and damp wood. She drew a deep breath before stepping inside. It had been far too long since the last meeting of the group.
Maya spotted her first, waving excitedly. Jonas laughed from the corner, spilling beer as he gestured wildly. Eren, as always, stayed quiet, calm, and observant.
"Finally!" Maya practically dragged her toward the table. "I thought you'd given up on us."
"Just busy," Liora replied, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.
She sat, and for a few minutes, it felt like old times again: exaggerated stories, loud laughter, Jonas telling the same joke for the thousandth time. Her heartbeat slowed, almost comfortable… until the door opened again.
Him.
Caelan.
He didn't need an announcement. Just stepping into the room was enough to quiet the table. His dark, casual suit felt out of place in the bar, yet somehow, it belonged to him. His blue eyes swept the room, landed on hers, and lingered. A long, measured second, then a restrained smile.
Liora straightened in her chair, chest tightening. It wasn't a surprise he'd changed over the years. The surprise was that he had shown up at all.
"Still alive, huh?" His voice carried irony as he approached. Jonas snorted, Maya clapped, and even Eren raised an eyebrow.
"Look who decided to show up," Maya said theatrically. "The prodigal boy himself."
"I've been busy," Caelan said, curt. Cold, precise. But when his eyes found Liora, they softened. "But I couldn't miss today."
He pulled up a chair without asking, as if the table already belonged to him, and poured himself some whiskey from Jonas's order.
The group's chatter resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted. Caelan spoke little, each word sharp with sarcasm. He corrected Jonas's memories, mocked Maya's exaggerations, even commented on Eren's silence with a teasing bite. But when he spoke to Liora, his voice dropped low, calm, almost intimate.
"Still performing?" he asked during a pause.
She met his gaze. "When the opportunity comes."
"So you didn't quit." Not a question.
"I never thought of quitting."
A corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.
Time passed in laughter and clinking glasses until Liora stood. She needed air, or just a moment of quiet. The narrow hallway to the bathroom was lit with harsh white lights.
Footsteps echoed behind her, twisting her stomach.
"Following me?" she asked, not turning.
"Coincidence." His voice was too close.
She sighed. "I doubt it."
Caelan stopped beside her, one hand braced against the wall. Close enough that anyone passing might think they were about to kiss. She crossed her arms, firm.
"That won't work on me," she said. "If you have something to say, say it."
He leaned in slightly, face inches from hers. His blue eyes were intense, focused, not drunk, just calculating.
"You've grown," he said, as if stating a fact.
Liora raised an eyebrow. "That happens to everyone, Caelan."
For a brief moment, he laughed. A short, surprised sound, as if he wasn't used to anyone talking back.
"Still bold enough to cut me off," he murmured, almost savoring her defiance.
"Or would you rather I bow my head like the others?" she shot back, chin high.
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then, as if satisfied, he stepped back. "No. Not you."
And he left, leaving the hallway colder than before.
It took her several seconds to breathe normally again. She didn't know what he wanted exactly, but she knew it wouldn't be simple.
The next morning, her phone buzzed on the table. A short message, impersonal, yet heavy with command:
"Ms. Liora, your presence is requested at D'Aubigné Enterprises. 10 a.m. — Assistant to Mr. D'Aubigné."
She set down her coffee and stared at the screen. Her heart raced, not from surprise, but from certainty. The game had begun.
And she had no intention of playing it his way.