Jade's POV
Extasy Drift
I shouldn't have come early. The second I stepped through the doors of Extasy Drift, the thick air of stale beer and sweat hit me, thick as guilt. The club is just as I remember it — dim lights slicing through smoky air, bass-heavy music pounding in sync with wild, reckless hearts.
I haven't been here since that night. The night I let a stranger's smirk and whispered lies draw me into a corner booth, the night his hand slipped under my skirt as a camera blinked, recording what I couldn't take back. The video that somehow leaked — the reason girls like Anita whisper and laugh when I pass. The reason Zion and I could never be more than midnight meetings.
Maybe that's why I'm here now, an hour early. I need time to steady myself, to remind myself that I'm not that girl anymore. That Stephen — kind, considerate Stephen — isn't like that. That he's safe.
I ordered a Coke, no ice. The bartender raised an eyebrow but slid it across the counter. My reflection catches on the mirrored wall behind the bar — eyes sharp, mouth tight. Like I'm already bracing for a blow.
I need to relax. Stephen will be here soon. We'll laugh and talk, and this place won't be a den of ghosts.
My fingers drum against the glass, sticky with condensation. The music shifts — a new track, an old Afrobeats hit that carries more memories than it should. I glance up, my eyes tracing the familiar chaos of the dance floor, and that's when I see him.
Stephen. In the far corner, near the VIP lounge, his head bent close to another guy's. The man with him is tall, lean, his posture too self-assured. There's an easy smirk on his face that scrapes my nerves.
I step closer, my heart a steady thud. I don't even know why I move, just that something feels wrong. My feet slip between swaying bodies, my ears straining against the music. The smirking guy laughs — sharp, cocky. Stephen's voice is lower, careful.
"...just enough to loosen her up. Nothing messy. Just enough."
The smirker leans in, his voice a quiet hum.
"And you're sure she'll be here? In an hour, yeah?"
Stephen's chuckle is easy, practiced. "I know she'll be here. Just don't mess this up, Lucas."
Lucas. The name freezes me. It slams into my brain, an alarm blaring. My lungs seize, and my throat tightens.
I choke — a sharp, wet sound. Too loud. Stephen's head snaps up, his eyes locking on mine. For a second, something cold flashes through his face — surprise, annoyance — before it melts into his usual grin.
"Jade! Thought you'd be later," he says smoothly, the warmth in his voice as practiced as ever.
I force a smile, every nerve on edge. "Yeah, uh, decided to come early. Thought I'd... I don't know, settle in."
His gaze flicks to Lucas, who stares at me with an expression I can't quite decipher. There's recognition there, maybe, but it's too quick, too slippery.
"This is my friend Mark," Stephen says, all charm. "Mark, this is Jade."
Mark. Not Lucas. Mark. I swallow, my throat dry. He extends a hand, and I shake it out of reflex. His grip is firm, too confident. My mind races. I remember a face — the guy from the video, the one who smirked and recorded while I fumbled for my dignity.
But it is only a stray thought. Why was I thinking about "that night" so much, tonight?
I drop his hand quickly. My palms feel cold and clammy. Stephen is saying something, his voice a dull thrum, and I nod, pretending to listen. My heart beats like a warning.
"Jade?"
I turn, and my stomach twists. Zion stands there, his eyes hard, his jaw clenched. The music seems to dull, the lights too bright, everything too sharp.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I snap, the shock and fear and confusion tangling in my throat. "Are you following me?"
Zion's eyes flick to Stephen, to Lucas — Mark — then back to me. "I warned you."
"Warned me about what?" My voice wavers, defensive, raw. "About Stephen? You're paranoid, Zion. Not everyone is out to get me!"
Zion's gaze darkens. There's a desperation there that I don't understand, a weight pressing against the space between us.
"Jade, he's not who you think he is," Zion says, his voice low and strained. "His name isn't Stephen. It's Samuel. Samuel Oyinde."
The name crashes through me. Samuel Oyinde. Familiar in a way that makes my skin prickle. Stephen's — Samuel's — face blanches, the mask slipping.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I whisper, my voice breaking.
"Look at his friend," Zion urges, his voice a harsh rasp. "Look at him properly."
I turn to Mark, to Lucas — my heart pounding, my breath shallow. The smirk. The eyes that glimmer with mean delight. The face that twisted in a silent laugh while I stumbled in that dim corner, camera flashes biting through the darkness.
"Oh my God…" I gasp, the realization clawing up my throat. "Lucas."
The smirk vanishes, his face tightening. The weight of it all crashes over me — the video, the whispers, the shame. Stephen — Samuel — who found me after, who made me feel seen, who made me trust him. All of it a lie.
"You set me up," I choke out, betrayal scorching my throat. "You — both of you, this was all a setup!"
The crowd is watching now, faces curious and gleeful, recording, whispering. Stephen — Samuel — tries to speak, but his voice drowns under the noise. Lucas' smirk falters; he shifts, an instinct to flee.
"Going somewhere, Lucas?" Zion's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp as a blade. "The police are outside. Thought you'd want to say hello."
Lucas freezes, his face paling. Stephen's — Samuel's — gaze locks with mine, panic flaring bright and wild. The club's security is here now, parting the crowd, officers moving in.
"This is a setup!" Lucas yells, his bravado crumbling. "You don't have proof — you have nothing!"
Zion's hand wraps around mine, his grip steady, grounding. "Dayo kept the texts, Samuel. The ones where you planned to drug her tonight. There's proof. There's more than enough."
Samuel's face collapses — a mask crumbling, a life unraveling. The officers grab them, their shouts mingling with the music, the flashing lights, the crowd's hungry gaze.
I can't breathe. The world is a blur, too bright, too loud. Zion's hand is the only real thing, anchoring me, his thumb brushing softly against my knuckles.
"Jade," he whispers, his voice a tether. "You're safe. It's over."
My throat is tight, tears blurring my vision. I don't know whether I'm relieved, ashamed, angry — or all of it. But Zion's mouth is on mine, warm and soft, a kiss that feels like a promise.
And for the first time in a long while, I believe it.