🎧 Song: "Bathroom" – Montell Fish
My breath caught in my throat. That stare could've burned me alive.
I didn't even realize I'd stopped dancing until Liam's voice pulled me back.
"Elira? You okay?"
I blinked fast, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my lips. "Yeah, I just— I think I need the bathroom."
"You want me to come with you?" he asked, sweet as ever.
"No, it's fine." I slipped my hand from his and turned before he could say anything else.
The crowd swallowed me instantly — bodies moving to the beat, lights flashing red and violet, laughter mixing with basslines that shook the floor. Luz Roja. The hottest new club in L.A. The one you couldn't get into without being twenty-one — unless, of course, you had a fake ID and a dangerously confident best friend.
My heels clicked against the marble floor as I rushed toward the hallway. The music faded behind me, replaced by the low hum of silence and my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
What was he doing here?
Of all people, him?
Dante Vale — my soon-to-be stepbrother, the walking storm cloud who had barely spoken two words to me since the dinner. His ocean eyes and cruel smirk had haunted me for nights, but this… this was something else.
He wasn't supposed to be here. And definitely not in this club.
Did he follow me? Did he come to spy? Would he tell my mother?
My chest tightened as I pushed into the empty bathroom, gripping the sink edge with trembling hands.
"Okay," I whispered to my reflection, voice shaking. "It's fine. Just breathe. He's also a young adult. Maybe he'll understand. Maybe he—"
The door opened with a sharp click.
My words died.
Dante stepped in.
The door locked behind him with a quiet snap.
He didn't say anything. Just took slow, deliberate strides forward — the kind that made every nerve in my body go still. His black shirt clung to his chest, collar open just enough to show the chain around his neck. His eyes, those cold ocean eyes, didn't waver once.
And then his hands were on the wall — caging me in.
The air between us turned razor-sharp.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice came low, rough, threaded with anger that felt too personal.
I swallowed hard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His tone darkened. "You shouldn't be here."
I lifted my chin, forcing defiance into the fear clawing up my throat. "Is it a crime to go out?"
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "It becomes one when you need a fake ID to do it."
I froze. He knew.
"How—"
He leaned closer, and I caught the faint scent of smoke and whiskey. "You shouldn't be here, piccola bugiarda."
The nickname rolled off his tongue like venom. Little liar.
"Does your mother know?" he asked again, his voice a dangerous whisper against my ear.
"She doesn't have to," I snapped. "And even if she didn't— it's none of your business."
That earned a dark, mocking chuckle. He tilted his head, gaze traveling slowly over me — the dress, the heels, the glitter on my skin. "None of my business?" His words dripped with disbelief. "You're in my club."
My breath hitched. "Your—?"
He smirked, but there was no humor in it. "You didn't know? Luz Roja belongs to my father."
My pulse stuttered.
"So, technically," he continued, voice dropping an octave, "you're standing half-naked in my territory. Tell me again how that's none of my business."
The heat in my chest twisted into something else — anger, humiliation, and something darker I didn't want to name.
"Then maybe you should keep better track of your territory," I shot back. "Because I didn't come here to cause trouble."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, tension coiling through his jaw until it ached. "You don't get it, do you?" His voice softened just a fraction, still edged with fury. "Girls like you don't survive long in places like this."
"Girls like me?"
His gaze flicked down, then back up, meeting my eyes again. "Too soft. Too trusting. Thinking the world won't eat you alive if you just smile pretty enough."
Something in his tone made my stomach twist. I should've walked away. I should've pushed past him, but my body refused to move.
Instead, I asked the one question I shouldn't have.
"Why do you care?"
For a heartbeat, he froze — then his expression hardened again.
"I don't."
His words hit like a slap.
He stepped back, just barely, enough for the air between us to shift. I could breathe again, but barely.
He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath in Italian, and then glanced at me once more — that same look from the dinner, the one that felt like a warning and a promise all at once.
"You shouldn't be here," he repeated quietly, almost to himself this time.
"Then maybe you shouldn't either," I whispered back.
His lips curved — a ghost of a smirk, dangerous and unreadable.
And then he turned, unlocked the door, and left.
The click of it closing echoed louder than the music outside.
I stayed there, still pressed against the wall, my heartbeat wild and uneven. My reflection in the mirror looked like someone else entirely — flushed, shaken, alive in a way that terrified me.
I touched the spot on the wall where his hand had been. It was still warm.
Whatever that moment was — it wasn't supposed to happen.
But it did.
And somehow, deep down, I knew this wasn't the last time I'd find myself cornered by Dante Vale.
⸻
When I finally walked back out into the chaos of the club, the lights felt harsher, the music louder. Liam waved from the dance floor, smiling when he saw me, but my mind wasn't there anymore.
I forced myself to smile back and joined him, pretending nothing had happened. Pretending my pulse wasn't still racing.
But I could feel him — even through the crowd.
From the VIP section above, Dante sat with his friends, drink in hand, his expression unreadable. The flashing lights caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes followed me.
He didn't look away.
Neither did I.
For a moment, the world blurred — just him and me across the smoke and sound. Hate. Curiosity. Something else neither of us wanted to name.
Then he leaned back, raised his glass slightly in my direction, and looked away like he hadn't just lit a fire under my skin.
I turned too, forcing myself to laugh at something Liam said, but the sound came out hollow.
Because no matter how loud the music got, I could still feel his eyes on me.
The devil's eyes.
And the worst part?
A small, reckless part of me didn't want to look away