Rowan sat up.
Cleared her throat.
Made her voice light, practiced, convincing.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm home. It was good. Really good. Carlos is… nice. We talked. Laughed. I'm just tired."
A pause then Clara's smile audible through the wood.
"Good. I'm glad, sweetheart. Sleep well. Love you."
"Love you too."
Footsteps retreated.
Rowan lay back down.
Stared at the dark ceiling.
And whispered to no one, to the empty room, to the ghost of Nyx's grip—
"It was good."
A lie so thin it hurt to say.
But she said it anyway.
Because the alternative... admitting that tonight had ended in blood, in rage, in a restroom confrontation she still tasted... was too much.
She closed her eyes.
Tried to sleep.
Failed.
~~^-^~~
Nyx shoved past the two guards like they were paper dolls, broad shoulders slamming into their chests, feet planted for leverage.
Grayson reached for his arm; he twisted free with a snarl, elbow catching him hard in the ribs. The second guard lunged too slow.
He was already sliding into the driver's seat of the black Escalade parked curbside, engine still warm from the ride over.
"Mr. Ravencroft... stop!"
He slammed the door.
Locked it.
The keys were in the ignition (security protocol: always ready to move fast). His foot hit the gas before the guards could reach the handle.
Tires screeched sharp, angry rubber burning black streaks across asphalt as the SUV lurched forward.
Grayson swore, already on his radio.
"He's driving. East on 7th. No tail. He's too fast."
Behind the wheel, Nyx didn't look back.
His knuckles still bruised and split from punching Carlos bled fresh onto the leather steering wheel. Blood smeared the gear shift. He didn't care.
The city blurred past, red lights ignored, horns blaring, his pulse louder than the engine.
The black silk shirt clung to his tall, broad-shouldered frame as he floored the accelerator, wind tearing through the open window, hair whipping across his face.
Tears hot, furious streaked his cheeks, mixing with the drying blood on his lip from yesterday's bite.
"She thinks she can date someone else?" he muttered, voice cracking, raw. "Thinks she can walk away? Thinks she can kiss him goodnight while I'm sitting in that fucking office bleeding for her?"
Another red light.
He ran it.
A cab swerved, horn screaming.
He didn't flinch.
His phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Lexi, probably. Jade. Guards. Marcus.
He didn't look.
He didn't answer.
The SUV roared through the next intersection, tires howling, engine straining.
Club was twenty minutes away if he drove like this.
Fifteen if he didn't care about survival.
He didn't.
Not tonight.
Not after seeing Rowan walk back to that table.
Smile at him.
Let him think for even one second that he had a chance.
Nyx's foot pressed harder.
The speedometer climbed.
And somewhere ahead, safe inside her own home, Rowan was probably still smiling at Carlos, still pretending tonight could be normal.
She had no idea what was coming.
No idea that the man who'd kissed her cheek, bruised her chin, and bled on her floor was now racing through the city like a missile with no off switch.
No idea that the next time they saw each other...
it wouldn't be in a consult room.
Nyx slammed the door of his sleek black sports car, the engine still humming with unspent fury as he abandoned it curbside.
The image of that smug lawyer's hand on Rowan's arm burned in his veins, hotter than any high.
He pushed through the club's heavy doors, the bass-heavy music slamming into him like a wave.
The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the metallic tang of spilled liquor. Heads turned, whispers rippled through the crowd as they recognized him, the infamous Ravencroft heir, but he ignored them, his tall, muscular frame cutting through the throng like a blade.
At the bar, he didn't bother with pleasantries. "Vodka, neat. Keep 'em coming," he snarled at the bartender, his voice laced with that signature arrogance, his dark eyes flashing defiance.
The first shot burned down his throat, a familiar fire that dulled the edges of his rage. But it wasn't enough. Never enough.
He knocked back a second, then a third, the alcohol pooling in his empty stomach like liquid courage.
His mind drifted to Rowan... those calm, unyielding eyes that saw through his bullshit, the way Rowan's hands had steadied him during detox sessions, professional yet so achingly close.
"She hates me," Nyx thought, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Good. Hate me all you want, Doc. I'll make you need me." The obsession coiled tighter, possessive and yandere-sharp, fueling his spiral.
Spotting a familiar face in the VIP lounge... a dealer he'd partied with before... he slipped away from the bar. "Got the good stuff?" he muttered, his voice low and urgent, slipping him a wad of cash without a second thought.
He nodded, discreetly passing him a small vial of cocaine. In the dim bathroom stall, heart racing, he lined it up on the porcelain sink and inhaled sharply.
The rush hit like lightning, sharpening everything... the lights brighter, the music louder, the ache for Rowan deeper.
He leaned against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, imagining Rowan's composed facade cracking under his touch. "You'll come for me. You always do."
~~^-^~~
Rowan's phone rang, jolting her from the thought. Lexi's name on the screen. Rowan hesitated, then answered, her voice steady but edged with exhaustion. "What is it, Lexi?"
"Rowan, thank God you picked up!" Lexi's voice was frantic, laced with the club's distant thrum in the background.
"It's Nyx... he ditched us after that mess with your date. We tried calling him a million times, but he's not picking up. Jade and I are freaking out. He's probably spiraling again... you know how he gets."
Rowan pinched the bridge of her nose, pretending the concern twisting in her gut was just professional duty. "And why are you calling me? I'm not his babysitter."
"Because he'll pick up for you," Lexi pleaded, her tone desperate.
"Please, Doc. He listens to you... well, sorta. We know he's at that club downtown, the one he always hits when he's pissed. The Vortex. Just... save him. Before he does something stupid. Again."
Rowan sighed, the pretended hatred cracking just a fraction.
Despite everything... the recklessness, the obsession, the way Nyx flirted shamelessly in every therapy session, staring with those intense eyes and whispering provocations that made Rowan's pulse race... she knew the truth.
She was affected by Nyx too.
That glimpse of vulnerability beneath the arrogance, the way their sessions simmered with unspoken tension, bodies inches apart during check-ins, breaths mingling.
It was messy, unethical, but the pull was there, electric and undeniable. "Fine," Rowan muttered, grabbing her keys. "I'm on my way. But this ends tonight one way or another."
She stood abruptly, her composure masking the storm inside, and headed for her car. The engine roared to life as she peeled out, the city lights blurring into streaks.
What am I doing? she thought, gripping the wheel tighter. But she knew: saving Nyx. Again. And maybe, just maybe, letting the cracks widen a little more.
~~^-^~~
The Vortex throbbed like a living thing, bass rattling the bones in Rowan's chest as she pushed through the crowd.
She spotted Nyx almost immediately.
In the far corner of the VIP section, slumped against a velvet banquette, legs sprawled, head tipped back. A half-empty bottle of vodka dangled from lax fingers.
A thin line of white powder still dusted the glass table in front of him.
Two strangers hovered nearby, laughing, one of them reaching to brush hair from Nyx's face like he was a toy.
Rowan's jaw locked so hard her teeth ached.
She crossed the room in six long strides.
"Back off," Rowan said quiet, lethal. The two strangers looked up, saw the murder in her eyes, and scattered without argument.
Nyx didn't even flinch at the voice. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, lashes heavy.
Cheeks flushed from alcohol and whatever cocktail of pills he'd chased the coke with.
His tall, muscular frame looked heavier like this... vulnerable, wrecked. Rowan hated how much that sight still twisted something inside her.
She crouched in front of the low table, voice low and furious.
"Nyx. Look at me."
Nyx's head lolled slowly. His lips curved into a slow, sloppy, dangerous smile when his hazy gaze finally focused.
"...Rowan?" The word came out slurred, dreamy. "Fuck. I'm hallucinating now… wow. Best one yet."
Rowan's hand shot out, fingers closing around Nyx's chin... not gentle, but not cruel. Firm. Forcing those heavy-lidded eyes to meet hers.
"You're not hallucinating, dumbass," Rowan snapped, voice rough with everything she was trying not to feel. "It's really me. And you're really fucked right now."
Nyx blinked slowly. Then laughed... a soft, broken sound that ended in a cough.
"Always so mean when you're worried…" He tried to lean forward, almost tipping off the seat. Rowan caught his shoulders instinctively, steadying him.
Nyx's head dropped against Rowan's collarbone like it belonged there. "You smell like hospital… and anger. My favorite combination."
"Shut up." Rowan hauled him up with surprising effort... Nyx was heavy, all solid muscle and height, and right now he was dead weight wrapped in designer silk and bad decisions.
One arm hooked under his, the other around his back, supporting his tall frame as she guided him out. Several phones lifted in the crowd. Rowan ignored them. "We're leaving."
Nyx's arms looped loosely around Rowan's neck as he was pulled upright.
His face immediately buried itself against the side of Rowan's throat, lips brushing skin in a lazy, drunken nuzzle.
"Mmm… you're so strong, Doc," he murmured, breath hot and vodka-sweet. "Knew you'd come. Always come for me."
Rowan's grip tightened... reflex, not affection. She told herself.
"Stop talking."
"Make me." Nyx's tongue flicked out, just barely grazing the pulse point under Rowan's jaw. A shiver Rowan refused to acknowledge raced down her spine. "Bet you'd like that. Pinning me down. Telling me what a bad boy I am…"
Rowan's stride didn't falter, but her voice dropped to something dangerously quiet.
"Keep pushing, Ravencroft, and I'll leave you in the alley to sleep it off with the rats."
Nyx giggled... high, delirious, heartbreaking.
"Liar. You'd never."
Rowan kicked the club door open with her foot, cold night air hitting them both like a slap.
Nyx shivered violently against her, curling tighter against Rowan's side.
"Cold," he whined, nosing under Rowan's jaw again. "Warm me up."
"You're lucky I'm not dumping you in a cold shower instead."
Rowan strode to his car... a sensible black SUV parked illegally on the curb.
She maneuvered Nyx into the passenger seat with clinical efficiency, buckling him in even as his hands kept trying to wander, sliding over Rowan's waist, tugging at her coat buttons.
"Gonna kiss it better?" Nyx slurred, head lolling toward Rowan as the seatbelt clicked. "Promise I'll be good if you do…"
Rowan slammed the door, rounded to the driver's side, and dropped into the seat. She gripped the wheel until her knuckles bleached white.
"You," she said through clenched teeth, not looking at the man beside her, "are going to detox. Properly. No more showing up at my dates. No more hitting people. No more this." She gestured sharply at Nyx's disheveled, drugged-out state.
Nyx's smile was slow, hazy, but the obsession underneath it burned clear even through the fog.
"You say that every time…" he whispered, reaching out to trace a clumsy finger along Rowan's jaw. "And every time… you still come."