The private club was dark, filled with the smell of expensive cigarettes and heavy bass that rattled the floor. Julius was sitting in a deep booth, this was the after party of the gala.
His head leaning back against the leather. He had three drinks in less than an hour, and the alcohol was starting to blur the edges of the room. He felt high—not from the drink, but from the raw energy of the night.
Helen was draped over him. She was dancing in her seat, her hands moving over his suit jacket and her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. To anyone watching, they looked like the perfect couple celebrating a win.
But Julius felt empty. He looked at Helen and felt nothing but a cold, heavy void. Her touch didn't make his heart race. It didn't make his blood boil.
It was just noise.
