The club pulsed like a heartbeat—deep, rhythmic, intoxicating.
Red light washed over the crowd. Bodies swayed, drinks clinked, bass throbbed through the floor like it knew your secrets.
Eliana leaned against the back wall of their VIP booth, fingers wrapped loosely around a sweating glass. She was in something short and silky, legs bare, lips painted like sin. Luca had gasped when he saw her earlier. "Darling, if men don't cry tonight, they have no souls."
But no one was crying for her.
Renee and Valeria had already slipped into the crowd—hunting. Elias had disappeared with a DJ ten minutes in. Luca was being worshipped by a circle of wide-eyed boys near the bar.
And then there was him.
Nicky.
Wearing a dress.
And not just any dress.
Obscene.
Black. Cut low and high. Clinging to every part of him like worship. The silk shimmered when he moved, wrapping around his thighs, his hips, that impossibly slim waist. His hair was pinned up messily, tendrils falling around his jaw. Lips glossed. Eyeliner sharp. He was half dream, half weapon.
Eliana was drowning.
And she hadn't even moved.
He slid beside her, brushing her knee as he sat, unbothered, casual. "You're quiet tonight."
She swallowed. "Just watching."
He turned slightly, smirking. "What? Waiting for Liam to fly in on a white horse?"
"Liam's asleep. Time difference."
"Poor thing," he murmured, dragging a finger along the edge of her glass. "Guess I'll keep you company."
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Not when her thighs were clenched and her heartbeat had relocated to somewhere between her legs.
Nicky in a dress had always been beautiful.
But tonight?
Devastating.
And the worst part?
He didn't know.
Didn't know what it did to her when he leaned in close to say something. When his thigh pressed against hers. When his hand casually, thoughtlessly, rested on her knee like it belonged there.
"Eliana," he said, looking down at her as the music shifted. Softer now. Slower. "You okay?"
She nodded. Too quickly.
He tilted his head. "You sure? You're flushed."
"Hot in here," she murmured, voice tight.
He smirked. "Want me to fan you?"
Before she could answer, he lifted his hand and waved it in front of her face in dramatic, lazy circles. The motion pulled his dress slightly, revealing more of his chest, the slope of his collarbone, the glint of a chain dipped between perfect skin.
Eliana's throat went dry.
"I could take you outside," he offered, dropping his voice. "Get some air."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
"You sure?" He leaned in closer. She could smell his perfume—jasmine, bergamot, something underneath like heat. His fingers slid lightly over her bare thigh, a simple, careless gesture. "I can behave."
But she couldn't.
Her skin was burning. Her pulse an animal in her throat. The touch wasn't sexual—not for him. It was comfort. Friendship. Safe.
But to her?
It was heat. Raw and rising. Every brush of his fingers against her skin was another drop of kerosene on the ache she was trying so hard to bury.
She shifted, crossing her legs.
And he noticed.
His eyes flicked down, just briefly.
But his smirk faded.
"Eliana," he said softly, almost uncertain. "Hey… you okay?"
She forced a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just tired."
He studied her for a second longer, then dropped his hand. "We can leave. If you want."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." His voice was gentle. "I'd rather sit in silence with you than flirt with some boy I'll forget tomorrow."
That nearly broke her.
Because it was everything she wanted.
And nothing she could have.
She stood. "Let's get some air."
He rose beside her, his hand grazing her lower back—steady, warm, the kind of touch that meant nothing to him and everything to her.
They slipped outside, into the cool night air, stars hidden behind the city glow. The music inside still thumped through the pavement.
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.
He lit a cigarette, not offering her one, just standing close, watching the smoke curl into the sky.
"You ever think about leaving it all behind?" he asked after a while.
"The industry?"
"The noise. The pretending."
She looked over at him, hair falling into her face. "Every day."
He smiled. "Same."
He flicked ash into the street. "But then I meet someone kind. Someone warm. Someone who listens. And I think... maybe it's not all shit."
Her chest hurt.
He didn't know he was talking about her.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe he was just kind.
Kind in the way that kills you slowly.
She looked away, tried to steady her breathing.
"You're too good to me," she said.
He chuckled. "You make it easy."
She wanted to kiss him.
God, she wanted it so badly her teeth hurt.
But she smiled instead.
Said nothing.
And let the night swallow her ache.