Gosh... This was wrong. She shouldn't be feeling or thinking this way about another man touching her. She loved Jack, right? Then why did she feel this way... This excited about another man touching her? When was the last time she felt this excited about Jack's touch?

"Fun?" he questioned softly, interrupting her thoughts, his hand following the contours of her neck and her head almost lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

"Not this sort of fun." She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

"You're going to have to clarify, because I'm talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less."

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. "And so am I."

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, "You're afraid of keeping it casual?"

She shook her head. If only that were her only problem. Why was she hesitating to tell him she had a boyfriend? "I'm not very good at it."

She stressed the 'it', praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame. Why admit that?

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. "I don't believe that."

"It's the truth," she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. Derek wasn't getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered. He was going to kiss her!

She almost leaned in, anticipating his kiss, but at the last moment, she lifted a hand, "I can't," she said.

He stayed where he was, and made no attempt to stop her as she moved immediately, backing away enough to escape the kitchen.

A few seconds later, he followed, "Look..." he began.

But his sister took that moment to return, "I'm taking it," Isabella said, a huge smile on her face.

Olivia managed to smile back at her friend, "Perfect," she replied, "Let's get started,"

_________

Olivia stood outside Jack's apartment door for a full thirty seconds before knocking.

She could hear movement inside - drawers opening, the faint buzz of a phone notification, the low murmur of a voice. He was home. Good. No more last-minute texts. No more "Something's come up."

She knocked. The door swung open a moment later.

Jack looked immaculate as always - pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair styled with surgical precision. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something crisp and expensive. He looked like a man who had never missed a meeting in his life.

"Liv," he said, mildly surprised. "I thought we were doing dinner tomorrow?"

"We were doing dinner yesterday... Or was it two days ago?" she replied evenly, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting to be invited. His place was spotless as always. Everything aligned. Cushions perfectly placed. Surfaces gleaming. It was like walking into a showroom.

Jack closed the door slowly. "I texted you."

"At eight-thirty."

"I had a client."

"You always have a client."

He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. "Liv, please, you know how my job works."

"And you know how mine works," she shot back, turning to face him. "Except I still manage to show up for us. I'm the only one showing up for us."

That landed. His jaw ticked. "Is this really what you came over for?"

"Yes." She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. "I'm tired, Jack." She gestured vaguely between them. "Tired of getting dressed up just to sit in my apartment with takeaway because you 'can't get away.' Tired of rearranging my schedule for plans that don't happen."

Jack rubbed a hand down his face, already slipping into calm-and-rational mode. It was one of the things Olivia disliked about him. He was always so... composed. As if he lived in his own little bubble where nothing bothered him except he allowed it to. It drove her crazy.

Now, to someone else, it sounded selfish and perhaps bitter to want him to be bothered, but Jack had a way of hurting or pissing her off, and then reacting calmly when she exploded due to his behaviour.

"It's not personal." He told her. "I don't do it on purpose,"

"That's exactly the problem."

His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't feel like I matter." The words escaped before she could soften them. "Gosh. Why do I have to explain this to you? I hate that I have to,"

Jack blinked, taken aback, then he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's dramatic, don't you think?" he asked.

She laughed once - sharp, humourless. "Is it?"

"Olivia, I'm building something here. For us. Do you think this promotion is just about me? It's about security. Stability. A future."

"And when exactly does that future start?" she demanded. "Because right now, I feel like I'm pencilled in between conference calls."

"That's unfair."

"Is it?" she almost yelled, "You cancel all the time. We barely spend enough time together because you always have somewhere you need to run off to. I've told you so many times about how I feel...About the things I want. I want romance. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to go out with him. I want unplanned and surprise dates... Why do I have to tell my man to do these things for me? Even when you do it, it doesn't feel right because I've had to ask you over and over again for it,"

Silence stretched between them, tight and humming before Jack straightened slightly, composure sliding firmly back into place. "You know I'm not the spontaneous type."

"No, you're not," she agreed sadly, her voice lower now. "You're predictable. Safe."

The word lingered longer than she meant it to and his eyes sharpened. "Safe?"

She hesitated, and for some reason, Derek's face as well as his voice echoed in her mind. Heat flushed her cheeks - anger at herself, not at Jack. Why the hell was she thinking about Derek at a time like this?

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did." He stepped closer. "Safe compared to what?"

"Compared to nothing!" she snapped, defensive now. "Why does everything have to turn into a courtroom cross-examination with you?"

"Because you're clearly not listening when I talk to you and tell you that it's not about you... you come in here, acting like-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Olivia turned away, pacing once across the immaculate living room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood. "Not about me? Seriously? All I want is for you to just show up," she said, spinning back toward him. "That's it. Not promises. Not five-year plans. Just... show up. Why is that so hard for you to do?"

"I do show up."

"When it suits you."

"That's not fair."

"Stop saying that!" Her voice rose, cracking slightly at the edges. "This is how I feel, Jack and I'm trying to communicate it to you. You don't get to decide what feels fair to me."

He stared at her like she was someone he didn't quite recognise.

"You know we've had a lot of talks, but you've never complained...Sounded like this before."

He was kinda right. In the past they'd had several talks, but she'd always tried to make it more of a conversation than a full blown argument like this one. She figured he'd listen if she talked slower, calmer, just like him, but putting all her emotions in check and trying to keep it all in was clearly getting her nowhere.

"Maybe I should have." she replied.

That silenced him. The air shifted. Something raw had surfaced. He spoke more carefully now. "Is this just about last night?"

Just? Was he fucking playing with her? "Yes. And the night before. And the week before that."

He shook his head slowly. "You're overreacting."

And there it was. Something inside her snapped. "Am I?" she demanded. "Because I'm starting to wonder if I'm the only one actually in this relationship."

His face hardened. "That's ridiculous. What has gotten into you?"

"Screw you for asking me that," Her voice wavered now, anger bleeding into hurt. "When was the last time you did something for me that I didn't ask for? When was the last time you cleared out time for me... No work or interference? Just me. Bet you can't remember."

"That's not true."

"It is."

He didn't respond. Because it was. The silence thickened, and finally, he said quietly, "What do you want from me, Liv?"

The question shouldn't have sounded so exhausting, but it did and Olivia swallowed. "I want to feel wanted."

The admission hung fragile between them. Jack's expression flickered - guilt? frustration? - then settled back into composure. "You are wanted." He said.

"Then stop making me feel optional."

Another beat. He looked at his watch. He actually looked at his watch, and her stomach dropped.

"You have somewhere to be," she said flatly.

"I told you, I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Of course you do."

She grabbed her bag from the console table.

"Olivia-"

"No." She held up a hand. "Don't smooth this over with another promise. I don't need reassurance. I need action, and until you can do that, stay the hell away from me."

She moved toward the door.

"Liv, don't storm out."

"I'm not storming out. I'm leaving."

She opened the door.

"Wait?" he said, tension finally creeping into his voice. "Are we going to be okay?"

She paused. Were they? "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I can't keep feeling like this."

And then she stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a quiet, final click.

__________

Olivia didn't check her phone when she walked into her apartment the following day.

She dropped her handbag onto the narrow console table by the door, kicked off her heels with less grace than usual, and stood there for a moment in the dim quiet.

Silence greeted her. No missed calls. No apology text. No 'how was work today?' No 'are you home safe?'

Her chest tightened. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she'd walked out of Jack's apartment. Twenty-four hours since she'd said she couldn't keep feeling like this. And he hadn't called. Not once.

She swallowed against the thick ache rising in her throat and finally pulled her phone from her coat pocket. The screen lit up, hopeful and accusing all at once.

Nothing. Her stomach dipped.

Two years. Two years they'd spent together.... But It hadn't always felt like this. Once, in the beginning, he'd surprised her with flowers at the office. Once, he'd cancelled meetings to take her away for a spontaneous weekend. Once, he'd looked at her like she was the only thing in the room. But for the past year... she couldn't pinpoint when it shifted. Just that it had. Slowly. Quietly. Like something precious eroding without her noticing until it was too late.

She sank onto the edge of her sofa, rubbing a hand over her face. Maybe she'd overreacted. Maybe she should call him. Maybe-

No.

She'd done enough reaching out and understanding. The heaviness in her chest pressed harder. Thinking about it wasn't helping. If anything, it was making her feel small. Disposable... And she was tired.

The kind of tired that seeped into your bones after a long day of smiling at clients and pretending your personal life wasn't unraveling thread by thread. She needed noise. Laughter. Distraction. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled to Isabella's name and pressed call.

It rang once. "Liv!" Isabella answered, bright and immediate. "I was literally just about to call you."

Olivia blinked, caught off guard. "Really?"

"Yes! I just hung up with Tess. I was dialing you next."

A smile tugged at Olivia's mouth. "That's slightly terrifying. Are you both psychic now?"

"Please. If I were psychic, I'd have bought Bitcoin in 2012," Isabella shot back. "Are you okay?"

Olivia hesitated. The simple question nearly undid her, "I'm... fine," she lied, staring at the blank television screen opposite her. "Just tired."

Isabella hummed thoughtfully - the kind of hum that said she didn't believe that for a second. "Good. Then this is perfect timing."

"For what?"

"For drinks. Obviously."

Olivia's lips twitched despite herself. "Obviously."

"There's this new place Tess found -" Isabella paused dramatically, "- don't react, I know, I know - but apparently it's actually decent. It's called The Velvet Hour. Low lighting, strong cocktails, questionable life choices encouraged."

That pulled a real laugh out of her. "Questionable life choices?" Olivia echoed.

"Exactly what we need. Tess is in. You in?"

Olivia leaned back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling. A bar. Music. Her girls. No thoughts. No Jack. No almost-kisses in pink bathrooms or kitchens. Just noise.

"That," she said slowly, "is exactly what I need."

Izzy whooped softly. "Knew it."

"I'm in the mood for something strong," Olivia admitted. "Very strong. Possibly with a lime. Or three."

"Say less. Tequila it is."

"Oh God," Olivia groaned, though the heaviness in her chest had lightened by a fraction.

"Nine o'clock?" Izzy continued. "The Velvet Hour. Dress hot. Or comfortable. Or emotionally chaotic. Whatever vibe you're feeling."

Olivia glanced down at herself - rumpled blouse, skirt slightly creased from a full day of viewings. Emotionally chaotic sounded about right. "Nine's perfect." She said,

"Good. And Liv?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't sound fine."

The softness in Izzy's voice made her throat tighten again. "I'm not," she admitted quietly.

A beat of silence.

"Then tonight," Izzy said firmly, "we fix that. Or at least numb it."

Olivia let out a breath that felt like it had been lodged in her lungs all day."Thank you, Izzy."

"Always."

They hung up, and the apartment didn't feel quite as suffocating anymore. Olivia walked toward her bedroom, phone still in her hand.

Nine o'clock. Three hours to shower off the day, paint on confidence, and pretend her heart didn't feel like it was splintering. As she laid her phone on the dresser, the screen lit up briefly from a delayed notification.

Her pulse jumped. She snatched it up.

Spam email.

She exhaled slowly, disappointment cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. Still nothing from Jack.

Fine. Tonight she wouldn't wait for him to show up. Tonight she would show up for herself. And maybe, just maybe, forget her troubles with Jack... And the sound of Derek Hawthorne's voice saying no harm, no foul.

Because harm? She was feeling plenty of it already.

_________

The apartment felt different now. Not lighter - not exactly - but purposeful.

Olivia stood in front of her mirror, the soft yellow glow of her bedroom lamp casting warmth over her skin. Music pulsed quietly from her speaker, something upbeat enough to drown out intrusive thoughts. Her bed was a mess of discarded outfit options - dresses deemed "too desperate," skirts labelled "too effort," and one soft sweater she'd briefly considered before deciding she refused to look like heartbreak tonight.

She chose the jeans. High-waisted, dark, fitted in all the right places. Knee-high black boots that gave her height and edge. And the black corset top - structured, unapologetic, hugging her waist and lifting her posture whether she felt strong or not.

She stared at herself for a moment.

Then she sat and began the real armor. Smokey eye. Dark, intentional, slightly dramatic. She blended until her sadness looked like seduction. A sharp line of eyeliner. Red lipstick - bold, dangerous, defiant. If her heart felt bruised, no one would see it.

When she stood again, she looked... hot. Undeniably so. Not fragile. Good.

She grabbed her bag and ordered a taxi. Driving was out of the question. Not with the kind of drinking she planned to do tonight. Not with the kind of night she needed. And honestly? She didn't trust herself to be alone with her thoughts behind a steering wheel.

By the time the taxi pulled up outside The Velvet Hour, the street was alive.

The sign glowed in deep crimson against black brick. Bass from inside vibrated faintly through the pavement. Laughter spilled out every time the door opened. She paid the driver, stepped out, and inhaled deeply. Tonight, she would not think about Jack.

It was 9:30 when she walked in. Dim lighting. Gold accents. Velvet booths lining the walls. The air smelled faintly of citrus, perfume, and something expensive and smoky.

It didn't take long to spot her friends. Tessa was already mid-laugh, head thrown back, her blonde waves cascading over her shoulders. Isabella sat opposite her, dark hair sleek and glossy, looking effortlessly polished in a fitted emerald dress. Olivia slid into the booth and both heads snapped up.

"Well," Tessa breathed dramatically. "Who is she?"

Isabella's eyes widened as she slowly looked Olivia up and down. "Liv Carter, are we seducing someone or ruining someone?"

Olivia smirked. "Can't it be both?"

They all burst into laughter, the sound warm and immediate and grounding.

"You look illegal," Tessa added.

"You look like trouble," Isabella corrected.

Olivia slid her small bag onto the table. "Good."

Tessa immediately waved down a waiter. "Hi, yes," she said sweetly. "We'll take shots."

The waiter blinked. "How many?"

Tessa glanced at Olivia. "How bad was the day?"

Olivia considered. "Scale of one to ten?"

"Sure."

"Jack."

Tessa didn't hesitate. "We'll take six. To start."

The waiter nodded and disappeared.

"Love that for us," Isabella said, adjusting her bracelet.

The shots arrived quickly. Clear liquid in neat little glasses, lime wedges on a small plate beside them. They didn't wait. Glasses clinked.

"To bad decisions," Tessa declared.

"To better ones," Isabella corrected.

Olivia lifted hers last. "To not thinking." she said

They drank. The burn was immediate. Sharp and cleansing, but they didn't stop at one. By the third round, the music felt louder and Olivia felt warmer. Looser. The tight band around her chest had eased... not gone, but blurred. And that was when Tess leaned back against the booth and narrowed her eyes.

"Right," she said. "Time for your Intervention... As promised,"

Olivia groaned and pouted. "Nooo"

"Yes," Isabella chimed in smoothly. "We postponed. We did not cancel."

Tessa pointed at her with a lime wedge. "Jack is a walking red flag."

Olivia laughed lightly. "He is not."

"He cancels on you constantly."

"He's busy."

"He didn't call after your fight." Tessa told her, "You said so in your text this morning,"

Olivia hesitated slightly before forcing a casual shrug. "Maybe... He needs space to think after what I told him,"

Isabella leaned forward, voice gentler now but firm. "Liv, you can do better."

The alcohol softened the sting of their words, but not entirely. Olivia smiled - calm, composed, and slightly flushed. "He's not that bad. He's just... bad at priorities. And communication. And timing."

Tessa stared at her. "You hear yourself, right?" she asked.

Olivia let out a small laugh. "We had a fight. It's fine. We'll fix it."

Isabella tilted her head. "Then why were you so sad when I called? I know it was about him."

That hit, and Olivia's smile faltered for half a second. "I was just tired," she said, softer now. "We argued. It happens. It's not the end of the world."

Tessa's eyes softened as well, but she didn't back down. "Liv-"

Olivia raised her hands lightly in surrender. "Please. I came out tonight to forget about him. Not dissect him. Can we not do this anymore tonight?"