LUCIAN

I sat numbly for a second, watching as Matt burst out through the club's front entrance like he was being chased by the spotlight and for a second, I thought he might break into a dance number. He high-fived the bouncers, grinning ear to ear like a walking advertisement for poor decisions.

A ridiculous sash was slung across his bare chest with 'Groom-To-Be' printed in bold gold letters. And as if that wasn't enough of a spectacle, a glittery plastic crown was seated lopsided on his head.

I sighed. Loudly.

The secondhand embarrassment was almost too much to bear, but I wasn't surprised. Not one bit. Matt thrived on attention. If he wasn't the loudest voice in the room, he'd find a way to set something on fire just to fix that.

"He's having the time of his life." George muttered from the front seat, barely hiding his amusement.

"I can see that," I deadpanned.

"I'll be here when you're done, sir." George said, subtly prompting me out.

I gave a slight nod and finally stepped out of the car, the thick noise of music and laughter wrapping around me like heat.

The air outside was electric. Too bright. Too loud. Too much.

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets with my scowl firmly in place, already regretting this. I started walking towards Matt but he spotted me and rushed over.

"Lucian!" he shouted, grinning like an idiot as he ran toward me.

He threw an arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug which I didn't return. "Man, you actually came!"

"You threatened to have my butler's head for breakfast if I skipped," I said flatly.

Matt scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "First of all, try to keep up with the times coz, nobody says butler anymore."

I stared at him impassively.

"...Okay, whatever," he said quickly, linking his arm through mine. "The guys are all here. You're the last."

"I'm also the only one who doesn't want to be here."

He looped his arm tighter around mine and tried dragging me toward the club.

I didn't budge. My shoes stayed firmly rooted to the pavement.

Matt's grin faded just a little as he stopped to look at me, concern written all over his face.

"Lucian?"

I sighed heavily. "I really don't think I want to be here, Matt. I mean the kids–"

"Are with your parents and well taken care of." He interrupted.

"That's not the point."

"I know." His voice softened. "But we're not trying to force you into anything. If it gets too much, we leave. No questions asked."

I gave him a dry look. "You do remember this is your bachelor party?"

He grinned. "And I'll have another party next week. Hell, I'll throw three more before the wedding. But you haven't had a night off in what? Two years? You work like you're trying to outrun grief."

I flinched. Just slightly.

I took a step back, crossed my arms. "So what's the plan? Drag me in, make me fake it till I break, then bail?"

"Pretty much," he said with a smirk.

I shook my head. "Thanks, Matt. Real inspiring."

He laughed, nudging me again. "Someone's gotta keep you from turning into a hermit CEO. Trust me, the world doesn't need that much gloom."

His voice dropped. "We just want to you to drop the whole father-slash-hot, brooding CEO thing going on for a second before you burn out."

I stared at him for a beat. "And by 'we', you mean...?"

He made an exaggerated gesture of zipping his lips and throwing away the key. "I don't kiss and tell, coz. That's just bad manners."

Of course. My mother.

I shook my head. "She actually masterminded an intervention... at a strip club?"

Matt snorted. "Well, in her defense, this place does have decent dancers. Now come on. We'll take it slow."

I had no plans of staying for long. Maybe I'd sit in the corner and count down the minutes until I could leave. Maybe I'd hate every second of this. But just for tonight... maybe I could breathe.

Admitting defeat, I let Matt drag me to the entrance. As we approached, the crowd cleared from our path. Some people stared silently, others whispered openly, not even trying to be discreet with fingers pointed at us.

I wasn't used to the attention anymore. Not after three years of being recluse and out of the public's eye, which was exactly why I avoided any spotlight when I could.

The bouncers gave us a pass without the usual checks, thanks to Matt's connections, or maybe it was just his charm. Either way, we were in.

The club's main floor hit me with a wave of alcohol smell and writhing bodies - definitely not my usual scene. I wrinkled my nose. This was way rougher than I'd pictured. Tacky, even. Not what I expected, but then again, what had I expected?

I was ready to turn back, but Matt didn't give me the chance. He steered me through the crowd with casual ease, ignoring the bar, weaving past groups of men shouting over the music. We made our way toward a far corner where a thick red door stood behind a velvet rope, guarded by a bouncer built like a truck.

This one took his job seriously. We had to pass a full body metal detector before he slipped a red wristband around each of our wrists without a word and opened the door.

The change was instant.

Gone was the blaring music and drunken screeches. Here, everything was softer. Smoother. And more intimate.

I let my eyes roam slowly, curiosity blending with detachment.

Plush velvet couches in deep burgundy curved around a sleek central stage. Thin, sheer curtains hung between sections, offering the illusion of privacy while still keeping the atmosphere open.

The air buzzed quietly with laughter and clinking glasses. Voices were low, intimate. Even the staff operated like shadows -waitresses in skimpy lace uniforms moved gracefully through the space, topping off drinks without ever interrupting conversation.

Matt jabbed me with an idiot grin. "What do you think?"

I slowly took in the room.

"It doesn't look like a health violation waiting to happen."

"High praise coming from you," he said with a laugh. "Come on, let's go meet the others."

Matt walked beside me through velvet ropes and curvature walls before leading me to a private VIP Lounge that opened into a very spacious elevated booth with an unobstructed view of the performance stage.

The guys were already seated with drinks in hand and their eyes glued on the performance stage where a couple of scantily clothed performers were dancing around a chrome-pole. The room pulsed with hoots and catcalls along with dollar bills flying around the venue like confetti in celebration of the performance.

Matt threw his arms out like a game-show host. "Gentlemen, the man of the hour... correction, the man who actually matters -Lucian."

A few heads turned.

"Yo, what's up?" one guy said, leaning in to fist-bump me. I accepted the gesture without any warmth.

Another guy offered a handshake. "Heard about you. I'm Connor."

I clasped his hand for a second just for the sake of civility. "Likewise."

Connor smirked. "Matt's been hyping you like you walk on water."

Matt scoffed. "Trust me, he does. He's called corporate Jesus for a reason."

The rest of them laughed.

The moment of introduction was over as quickly as it started. The group's attention swung right back to the stage where another woman was now upside down, legs split, the crowd going wild. One guy whistled, another tossed a stack of singles that scattered across the platform like petals.

I slid into the seat beside Matt and he passed me a glass already half-filled with amber liquid. I took it without comment, cradling it in my hand instead of drinking.

I sat there unmoving with the music vibrating through the leather seat and the voices around me rising and fading like static. A sea of noise and bodies blurred at the edges of my vision.

I let it all wash over me.

Disconnected. Present but not part of it.

Honestly, I couldn't understand how anyone found this enjoyable -spending their nights drenched in noise, in sweat, in chaos. But then again, I wasn't exactly the target audience.  

I was deep in that thought when Matt elbowed me lightly. I lifted my head.  

The room had shifted.  

Voices dropped. Movement stilled.  

Then the house lights were slowly dimmed as a hush swept over the room.  

And when the spotlight sliced through the haze, it landed on the stage. On her.  

Everything else fell away.  

She stood on the stage in red leather that left very little to the imagination and a black mask hiding half her face like she'd done this a hundred times. Like the room was hers before she even opened her mouth or moved a muscle.

My eyes locked. Just instinct at first.

But something held.

My spine snapped straight, something electric ripping through my stillness as my fingers tightened around the glass.  

She didn't look at me. Not really. Just a sweep of the room.

A slow, dangerous heat suddenly pooled low in my body and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't look away from her.

CORINNE

The second that spotlight lit up the stage, everything else faded. I did my usual sweep of the crowd -not out of curiosity, but just to get a read on who I'd have to deal with tonight. Honestly, it was almost always the same scene: a bunch of half-wasted finance guys reeking of expensive cologne and unresolved issues, showing off their designer suits like it made them important. Old money heirs slouched in velvet chairs like royalty, trying to look bored while slipping bills into girls' garters with sweaty fingers. And the frat boys with their backwards caps barely covering the empty space where common sense should be. Loud, red-faced, reeking of-

My thoughts stalled.

My eyes locked on someone who didn't belong.

He wasn't like the rest. He wasn't leaning forward, drooling at the sight of bare skin. He wasn't laughing with his company or reaching for his wallet. He sat still. Detached. Like the whole place was a bad joke and he was just waiting for the punchline.

It was his eyes that got to me the most. They were just... dull. Like the light had been switched off long before now. There was no amusement. No curiosity. Just a quiet, distant stare aimed directly at me.

It shouldn't have affected me. I didn't dance for validation.

But the way he watched me was like he saw straight through the red leather and found nothing of interest stung. And pissed me off.

That irritation flared fast, hot, unwelcome.

I wanted to break that calm.

Wanted to see what it would take to make him move. To make him react. To light something behind those dead eyes.

And I would.

The first beat rolled through the floor and into my spine. Benny's hand settled briefly at my lower back as I stepped forward, the lights shifting into deep golds and reds. Muscle memory took over. This routine was etched into my body-every turn, every brush of skin practiced to perfection.

But tonight felt different as I moved.

The crowd was loud, but none of it mattered. I wasn't performing for the drunkards in tailored suits and too much cologne. My main focus was him...the man who looked like he'd already bought the club just to have somewhere to brood.

Benny spun me around then caught me with his hand resting just above my thigh. I let my leg brush up his side, just enough to spark some heat before slipping back down. My head fell back while he leaned over me, his fingers tracing along my jaw before pulling away. My hands slide up his chest with my fingertips skimming his collar as I pushed myself up and quickly turned around on my heel.

When I leaned forward, he caught me. One arm around my middle, the other skimming my thigh as I dipped into him and twisted free just as fast.

Our bodies twisted and turned like smoke to every beat, every touch and every shift of weight.

As the beat neared its end, he came closer, whispering low beside my ear with that same grin he always wore after a good set. "Damn, baby... have mercy on their poor souls. You're gonna send someone into cardiac arrest."

I laughed under my breath, lips twitching into a smirk as I pushed him away with a teasing flick of my hip.

The cheers hit harder as I took center stage alone, chest rising and falling. When the lights cut, Benny slipped backstage, leaving me surrounded by silence and money.

Bills littered the floor.

I should've felt triumphant.

Instead, I searched the crowd till my eyes found him. He hadn't moved. Still stone-faced. But his eyes were trained on me.

My next act was supposed to be a chair and a pole dance.

Keyword: supposed to.

The music swelled and instead of easing into position, I kicked the damn chair aside with the heel of my boot-hard enough to make it clatter and draw gasps. I stepped out of one boot. Then the other.

I felt Benny's stare from across the room, could practically hear his 'what the hell are you doing' voice, but I didn't stop.  

This was a terrible idea. Every cell in my body screamed it.

The stage was my safe zone. My control. The line no one was allowed to cross. As long as I stayed on it, no one could touch me-club rules, bouncer enforcement, total security. If the guests wanted to grope and feel, they should've damn well stayed in the open club outside.

But he wasn't looking at me like the others. And I couldn't stand it.

So I broke my own rule.

The spotlight chased me as I descended the stage with my bare feet silent against the floor and my chin lifted high.

Gasps and low murmurs rippled across the crowd.

"What the hell is she doing?"

"Is this part of the act?"

"Oh my god..."

I pretended not to notice the stunned silence that followed me like a shadow. Pretended I didn't hear the muttered disbelief, or see the way the rest of his group shifted in their seats when I walked towards them.

If I was going to burn, I'd make damn sure he watched me do it.

I stopped directly in front of him and lowered myself in time with the bass, settling between his knees without touching him. He sat there like a king on a throne with his legs parted, arms draped lazily over the sides of the chair and one hand loosely holding a glass of wine.

And God... up close, he looked even more dangerous. Sculpted in shadows and sharp lines, his face unreadable. Detached. Cold. But captivating in a way that made my pulse betray me.

Something about him tugged at a memory I couldn't quite reach. Familiar, somehow. But now wasn't the time to wonder.

We locked eyes. His were a shade so dark and piercing, I was certain he could see through every move in the game I thought I was playing.

I dropped lower, letting my fingers trace the floor as I crawled closer and began to mouth the lyrics of the song. "You want it bad, don't you? Say it..."

When I slid up into his lap with my thighs pressed to the sides of his and my hands planted on the armrest beside his shoulders, the gasps behind me surged.

I knew this was reckless.

But the second I started moving my hips against him, slow and rolling, like sin in rhythm... I stopped caring.

If he wanted me off, he could easily shove me away.

He didn't.

He didn't move. He didn't touch me, even as I leaned in just a fraction, dragging my lips into a wicked smile as I mouthed along with the next line. "Beg for it... I might just let you..."

Still nothing.

Then his brow lifted slightly like he was silently daring me.

Was that a challenge?

Fine.

I began to move with more passion than I had before, grinding my body down into his lap while still maintaining some space between our bodies. Then I adjusted to run both of my hands over my thighs, upward to my waist, across the curve of my breasts and into my hair as I took out the rubber band and flipped the waves back.

I rolled my hips following the beat of the music as I lip-synced each sinful lyric to him. And at the next beat, I shifted my body around on his lap with a very watery, controlled twerk down toward the ground. His hands stayed on the armrests, but I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat as my movements grew filthier, but never frantic. I was still in control.

And at the swell of the music, I hooked my fingers into my stockings and tore them up the side, splitting a clean line along my thigh.

Then I turned back to him, leaning in so close my lips hovered right by his ear as I whispered the last line, my words barely a breath on his skin. "You'll be mine before the night is over..."

The song faded, but I stayed put. Still straddling him, still catching my breath.

He hadn't touched me.  

Not once.

And yet somehow, I had the strange, spine-tingling feeling that he'd been the one in control the whole time.

His gaze followed me with quiet intensity, like he was committing every detail to memory. When I reached for his glass, he released it easily, never breaking eye contact.

I brought the glass to my lips and took a teasing sip, letting the wine stain my mouth as my eyes stayed locked on his. Then I threw my head back and gulped down the rest of the wine in one smooth swallow.

His stare burned hotter.

When I was done, I licked the last drop off my bottom lip, letting my tongue drag in slow motion then I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, before I slowly rose from his lap.

I took two steps forward, then turned back and tossed him a smile dripping in satisfaction. "Good job."

There was a shift and tick of his jaw, followed by a sharp gleam of something dangerous and delicious finally flashing in those cold, lifeless eyes.

That was enough for me.

Victory sparked low in my belly as I turned on my heel and made my way off the floor, bare feet brushing against spilled bills and champagne-stained tiles. I was practically vibrating when I reached the hallway.

But the moment I pushed past the velvet curtain and into the quiet, Benny was there.

"What the hell was that, sugar?" he hissed, eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. "Are you outta your damn mind?"

That was the thing.

I wasn't thinking. Not when I danced, not when I went down there, not when I touched him.

Fuck!

The heat that had been burning through me began to cool, replaced with a slow-creeping panic that clawed up my throat.

I blinked, swallowed.

"Oh my God," I whispered, dread curling tight in my chest.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

LUCIAN

I sat frozen in that chair, jaw tight while she sashayed away from me like she hadn't just set my entire nervous system on fire.

Outwardly, I maintained my usual blank expression but inside, my teeth were practically grinding themselves into dust. My hand still gripped the glass she'd snatched and emptied with so much damn attitude and it was only now I realized how close I'd come to shattering it in my palm.

I could feel them all watching me -Matt, the other guys, even the waitstaff pretending not to stare. But it was Matt's stare that burned, his curiosity practically vibrating off him.

I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction, but when I heard someone whisper, "Yo, what the hell just happened?" like we were in a live broadcast of some dramatic scandal, I finally turned my head to Matt.

"Spit it out,"

He opened his mouth then shut it. Tried again. Failed. His arms flailed in an awkward gesture like he was trying to physically grab hold of an explanation. "Did you... did she just... like-on your lap?" He blurted.

Around us, the other men were whispering like we were in the middle of a goddamn gender reveal. Except instead of pink or blue, the big question was whether I'd just been publicly humiliated... or seduced.

"She...she just-bro, what kind of Twilight Zone-?"

I set the now-empty glass back on the table and stood up, ignoring the way my pulse thundered in my ears.

"I'm heading out," I muttered.

Matt blinked. "Wait, what? We just got here."

"And you're free to stay," I said, already moving past him. "Have fun. Send my regards to Ally."

"Lucian, come on, what the hell just-"

I didn't let him finish.

I needed air. I needed silence.  

And I needed to forget how badly I wanted to drag her back and demand to know what game she was playing.

But I knew I wouldn't.

Because she was already too deep in my head.  

And that terrified me more than I'd ever admit.

I was already walking away, not wanting to stay in this goddamn space for another second. I pulled out my phone and shot George a text.

Me: Bring the car around.

The cool night air barely dented the heat simmering beneath my skin. I'd almost reached the main floor when I stopped.

The bouncer from earlier still stood at his post-arms crossed, towering, relaxed. I didn't know what compelled me to turn back.

That was a lie. I knew.

I walked up to him, tugging my wallet from my coat.

"Something wrong, sir?"

I retrieved a check. Five digits, clean. I handed it over.

"Get this to the masked dancer."

He whistled low at the amount. "Damn. Lux?" His lips curled into a grin. "She's fire, ain't she? Man, every guy in that room would sell their soul to get a taste. She's so fucking unreal."

I didn't respond.

He chuckled, still talking. "Heard she doesn't do extras though. Tease like that, and no follow-through? Shame. You'd think with that kind of body-"

"Shut the fuck up."

My fists tightened as a surge of protectiveness wash over me.

The smile vanished.

I took a step forward and he backed away. Fucking spineless bastard.

His throat bobbed. "I-I was just-"

"Yeah?" My stare was lethal.

He tried to recover. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean any disrespect. Was just talkin'. Didn't realize she was...yours."

I held his gaze. I never said she was mine. But I didn't correct him either.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh... should I tell her who it's from?"

"No." I stepped back. "Anonymity is a thing."

Without another word, I turned and walked out into the cold night where George had just pulled up to the curb. The doors opened smoothly.

"Everything alright, sir?" He asked.

I didn't answer as I got in and slammed the door shut.

Mine.

What the fuck was I doing, trying to stake a claim on a mere stripper?

"Sir,"

I scowled, not having the slightest bit of patience left. "Just drive."

No more words were exchanged as George pulled away from the curb, weaving into the near-empty street.

I leaned back against the leather and shut my eyes, foolishly hoping for a moment of peace.

But peace never came.

All I could see was red leather hugging curves in a way that made my jaw clench. Red lips, parted just slightly as she lip-synced to lyrics I didn't recognize but suddenly wanted to memorize. Her scent -fuck, her scent- still clung to my shirt like sweet smoke laced with something so dangerous and addictive.

And those eyes.

Hazel. Yes-but brighter and sharper, almost golden under the dim lights, like they held secrets no one else could touch. Damn those eyes. The way they had locked with mine, daring me, challenging me, trying to read me as much as I was reading her. I'd been one breath away from tearing that mask off.

I could have pushed her off.

Should have.

Women like her? I had no tolerance for them. The ones who used their bodies to gain an edge, to distract, to manipulate.

But she wasn't like that.  

When she was on stage with that lanky guy, I couldn't get a good look at her face although her body language was glaringly clear enough. She wasn't performing for the crowd, she was enduring them. The way she moved was skilled, sure. Trained, even. But she wasn't flirting with the audience like the others did. She scanned the room like she hated every man in it. Like each one was another wolf waiting for permission.

The moment she walked toward me, I noticed how carefully she avoided eye contact with the rest of the men. How she slightly flinched when someone reached too far in her direction. Her steps faltered, but just for a second and then she kept going like she was walking into a war zone.

And when she got to me? It was as clear as day.

Behind the seductive front, behind the boldness and showmanship was fear. And underneath that? A strange kind of resolve. It was like she had something to prove... or something to lose.

One look around the room told me this wasn't something she did often. Whispers rose the second she stepped off the stage, threading through the VIP section like wildfire. This wasn't part of the show.

Every movement as she sensually touched her body suggested intimacy, but when her hands neared me, she pulled back.

Then there was the way she straddled me.  

Her knees dug into the velvet on either side of my thighs, but her body never settled. Most of her weight balanced on the balls of her feet and her own core, so controlled it almost felt... respectful. Like she was giving the illusion of power without surrendering anything. It was like she was on stage, and I was just the prop.

But why?

Why the hell did she choose me?

I pulled at my hair in frustration.

She felt familiar. In the angle of her jaw. The twitch of her mouth. The way she narrowed her eyes.

It felt like a memory just out of reach.

Déjà vu.

A sudden pang of guilt tore through me.

What the hell am I doing?

I had two kids waiting at home. Lena's memorial is just around the corner. I should be thinking about her, honoring her, not being haunted by another woman's body and eyes that slipped past defenses I'd fortified for years.

I hadn't looked at anyone like that in three years.

So why her?

What is it about her that claws at something I thought was long buried?

I dragged a hand down my face as if that would somehow erase the memory. I need to pull myself together. Fast. But the only problem now is the fact I have no idea how to purge her out of my head.

"I'm so fucked..."