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..."

LUCIAN

"Mr. Delacroix, you really don't have to do this," George said from where he was standing by the doorway in his ever-crisp suit, tablet in hand. "You already have a packed schedule today. I can handle the session with their homeroom teacher and report back to you."

I stood behind Lucas and tried smoothing his dark hair with the tip of my fingers. "Do you want it this way?" I asked, brushing it to the right. "Or this way?"

He blinked up at me with a giggle and shoved all of it backward with his own small hands. "This way."

My bad for asking.

"Alright," I chuckled, fixing it into the messy-slicked style he liked. I bent and pressed an exaggerated kiss to his forehead. He laughed and wriggled out of my reach.

Eli was already settled, legs tucked under him, quietly working through his coloring book with his eyes narrowed in focus. Every so often, he'd switch crayons without looking up, tapping one against his lip before picking a new color.

Lucas tugged at my hand. "Are you really taking us to school?"

Eli paused mid-stroke, lifting his head curiously.  

"Yes, buddy." I responded. "Go get your bags, let's go."

Lucas bolted down the hallway, feet slapping against the hardwood as he went while Eli stood up more slowly. He closed his coloring book and stacked his crayons neatly on top, lining everything up before he followed after his brother.

Only when they were out of sight did I finally turn back to George with a glare, the calm I'd kept on my face for the boys dropped away.

It was Monday... and I was still very much irritated.  

Friday night had thrown my entire weekend off balance, to the point where I barely got any work done. I knew that would come back to bite me in the office today and I could already hear my inbox screaming for attention.

My mother's voice still echoed in my head from yesterday's endless nagging. Her well-meaning advice about grief and moving on never came quietly, it always made my skull ache.

The only thing keeping me remotely sane right now were those two boys.

Normally, George would have handled school drop‑off while I headed to the office. But this morning, he informed me that the kids' homeroom teacher had emailed about meeting their guardian.

"I already told you there's no need for that," I said, referring to his earlier comment. "I'll drop them off and meet her. It shouldn't take that long."

His expression was patient. "You know it's not about that."

I did.

I just didn't care.

The boys reappeared, backpacks on.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yup!" Lucas chirped.

Eli nodded.

I smiled softly. "Good. Let's go."

By the time we stepped outside, the car was already waiting in the driveway. One of the security staff opened the rear door and waited for us to load in.

"Can I sit by the window today?" Lucas asked, halfway in already.

"Fine," I said, buckling him in. "Just don't kick the seat."

"I don't kick! That was Eli last time."

Eli slowly shook his head.

"Don't throw your brother under the bus," I said, giving Lucas a look.

He grinned. "It was worth a shot."

I slid in after them and through the tinted glass, I could see George still standing at the edge of the driveway with his arms crossed, watching us leave like he thought he could stop me just by staring hard enough.

Lucas twisted around in his seat a little. "Are you staying with us the whole day?"

"No," I said, brushing a hand over his hair. "Just meeting your teacher."

"Can she give you homework too?" he asked with a grin.

"Don't push your luck, buddy."

He pouted while Eli let out the faintest giggle.

The car ride to school was almost half an hour and by the time the school was visible, the parking lot was already full of parents and teachers; kids were getting out of the cars, backpacks bouncing, some kids crying, some laughing. A usual Monday mess.

Lucas had already unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out before I could stop him while Eli was still waiting for me to unfasten his seatbelt and help him out. I grabbed Lucas by the shoulder before he could run away again, then took both their hands, one on each side and began walking with them towards the school ‍‌building.

The whispers started almost instantly. Eyes turned, voices dropped and I felt the usual wave of unwanted attention settle over us like a heavy coat. This right here was exactly why Elena and I had agreed on homeschooling in the first place. People couldn't just look without staring. Couldn't mind their goddamn business if their lives depended on it.

Eli's small hand gripped mine a little tighter, his steps slowing just slightly. I gave his hand a light squeeze in return, casting a sharp glare at a few of the adults who clearly didn't have enough to occupy their lives.

We reached the entrance, where a small group of staff members stood talking quietly. They stopped talking the second we stepped onto the walkway. One woman nudged another with her elbow. Another's eyes widened slightly, then darted between me and the boys.

"Go...good morning, sir," one of them stammered out.

"Morning," I said curtly. "I'm looking for Ms. Sterling. Would you happen to know where I can find her?"

The woman blinked, then pointed behind her with a jerky motion. "She just went inside. Her office is down the hall. First left after the display boards."

I gave a nod of thanks and walked past, ignoring the hushed squeals behind me.

We'd just rounded the first turn, and I was scanning the nameplates on the office doors trying to find the right one, when Eli suddenly pulled his hand out of mine and bolted forward.

"Eli, wait up."

Lucas took off right after him.

"Guys, that's not-"  I trailed off when I saw what had caught their attention-or rather, who.

A lady stood at the end of the hall, back turned to me, dressed in a loose, oatmeal-colored sweater and a long, pleated skirt that swayed slightly as she shifted her weight. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, wisps falling at her nape. She hadn't noticed us.

Eli ran full force into her legs like a homing missile, she turned sharply at the contact, startled at first, then she let out a soft laugh and crouched immediately to pull him and Lucas into her arms.

"Well, don't you two look so dashing today?" She said warmly, her voice carrying down the hallway to where I stood frozen. "Who did your hair, Lucas?"

"Daddy!" Lucas replied proudly.

"Oh really?" she chuckled. "And where's George this morning?"

"Home," Eli mumbled, already curling one hand into her sweater and using the other to twist a strand of her hair gently between his fingers.

That small, familiar gesture punched something soft in my chest. Eli didn't just touch anyone unprovoked. Only when he felt safe.

"Who dropped you off, then?" she asked gently, still completely unaware I was approaching.

"I did," I said from behind them.

Still crouched between them, she faltered like my voice scrambled something in her brain. Her hand sweater trying to adjust them while also rising to her feet too quickly.

"So sorry," she swayed slightly, then tried to pull herself together, smoothing her sweater with jittery fingers.

"I didn't know you were..."

She trailed off.

At the same exact moment, my stomach dropped.

My entire body froze as her face came into full view.

No fucking way...

The hallway faded.

The sounds.

The school.

Even my sons standing between us.

There were no masks now.

No lights.

No music.

But those eyes... those goddamn eyes.

It couldn't be.

And yet, there they were. Those were the same hazel eyes that held me still under the club's strobe lights. Just three nights back, they had walked me through a room full of unfamiliar faces and then had me completely exposed. The same ones I'd spent the entire weekend trying and failing to erase.

Even out of the leather, even with the glasses and the oversized sweater, those eyes were the same.

Unmistakable.

Lux...

But not just that.

Staring back at me was the lady I'd kissed in the alley of a bar in Chicago, three years ago.