Aria’s POV.
The bar buzzed with energy, its walls alive with the hum of conversations and the steady rhythm of music playing in the background. Glasses clinked, laughter echoed, and the low murmur of voices created a symphony of life. But none of it mattered to me.
All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart, its rhythm loud and relentless, drowning out everything else. My fingers absently traced the rim of my glass, the cool surface smooth against my skin.
Inside the glass, the amber liquid swirled as I tilted it back and drained it in one decisive gulp. The burn of the whiskey hit the back of my throat, sharp and fiery, but it paled in comparison to the bitterness clawing its way through my chest, threatening to suffocate me.
Zander’s kiss still lingered on my lips, an unwelcome reminder of his dominance and his relentless need to control me. It wasn’t a kiss of love or tenderness-it was one of possession, a public display meant to remind everyone, especially me, of his power. His need to claim me as his Luna, his wife, his.
That single word echoed in my mind like a curse, churning in my stomach like poison I couldn’t expel. I had tried to swallow it, to push it down, but it twisted inside me, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. He had humiliated me yet again, reducing me to nothing more than a trophy, a pawn in his game of dominance.
I signaled for another drink, sliding the empty glass across the bar with a flick of my wrist. The bartender didn’t hesitate, his movements smooth and practiced as he poured a fresh glass and placed it in front of me. I didn’t even acknowledge him with a thank you. I wasn’t sure how many drinks I’d had by now-three? Four? Maybe more. It didn’t matter.
The warmth of the alcohol was the only thing keeping me anchored, the only thing dulling the ache in my chest and muting the whirlwind of emotions I refused to let surface. If I let myself feel, truly feel, I might break, and I couldn’t afford that.
I let my gaze wander around the bar, taking in the faces of strangers who didn’t know or care about my turmoil. My eyes landed on Asher, seated at a nearby table with a drink of his own. He wasn’t alone-someone sat across from him, their conversation quiet and unremarkable-but it was Asher who held my attention. His dark eyes met mine from across the room, locking on me with that piercing intensity he always seemed to carry.
For a moment, I thought he might stand, that he might come over. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, his expression unreadable, his face a mask I couldn’t decipher.
Good. I didn’t need him to complicate things further. I didn’t need his questions, his concern, or whatever it was he thought he could offer me. Right now, I needed to focus. On what? I wasn’t sure. Maybe on the drink in my hand. Maybe on the slow, numbing sensation spreading through my body as the alcohol took the edge off my thoughts. I stared into the glass, watching as the amber liquid caught the soft glow of the bar lights, and tried to drown the memories threatening to claw their way to the surface. Memories of Zander’s cruel words, his suffocating control, the way his dark eyes bore into me like I was both his possession and his burden.
I was so lost in my thoughts, in the haze of whiskey and bitterness, that I didn’t notice her at first.
Lyra.
The moment I spotted her, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. My breath hitched, and my grip on the glass tightened as my heart skipped a beat, not from excitement but from the sharp sting of recognition. She walked in like she owned the place, her every step measured and confident, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Her long legs carried her with the grace of a predator, smooth and predatory, and her golden hair fell in perfect waves down her back, catching the light as though it had been spun from silk. Her dress-bright red, impossibly tight, and scandalously short-clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.
Every head in the bar turned to watch her as she entered, their gazes trailing her figure, but she didn’t look at them. No, her eyes were locked on one person, and my stomach twisted painfully when I realized who.
Zander.
I froze, my body stiffening as I watched her saunter toward him. He was standing near the edge of the bar, his broad shoulders rigid and his posture tense, though his face betrayed nothing. His expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask he always wore when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking. But what made my chest ache with something I couldn’t quite name was the fact that he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He didn’t tell her to leave.
“Zander,” she purred, her voice dripping with honey as she reached out and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. Her fingers lingered there, light and teasing, but the sight of them touching him still felt like a punch to the gut.
I gripped the edge of the bar, my knuckles turning white as my nails dug into the wood. The sight of her-of Lyra-touching him, smiling at him, speaking to him like they shared some secret only they were privy to, made something inside me snap. I didn’t know if it was anger, jealousy, or something darker, but it burned hot and fierce, a fire I couldn’t extinguish.
And yet, I couldn’t look away.
I watched as she leaned closer, her golden hair falling over her shoulder as she tilted her head to speak softly into his ear. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. The way she looked at him, the way he stood there and let her, was enough to make my heart twist painfully in my chest.
What was she doing here? Why now? Why him?
Every part of me wanted to march over there, to pull her hand off his arm, to demand answers. But I stayed rooted to my seat, my legs refusing to move, my mind a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions. Because no matter how much I hated to admit it, I wasn’t sure if I was more angry at her for being here or at him for letting her.
The whiskey in my glass blurred as tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I blinked them away. I didn’t cry. Not here. Not now. Instead, I took another sip, letting the burn of the alcohol distract me from the ache in my chest.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was only the beginning.