Chapter 80 Go to him
Most of the drive ends up being surprisingly easy. The city glows around us in streaks of white headlights while music hums softly through the speakers. Erica’s kicked her heels off somewhere halfway through the ride and tucked one leg beneath herself in the passenger seat like she’s known me longer than a single workday. She’s comfortable to be around, the kind of person who fills the silence so you don't have to.
"I have a confession," she says, shifting in her seat to face me, her eyes bright in the reflected glow of the streetlights. "The first time I saw you at the studio, I actually pulled Dante aside and asked him to introduce me to you."
I blink once and glance at her briefly before looking back at the road.
“You did?”
“Mhm.”
“Why?”
She gives me a look like the answer’s obvious. “Because you’re hot.”
I bark out a laugh.
“I’m serious,” she says. “You were standing there looking all mysterious and emotionally unavailable while Dante screamed at people in the background. It was very compelling.”
I shake my head slightly, amused despite myself.
“But as the tale goes with most attractive guys I meet,” she says dramatically, “Dante informed me you unfortunately do not swing that way.”
My hands tighten slightly around the wheel. Apparently something about my expression gives me away because Erica quickly lifts both hands in surrender. "Hey, I won't tell a soul on set, I promise. Your secret is safe with the redhead."
I scoff lightly. “It’s not exactly a state secret.”
“No?”
“Nah.”
And honestly, it isn’t, not really. I mean, I don’t advertise it, but I’ve never exactly hidden it either.
“I just...” I start automatically. “I like keeping my private and professional life separ—”
The sentence dies halfway through. Because what a load of absolute bullshit. My boss literally had me on my knees like two days ago. I clear my throat slightly and immediately pivot.
“So do you dance professionally?”
Smooth, Kaden. Erica thankfully doesn’t call me out on the abrupt subject change. Instead her face lights up a little.
“Yeah, actually.”
And just like that, she launches into stories about artists she’s toured with. Award shows she’s danced at. Music videos, commercials. We’re getting close to Orphic by then. Traffic slows slightly near the strip, storefronts and nightlife beginning to bleed together beneath the glow of LA after dark. The parking lot is sprawling with luxury steel, but my eyes aren't searching for an open spot. They’re pulled, like a magnet, toward the VIP section near the entrance.
My heart does a violent, jagged somersault. At first my brain tries to dismiss it the same way it did yesterday. Coincidence, wishful thinking. Some rich asshole with identical taste. But no, not this time.There it is....
For the second night in a row, the I'm seeing the car. Only this time, I’m not losing my mind and I’m not hallucinating. It’s parked right under the high-intensity security lights...the same sleek, predatory silhouette, the same custom plates. Bastian’s car...he’s here.
Whatever Erica is saying evaporates into the humid night air. My mouth goes dry, my pulse hammering so hard against my ribs I’m surprised she can’t hear it. I find a spot and cut the engine, choosing a space that puts me close enough to smell the exhaust from his car. My hands are still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. He’s here. Somewhere inside that building, Bastian is breathing the same recycled, bass-heavy air I’m about to enter.
I know I should be pissed. I should be holding onto the sting of ignored calls and unanswered texts. But the bitterness won't take root. Instead, there’s just this desperate, gnawing need to see him. I’m already mentally negotiating with Eva, wondering if I can trade her next three solo weekend shifts for twenty minutes of freedom right now.
I push the door open and step out into the warm night air just as Erica climbs out from the passenger side. Music pulses faintly from the building ahead. Not loud yet, but enough to vibrate through the air around us. The line outside Orphic’s already beginning to form, though nothing compared to weekend crowds. Erica falls into step beside me as we head toward the entrance.
“You sure the bouncer’s not gonna dramatically point me to the back of the line?” she asks.
I shake my head distractedly. “There’s technically a staff entrance, but management’ll probably see us coming through there and—” Erica loops her hand through my arm casually while I’m talking. “—the manager’s basically a hawk, but I know the bouncer so it should be fine.”
Turns out it’s more than fine. The second the bouncer spots me, his expression shifts into recognition and he unhooks the velvet rope without a word. Erica shoots me a look as we pass.
“Oh, so you’re important around here.”
I snort softly. “Hardly.”
The music hits harder once we step inside. Deep bass rolling through the floor, lights shifting across bodies on the dancefloor. It’s busier than I expected for a Wednesday. Not insane, but alive enough that the whole place feels like it’s breathing around me.
Erica turns in a slow circle beside me, taking everything in. “I can’t believe I’ve never actually been here before.”
I glance toward the bar automatically. “Your first drink’s on the house, then. Occupational hospita—”
My voice dies in my throat. My steps falter, my sneakers catching on the polished concrete. I’m looking at the main bar, expecting to see Eva’s shock of purple hair and her usual 'get-me-out-of-here' expression. But Eva isn't there.
Instead, a man I’ve never seen before is mid-pour, his movements efficient and practiced. He’s broad-shouldered with a sharp buzz cut, looking more like a tactical operative than someone who knows how to garnish a Cosmo.
"Kaden? You okay?" Erica asks, her hand still on my arm.
"Yeah," I lie, my frown deepening. A cold pit forms in my stomach. Did something happen to Eva? She wouldn't just leave. We’ve been a team since day one. Then, a darker thought creeps in, one that makes my heart stutter. Am I the one who's gone?
Is this how it ends? Bastian decides he can’t look at me anymore, so he just... deletes me? First the clothes, then the calls, and now my job. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting to wake up to a 'Dear Kaden' email from the campaign board telling me I’ve been replaced by someone less complicated.
I lead Erica to the bar, gesturing to a vacant stool. "Sit. Give me a second." She studies my face for a second like she doesn’t buy the casual tone whatsoever, but eventually nods and climbs onto the seat. I head around the side entrance of the bar. The guy notices me immediately. He turns fully as I approach, not remotely surprised to see me, in fact, he looks like he’s been expecting me.
I lean in slightly so he can hear me over the music. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says easily. Then, “Kaden, right?”
I give him a slow nod, confusion tightening in my chest. “Yeah.”
He wipes his hands on a towel. I glance around once more, like Eva’s somehow gonna magically appear if I look hard enough. “Where’s Eva?”
“She clocked out like an hour ago.”
I blink, an hour ago? That makes absolutely no sense. I hesitate, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding territorial and insane, but honestly, there’s no graceful way to ask a stranger why they’re standing in your spot. So I just go with honesty.
“No offense,” I say carefully, “but... who the hell are you, and what exactly are you doing behind my bar?”
The guy smiles a little at that. Before he can answer, a customer leans over the counter and lifts a finger politely in request. The guy nods once in acknowledgment, then looks back at me.
“Name’s Trey,” he says. “I was told you had some important personal projects you were focusing on, so I’m just here to keep the engine running so you don't have to worry about the overhead.”
"Projects?" I repeat, my brain spinning. "Told by who?"
Trey just gestures vaguely toward the ceiling with his thumb. "The boss. He said when you showed up, I should point you his way."
Before I can demand a real answer, he pivots to serve the customer, leaving me standing there in the middle of the workspace I no longer seem to own. I feel untethered.
My skin prickles. Then, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. It’s a weight, a physical sensation of being watched. I feel eyes on me...heavy and unwavering. I slowly lift my head, looking past the crowded dance floor and the swirling strobe lights toward the private VIP are.
And there he is. A familiar figure standing against the railing, overlooking the club. Mostly shadowed. He doesn't move. He’s just watching me, waiting for me to be the one go to him.