Chapter 82 Smoke, Mirrors, and Old Ghosts
The club was everything I’d forgotten I missed.
Lights sliced through the darkness in slow, lazy colors. Music thumped through the floor, through my bones, loosening parts of me that had been stiff for months. The air smelled like perfume, alcohol, and something electric—freedom, maybe.
Julian stood close beside me, one hand hovering at my waist like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take. It made me smile. I liked that he didn’t assume. I liked that he waited.
“This was a good idea,” he said into my ear, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the music.
I laughed, already a little breathless from dancing. “You doubted me?”
“I did,” he admitted easily. “But I’m willing to publicly apologize.”
We danced. Not carefully. Not awkwardly. Just… freely. I let my body remember how to move without thinking about bottles, feeding schedules, or the constant low-grade fear that had lived in my chest for nearly a year.
For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t Elena-the-mother or Elena-the-runaway or Elena-the-woman-who-left-everything-behind.
I was just Elena.
Eventually, my legs started to protest, and I leaned closer to Julian. “I need a drink before I collapse dramatically on this floor.”
He grinned. “Lead the way.”
We made our way to the bar, and I slid onto one of the stools, exhaling as I did. Julian ordered for both of us—something light, nothing reckless. Another point in his favor.
I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass when it arrived and lifted my eyes—
And froze.
Across the room, near the darker end of the bar, was a woman I would recognize anywhere.
Rachael.
Perfect hair. Sharp dress. That same confident posture she always carried like armor.
And she was kissing a man who was very much not her husband.
Not a quick, guilty peck.
Not a “we’re-too-close” moment.
She was making out with him. Hands tangled. Mouths pressed together like nothing else in the world existed.
I blinked once. Twice.
Last time I checked, Rachael was married.
To Damian.
A laugh bubbled up my throat before I could stop it. Quiet at first. Then louder. I had to press my hand to my mouth.
Of all the places. Of all the nights.
Rachael chose this club.
Mid-kiss, her eyes flicked up.
They landed on me.
The effect was instant.
She stiffened. Her eyes widened. Her entire body jolted like she’d been electrocuted. She shoved the man away so abruptly he stumbled, confusion written all over his face.
Then she ran.
Actually ran.
Straight toward the exit, heels and all, like the floor itself had betrayed her.
I watched her go, stunned for half a second—then I laughed again, properly this time. I leaned forward on the bar, shoulders shaking.
Julian turned toward me. “Okay,” he said, amused and curious. “I feel like I missed something important.”
I wiped under my eyes. “You did.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
Because standing there, with the music pounding and the drink cooling my palm and Julian looking at me like this—open, present, uncomplicated—I realized something.
He knew nothing about my past.
Nothing about Damian.
Nothing about Rachael.
Nothing about betrayal, pregnancy, running, or the emotional wreckage I’d carried across borders.
And for once… I didn’t want to go back there.
Not tonight.
So I shook my head lightly. “Just… a funny girl doing something funny.”
Julian laughed, clearly deciding not to press. “Must’ve been pretty funny.”
“It was,” I said, still smiling. And it was. In a strange, cosmic, look-how-life-works way.
He stepped closer, knees brushing mine. “Come here.”
“Where?”
He tapped his thigh. “Right here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re bold.”
“Only when invited.”
I considered him for half a second—then slid off the stool and onto his lap.
His hands settled at my waist, warm and steady. The music slowed into something deeper, heavier. The world narrowed.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “I am. I really am.”
He tilted my chin up gently, giving me time. Always time.
Then he kissed me.
Not rushed. Not demanding.
Just… there.
I melted into it, arms slipping around his shoulders. The kiss deepened naturally, unhurried, like we weren’t trying to prove anything. Like we had nowhere else to be.
For a few minutes, the club disappeared.
No past.
No future.
Just now.
Then my phone buzzed.
Once.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
I pulled back slightly, breath uneven. “Sorry—”
Julian smiled against my cheek. “It’s okay.”
I checked the screen.
Angie calling.
My stomach dropped.
I answered immediately. “Angie?”
“Elena,” she said, voice tight. “You need to come home. Now.”
My heart slammed into my ribs. “What’s wrong? Is Mila okay?”
There was a pause. Too long.
“She’s breathing,” Angie said quickly. “She’s okay. But something’s not right. She won’t stop crying, and I—Elena, please just come.”
Fear wiped the warmth from my body in seconds.
“I’m on my way,” I said, already standing. “I’m coming right now.”
I hung up, hands shaking.
Julian was on his feet instantly. “What happened?”
“My baby,” I said, panic creeping into my voice despite my effort to stay calm. “I need to go.”
“Hey.” He cupped my face gently. “Go. I’ll get you a car.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be.” His eyes were steady. “She comes first. Always.”
I swallowed hard, nodded, and grabbed my bag.
Little did I know that call will change my life in the way I least expected.
Because what happened next was crazy!