Chapter 2 The Confession
POV Scarlett:
I swore I would never return to that place—or face the two men who had marked me in different ways. But that promise lost its strength the moment the club door opened and the bass began pounding inside my chest like a heart on the run. Red light cut through the smoke in thin blades; the smell of alcohol, leather, and old desire caught me before I could turn back. I told myself I was there for another reason, any reason, but there wasn’t one. I had come to remind them—and myself—that I was no longer the girl they left behind.
The dance floor burned. Bodies moved as if the music were a tide. I crossed the room with a whiskey glass in hand, my dress clinging to me like a secret. The walls vibrated with sound; every beat brought back memories I thought I had buried. That’s when I felt it: first, a presence that changed the gravity of the room; then, a pair of eyes that recognized, hurt, and claimed.
Asher.
He appeared in the mirror behind the bar—the smile that never gave everything away, the dangerous calm of a man who knows exactly where he stands. A man who learned to command a room without raising his voice. He didn’t need to say my name; two steps closer and the air between us lost its innocence.
“You’re still running,” he said, leaning against the bar beside me. His voice was low, warm, like a deeper note under the music.
“And you’re still finding me,” I replied without looking at him directly. I took a sip of whiskey and felt the fire slide down slowly, reminding me I still had control over something.
He laughed from the corner of his mouth, that laugh that always came with trouble and promises. “Maybe because you were never good at hiding.”
“Or maybe because you don’t know when to quit.”
“And do you?” Asher turned toward me, his amber scent and something else—indefinable—pulling me inward. “Do you know how to quit?”
I was going to say yes. That I had learned. That the price of staying was always higher than the price of leaving. But the answer died before it was born, drowned in a different kind of silence. Cold. Precise. The kind that watches like a patient predator.
Logan.
I knew before I saw him. The weight of his gaze first; then the outline in the half-dark—tall, broad-shouldered, with the stance of someone who doesn’t ask for space, but takes it. There was no smile. There never was. Only that sharp, almost cruel focus that reminded me not every touch needs hands.
“Still like challenges, Scarlett?” Logan’s voice came from behind me, a cold current in the heat of the club. “Or have you learned your lesson?”
“Depends on the teacher,” I replied, turning my body to face him without losing sight of Asher. I hated this dance: the way the two of them surrounded me without touching, and yet it felt like my body answered to both.
Logan didn’t blink. He didn’t need to. He measured the distance like a man assessing a target. “Didn’t look like you wanted to learn last time.”
“Maybe I chose to forget,” I countered, holding his gaze. “Forgetting is an underrated gift.”
“Or an addiction,” Asher added, amused. “And you always had beautiful addictions.”
“And you two always had opinions,” I shot back, setting my glass on the bar. My hands were steady. My heart wasn’t.
Asher leaned close enough for his warmth to brush my shoulder. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to. “You still haven’t answered the simplest question,” he said. “Why did you come back?”
I could’ve said it was coincidence. That it was the only night I had. That someone owed me a favor. Any excuse would’ve been safer than the truth. And yet, when I opened my mouth, something more honest came out:
“To see if I still tremble.”
Asher caught his breath in something like a laugh. Logan raised an eyebrow, just a fraction, as if noting a fact to use later.
“And do you?” Logan asked, his voice unhurried.
“What do you think?” I retorted, holding his gaze. A mistake. It was always a mistake to look too deeply into his eyes. Logan didn’t play with words like Asher. He collected truths.
“I think you tremble when you want to,” Logan said. “And when you don’t.”
The music rose, the DJ changed the track, and the floor throbbed like it was breathing. I inhaled slowly, as if I could control my own heartbeat. They surrounded me with opposite, complementary presences: Asher, a warm promise; Logan, a cold sentence. In the past, I would’ve chosen a side. Today, I knew I’d lose either way.
“Let’s stop this,” I said finally, turning back to the bar. “You two don’t control me.”
“Who said control?” Asher’s lips neared my ear, his voice drowned in the music but still clear. “I just want to hear you say why you came.”
“And I want to see if you can say it without lying,” Logan added, close enough for his breath to brush the back of my neck. “Once. Just once.”
I should’ve left right then. I knew. But there’s a kind of courage born from pride and another born from fear. Mine came from somewhere in between: I wasn’t ready to run again.
“I came to undo a mistake,” I said, meeting both their eyes. “And to find out how many more I’m still willing to make.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It had shape, intent. Asher moved first: he took my glass from the bar and replaced it with another, the whiskey glowing amber under the red light.
“Start with this one,” he suggested.
“Drink with me?”
“To what?” I asked.
“To honesty,” Logan said, without irony.
“To survival,” I countered.
The glasses touched in unison, a small sound in the chaos. The whiskey went down hot and settled like a vow. When I set the glass down, Asher was already facing me, blocking the rest of the world. His hand hovered inches from my waist, as if the air were skin.
“Come on,” he said, wearing that smile that promised a fall. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance for anyone,” I replied, though my feet had already moved.
“Lucky us,” Logan said, stepping closer on my other side. “The floor belongs to those who don’t need to ask.”
I went. Three steps, and the music shifted again—a slower, heavier beat, the melody scraping along the inside of my skin. Asher led without touching, his eyes locked on mine, his body at a distance that was almost an invitation. Logan followed like a shadow that knows its place: not far enough to forget, not close enough to satisfy.
“Do you remember?” Asher asked quietly as I turned to the side. “What we do with silence when it lasts too long?”
“We break it,” I answered, surprising myself.
“No,” Logan corrected, so close the word came as a breath. “We bend it until it admits what it’s hiding.”
I laughed, a short, nervous note. “And what does my silence hide?”
“That you’re still angry,” he said. “And still longing.”
“Longing is just anger wearing makeup,” I replied. “You should know that.”
Asher nodded, as if he had expected exactly that answer. “Then take off the makeup, Scarlett.”
“For what?”
“So we don’t mistake what we want.”
The world shrank around our small orbit, and for a few moments there were only three breaths, three rhythms fighting for control. The fabric of my dress brushed my skin; a drop of sweat slid down my spine; the red light licked the line of my shoulders as if marking me. I was tired of pretending I didn’t feel. Tired of pretending I didn’t remember.
“You want to win,” I said finally. “But this isn’t a game.”
“Everything’s a game,” Asher smiled. “Only the stakes change.”
“And you, Logan?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“Truth,” he said. “The rest comes after.”
I could’ve lied. In another life, I would have. Instead, I let my guard fall a single inch into vulnerability.
“I came back because I wasn’t finished. Neither were you.”
Asher breathed deeper, almost relieved. Logan didn’t smile, but something in his eyes warmed half a degree. The bass hit again like a seal being stamped.
“Then finish it,” Asher said, extending his hand between us without touching. “Tell us where we start this time.”
“We start by admitting no one here is clean,” I replied. “That what brought me back wasn’t longing… it was hunger.”
The word hung between us like a spark. Logan stepped half a pace closer. So did Asher. And for a moment, I thought I’d finally give in—to one side or the other. But fate has a sense of humor, and the night hadn’t yet shown all its cards.
From the top of the stairs, a presence cut through the crowd like cold wind. The room seemed to recognize before my eyes did. Some moved aside; others froze. I knew who it was before I saw him. There are people your body remembers without permission.
Damian.
The name didn’t leave my lips. It stuck in my throat—hot, dangerous, old. Asher followed my gaze. So did Logan. Neither spoke—they didn’t have to. The silence changed temperature.
Damian stopped at the railing above us and looked at me as if I were the only light in that dark room. All the defenses I’d built wavered under a single look.
“Looks like class just got more interesting,” Asher murmured, without taking his eyes off me.
“Or more honest,” Logan corrected.
I breathed deep, feeling the scent of the club, the electricity of the floor, the inevitability of the moment. I wasn’t trembling. Not yet. But I understood, with cruel clarity, that the night had just chosen a path from which I wouldn’t walk away unscathed.
“Then let’s play fair,” I said, my voice steady, chin high. “No running. No lying.”
And I took the first step toward the stairs.
Some beginnings don’t ask for permission. They just light the fuse—and wait to see who burns first.