Chapter 2: Worst Decision?

Silence stretched between us, the kind that wasn’t awkward.

No.

It was calculated.

He wasn’t in a hurry.

And that pissed me off more than it should.

“You’re standing too close,” I said flatly, not bothering to look at him.

Still, no reaction. God, seriously?

I forced myself to glance sideways, only to catch him casually watching the bartender now—like I wasn’t even there.

Was that supposed to make me curious?

Because it was working.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

His answer was simple.

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

Seriously?

I rolled my eyes, loud enough this time.

“Right. Good talk.”

He let out the softest laugh.

Not mocking.

Not amused.

Just… real.

It was annoying.

Worse, it sounded good.

I should’ve stood up.

Walked away.

Finished my drink and left him standing there like everyone else. I felt a bit dizzy though.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I asked the one question I shouldn’t have.

“What’s your name?”

He looked at me then.

Really looked.

And for a second, I felt it.

That shift.

Like the whole room had gone quiet.

Like the air itself waited for his answer.

But all he said was—

“You don’t need to know that.” Ouch! My ego got crushed!

I froze.

Not because of what he said.

But because of how he said it.

Confident.

Final.

I should’ve laughed. Walked off. Flipped my hair and pretended that his cloak-and-dagger act didn’t affect me.

But I didn’t.

Because deep down, some part of me—the one I try to keep quiet—was curious.

You don’t need to know that?

Who the hell says that in 2025?

I stared into my glass like it had the answers.

It didn’t.

Just olive brine, vodka, and a headache waiting to happen.

“Well.. just let me guess… Liam? Richard? Darius?”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t laugh.

And that’s when I finally turned to face him.

Full-on.

His eyes—sharp, dark, the kind that seemed to study and peel you apart slowly—met mine without hesitation.

“You think too much,” he said, voice lower now, almost like a secret passed between two strangers in the dark.

“That’s rich,” I muttered, “coming from a guy who dressed like he’s going to a funeral at a five-star hotel.”

A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

Finally.

A crack in the perfect marble.

“Maybe I am,” he said.

What? Okay. Okay, no. Pause.

I blinked.

“Are you—”

“Kidding?” he interrupted. “Depends. Are you scared?”

Scared?

God, no.

Intrigued? Unfortunately.

I leaned in, just enough to make a point. “Scared men hide their names. Real ones don’t need to.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering.

Then, with infuriating calmness, he said—

“Zayne.”

Just that.

No last name.

No explanation.

Just Zayne.

And somehow… it was enough to make my pulse stutter.

Once.

Just once.

I hated that.

“Okay, Zayne,” I said, finishing the rest of my drink in one go. “If this is some pick-up line in a Bond movie, you need better material.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick you up,” he said smoothly. “If I was… you’d already be in my car.”

I choked.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled—slow, confident, unapologetically dangerous.

“I said ‘if’.”

I hate him already!

I officially hate him!

Who the hell says something like that? Who looks at a stranger, smirks, and makes you question your entire existence in a single sentence?

Zayne.

Apparently, that’s who.

I slammed my empty glass down—not hard, just enough to remind myself I was still in control. Kind of.

“I’m leaving,” I said. To him or myself, I wasn’t sure.

He didn’t stop me.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Cocky.

I hated that.

Sliding off the bar stool, I grabbed my bag, ignoring the way my hands shook the tiniest bit.

Not from fear.

From frustration.

From something worse.

I turned.

Didn’t look back.

Because cool girls don’t look back.

One step. Two. Three.

Then—

“See you soon, Ashlaine.”

I froze.

Right there, mid-step.

Blood. Gone.

Breath. Gone.

What. The. Hell.

Slowly, like in some horror movie, I turned my head.

He was still there.

Still at the bar.

Still wearing that same infuriating calm.

And somehow…

Somehow…

He knew my name.

No.

Nope.

Nope.

No.

I should’ve walked away.

I told myself that.

Over and over.

Leave.

Just leave.

But instead, I stood there.

Frozen.

Stupid.

His voice echoed in my head.

"See you soon, Ashlaine."

I shouldn’t have looked back.

But of course I did.

And he was still there.

Watching me.

Not in a creepy way.

No.

Worse.

In that calm, steady way that makes you feel like running would be pointless.

Like he already knew how this night wouldn't end just like this.

I hated that.

I hated him.

And yet… I wasn’t moving.

God, what’s wrong with me?

I turned around fully. “How do you know my name?”

He didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

Instead, he just smiled. Slow. Infuriating.

“I heard it.”

I blinked. “When?”

“At the door.”

Door? No one called my name here.

"Liar."

He just shrugged. I didn't freaking know him! But.. my body wants to submit to him. I hated it! I'm not fully drunk yet!

“Why are you still standing there?”

“Maybe I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

He looked me dead in the eyes.

“For you.”

I swear, if I hadn’t been holding my bag, I would’ve dropped it.

The silence between us tightened, like the air itself dared me to respond.

I didn’t.

Because what was there to say?

So I did what any exhausted, impulsive, slightly-drunk girl would do when she didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

I said the dumbest thing possible.

“…Fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Get me another drink.”

His lips twitched. “What kind?”

“Surprise me.”

Because God knows I was tired of controlling everything.

For once… maybe letting someone else decide wouldn’t kill me.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

---

Two more drinks.

Maybe three.

I lost count.

Blame the surprise cocktails he kept ordering.

Expensive. Smooth. Too strong for my own good.

And I kept drinking.

Not because I liked him.

Not because I trusted him.

Because the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

It was dangerous.

The kind you sink into before you realize you’re drowning.

And for some reason… I wasn’t fighting it.

He barely spoke.

He didn’t need to.

I did all the talking. Small things. Pointless things.

And every time I tried to convince myself to walk away, I’d catch him staring.

Not at my face.

Not at my body.

At me.

And that was worse.

So much worse.

Because being wanted? I could handle that.

Being seen?

I couldn’t.

But I stayed.

I stayed until I realized it was already past midnight.

And my phone?

Dead.

Perfect.

“Crap,” I muttered, staring at the black screen.

“Problem?” His voice was quieter now.

I glanced up. “Phone’s dead.”

“Do you need to go home?”

Yes.

Obviously.

“Not really.”

Why did I say that?

Why. Did. I. Say. That.

He watched me for a second. Calm. Measuring.

Then, he stood.

Smooth. Effortless.

“Let’s go.”

"Where?"

"My place"

I should’ve said no.

God, I should’ve said no.

But instead…

I followed him.

Out of the bar.

Into the night.

And into the worst decision I was about to make.

You're Drunk ash.

Drunk.

Go home!