Part 12 ( Ellie )

The second we step out of Baldwin Lux, I finally breathe.

The air outside cool against my skin, but it does nothing to ease the tension still coiled in my chest. My fingers flex at my sides, my jaw tight as I push out a slow exhale.

"Well," Anthony says, stretching his arms out like he's shaking off the weight of the meeting. "That went great."

I don't respond. I just hum, nodding once as I keep walking toward my car. My steps are fast, purposeful. I need distance. From this building, from this day, from her.

Anthony glances at me, clearly picking up on my silence. "You're really not gonna say anything?"

I shake my head, unlocking my car with a press of a button. "Bella needs me to go to her place." The words leave my mouth automatically, smooth, quick. A lie. But one I don't feel guilty about.

Anthony scoffs, hands on his hips. "Right. Sure. Bella needs you there the second this meeting ends."

I open the driver's side door, but he steps closer, blocking my path just slightly. "Ellie—"

"See you later, Vasquez," I cut in, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Anthony sighs, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Just don't let this shit mess with your head."

I don't respond. Just slide into the car and shut the door, cutting off whatever else he might've said.

As soon as I pull away from the curb, I grab my phone from the passenger seat, thumb hovering over my contacts.

Bella doesn't need me. I don't even know where the hell that came from. I just needed an excuse to get out of there.

But I do need something.

Something to clear my fucking head.

I press call.

Mia picks up after two rings.

"Finally. I was starting to think Baldwin held you hostage."

"Meet me at The Hollow," I say, ignoring the edge in my own voice. "Tell Luke and Aiden to come too."

Mia pauses. "The Hollow? On a Tuesday?"

"I want to have fun tonight."

Mia is silent for a second, like she's trying to read between the lines. Then, she exhales a laugh. "No Juliet talk?"

"None."

She hums, amusement laced in her voice. "Fine. But if you drink too much and start brooding, I will throw you into traffic."

I smirk, even though I don't really feel it. "Duly noted."

"We'll be there in an hour," Mia says before hanging up.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles going white.

I don't know what I'm chasing tonight—whether it's distraction, recklessness, or just the desperate need to remind myself that I am not the same girl I was when I first met Juliet Baldwin.

But I do know one thing.

I need a fucking drink.

-

The city moves past me in a blur of headlights and neon signs as I drive through the streets, the weight of the meeting still lingering in my chest. I keep my grip loose on the steering wheel, my fingers drumming against it in a steady rhythm, trying to shake off the tightness coiling in my muscles.

By the time I pull up to The Hollow, there's already a line wrapped around the block—groups of people dressed to impress, waiting for their shot at getting inside. The bass-heavy music leaks out from the entrance, mixing with the excited buzz of the crowd.

I don't stop.

The second my car slows in front of the entrance, one of the security guards standing by the door clocks me immediately. Recognition flickers across his face before he nods once and steps aside, already lifting the velvet rope.

"Crawford," he greets, tilting his chin up. "Go right in."

I smirk, unbothered by the stares from the people still stuck waiting. I don't even have to wait in line, and they know it.

The music swallows me whole the second I step inside—heavy bass vibrating through my chest, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, neon lights cutting through the dim space in sharp streaks of color.

I move through it easily, past the crowd, past the packed bar.

The moment I make it past the first section, a familiar voice calls out.

"Ellie Crawford, as I live and breathe."

I glance up just in time to see Michael fucking Reed, owner of The Hollow, grinning at me from the VIP entrance.

Michael is exactly how I remember him—polished, effortlessly charming, wearing a tailored suit that probably cost more than most people make in a month. He's always been the kind of guy who could own a room without trying.

I smirk, shaking his hand as he claps me on the shoulder. "Michael."

He grins, motioning toward the VIP entrance. "Didn't think I'd see you here tonight. You celebrating something?"

I exhale through my nose, my smirk tightening. "Something like that."

Michael chuckles knowingly, but he doesn't pry. Instead, he gestures toward the section behind him. "Come on. I've got a booth for you."

I follow him past the velvet rope, stepping into a world separate from the chaos of the main floor.

VIP at The Hollow is another level—elevated, secluded, tucked away in a section overlooking the entire club. It's where the real money is. Athletes, actors, musicians, models—all gathered in clusters, sipping on thousand-dollar bottles like it's nothing.

Michael leads me to a private booth, curved leather seating set against the wall, away from prying eyes.

"You got friends coming?" he asks, tilting his head.

I nod, sliding into my seat. "Yeah. Mia, Luke, Aiden."

Michael waves a hand. "No problem. I'll let security know to bring them up when they get here."

He nods toward the menu on the low table. "You want a bottle or something else?"

I shake my head. "Just a drink for now."

He grins. "Got it. Enjoy yourself, Crawford."

I exhale as he walks off, letting my body sink into the plush seat, finally relaxing just a little.

I don't check my phone. I don't think about tomorrow.

I just flag down a waitress, order a whiskey, and let the familiar hum of The Hollow settle into my bones as I wait for the others to arrive.

-

The ice in my glass clinks softly as I swirl the last of my whiskey, warmth buzzing through my veins as I lean back against the plush leather of the VIP booth. I'm not wasted, but I'm definitely feeling it, just enough for everything to feel a little lighter, a little looser. The music thrums through my chest, a steady, pulsing rhythm that makes it easier to forget everything outside of this club.

A sudden burst of laughter catches my attention, and when I glance toward the entrance, I spot Mia, Luke, and Aiden.

Mia walks in, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, a smile curling at the edges of her lips as her gaze locks onto mine.

Aiden is right behind her, his usual easy confidence on full display. He's dressed sharp, relaxed, like he fits perfectly into this kind of scene.

And then there's Luke, who looks mildly uncomfortable, his brows furrowed as he scans the crowd, already rolling his eyes at something Mia is saying.

I smirk, lifting my glass in greeting as they reach the table. "Took you guys long enough."

Mia slides into the booth next to me, immediately grabbing my glass and taking a sip without asking. "Jesus, Crawford. How many of these have you had?"

I huff a laugh, plucking the drink back from her. "Relax, Just a couple."

Luke snorts, dropping into the seat across from me. "Couple, my ass. You're already slurring."

I shoot him a look. "I am not slurring."

"Yeah," Aiden says, smirking as he flags down a waitress. "She's still coherent. We'll get her there soon enough."

Mia groans, shaking her head. "You guys are bad influences."

I smirk, lifting my glass in a mock toast. "To bad influences, then."

Aiden chuckles, clinking his beer bottle against my glass before tipping it back.

The next hour is a blur of laughter, drinks, and the kind of easy, reckless fun that only happens when you're with the people who know you best.

Mia drags me onto the dance floor at some point, her grip firm around my wrist as she pulls me into the crowd. The music swallows us whole, the deep bass vibrating through the floor, through my skin.

"Come on," Mia yells over the noise, flashing a grin. "I know you still have some moves left in you."

I roll my eyes, but I don't resist.

I move with the rhythm, the alcohol buzzing in my system making everything feel lighter, looser. Mia keeps close, her hands playfully pushing my shoulders as she smirks.

"I swear to God, Ellie," she twirls under my arm before snapping her fingers. "You used to be better at this."

I scoff, grabbing her wrist and spinning her back toward me. "I'm still better than you."

She cackles. "That's debatable."

Luke and Aiden eventually find their way to us, Aiden immediately pulling Mia into some ridiculous, over-the-top spin that has her shrieking with laughter.

Luke just shakes his head, arms crossed, watching like he refuses to participate.

I nudge him. "Come on, loser."

He smirks. "I don't dance."

"You do tonight."

Before he can argue, I grab his hand and pull him forward, forcing him into the group. He groans, but there's a faint smile tugging at his lips.

And for a while, that's all it is.

Laughter. Music. The sharp scent of whiskey and cologne and flashing lights.

Nothing else exists. No meetings, no Juliet, no past clawing at my chest. Just this. Just us.

At some point, Mia disappears, only to return with shots.

"One round!" she announces, setting them down on the table when we finally stumble back to the VIP booth. "And don't even think about bailing, Luke."

He sighs but doesn't argue, grabbing one off the tray. We all do.

Mia lifts hers, smirking. "To bad decisions."

I raise a brow. "This is the bad decision."

She grins. "Exactly."

We clink glasses, downing them in one smooth motion. The burn spreads fast, sharp and satisfying.

The night stretches on, and it's fun.

It's reckless and stupid and exactly what I needed.

By the time another hour passes, I can feel the exhaustion settling into my bones, the alcohol making my limbs heavy, my body warm.

Mia leans against my shoulder, smirking. "You good?"

I nod, stretching my arms over my head. "Yeah. Just... tired."

She hums. "Big day tomorrow?"

I exhale slowly. "Something like that."

She doesn't push. Just squeezes my knee before grabbing another drink off the tray.

Aiden and Luke are deep in conversation about something sports-related, their voices blending into the music.

-

The warmth of alcohol sits comfortably in my veins as I stretch my arms over my head, feeling the buzz beneath my skin. The laughter of my friends blends with the pulse of the music, the VIP section alive with movement, drinks flowing endlessly.

I smirk, shaking my head as I push myself up from the booth. "Alright, next round is on me."

Mia grins, raising her glass. "Now that's the kind of generosity I like to see."

Luke scoffs. "You just like free booze."

"Same thing," she replies easily, winking at him.

I chuckle, running a hand through my hair as I step out of the booth. The club is packed, bodies moving, lights flashing in erratic patterns across the dance floor. I maneuver through the crowd with ease, heading toward the exclusive VIP bar.

I'm halfway there when someone collides into me.

Hard.

My shoulder jolts from the impact, and I instinctively turn, already muttering, "Oh, I'm sorr—"

But then I see green eyes. That same unshakable presence, that same impossible familiarity.

Juliet.

She's standing inches from me, her body rigid, her lips slightly parted in what I assume is equal amounts of shock and frustration.

What the fuck?

Her jaw tightens, her eyes narrowing as she exhales sharply. "For fuck's sake," she mutters, her voice barely audible over the music. "I can't even go through one night without seeing you?"

Something snaps in my chest.

"Trust me," I fire back, stepping closer, "this isn't exactly my ideal Tuesday night either."

Juliet scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Right. Because running into me must be the worst thing to ever happen to you."

"You said it, not me."

Her head tilts slightly, her expression darkening, like she's trying to hold something back, but failing. "Do you ever stop being insufferable, or is this just a permanent condition?"

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I ruining your perfectly curated existence?"

"You always ruin everything."

I feel that. Deep. Too deep.

The words cut through the thick haze of alcohol, slicing straight into something old, something unresolved.

I don't think before I step closer, closing the space between us. "Funny," I say, voice lower now, sharper, "I could say the same thing about you."

Juliet's jaw locks, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Jesus, Ellie. I don't know what's worse— seeing you, or hearing you run your mouth every damn time I do."

I let out a breath, biting down the urge to yell. "Then walk away, Juliet. You're so good at that."

Her eyes flicker with something dangerously close to anger. "And you're so good at pretending nothing ever mattered."

Something ignites in my chest.

"Because it didn't, Baldwin."

The lie leaves my mouth faster than I can stop it.

I see something flicker in her eyes.

Not anger. Not control. Something else.

But it's gone in a second, replaced by something colder.

"Right," she says, stepping back like she's dismissing me completely. "And that's why you're still so fucking pressed every time you see me, huh?"

"Oh, fuck you," I snap, stepping closer again. "You act like you're so unbothered, like you're this untouchable fucking business woman now."

Her fingers flex, her breathing uneven now. "You think you know me, Ellie?"

"I did."

We're too close. Too much tension. Too much heat.

The music is deafening, but it might as well be silent, because all I hear is my own heartbeat, hammering against my ribs, drowning out the chaos around us.

Juliet's lips part, her eyes searching mine for something she'll never fucking find.

Then, she exhales sharply, shaking her head like she's forcing herself to snap out of whatever this is. "Go back to your little party, Crawford. You're wasting my time."

I scoff. "Oh, trust me. You're not that important."

Juliet's eyes flash with something sharp, something that makes my blood fucking boil.

"Oh, fuck off, Ellie," she seethes, stepping closer, voice cutting through the thick bass of the music. "You think I want to be here? You think I want to see you every damn time I turn around?"

I huff a humorless laugh, tilting my head. "Right, because I'm the one following you around?"

Her lips press into a thin line. "If I had known you'd be here, I wouldn't have come."

My jaw tightens. "Then go."

Her nostrils flare. "You first."

We're close. Too fucking close.

I can feel the heat radiating off her, can smell the faint trace of perfume clinging to her skin, something expensive, something that still lingers in the deepest corners of my memory.

My pulse hammers against my ribs.

This is stupid. This is reckless.

But fuck, I can't stop.

"You hate me so much, right?" I murmur, stepping even closer, our bodies nearly brushing. "Then why are you still standing here?"

Her expression doesn't falter. "Why are you?"

The tension is unbearable, stretching between us like a live wire.

I clench my fists at my sides, breathing heavier now, trying to force myself to back up, to move, to say something that'll end this before it spirals further. I should walk away. I should let this go.

But I don't. Instead, I move. Fast.

I grab her wrist before she can throw another sharp word at me, before she can tear me apart with one of her perfectly composed dismissals.

Her body jerks slightly at the force, but she doesn't resist. Not really.

She matches my pace, my steps quick and deliberate as I yank her through the crowd.

She doesn't ask where we're going.

The second we push through the doors of the VIP bathroom, I slam them shut behind us, flipping the lock with one swift motion. The bass from the club vibrates through the walls, but in here, it's just us.

Juliet barely has time to catch her breath before I press her back against the door, my hands caging her in on either side of her head.

Her eyes flicker with shock and frustration but before she can throw a single syllable my way, I kiss her.

Hard.

It's not soft. It's not careful. It's years of tension, years of anger, years of something we never fucking dealt with all colliding into this moment.

She gasps against my mouth, her hands gripping my waist, and for a second, I think she's going to push me away.

She doesn't. Instead, she pulls me closer.

Her fingers twist in the front of my shirt, yanking me forward like she wants to erase every inch of space between us. Her lips move against mine with just as much force, just as much hunger, like she's been waiting for this just as long as I have.

My hands slide down, gripping her hips, pressing her harder against the door as I deepen the kiss, swallowing the sharp breath she exhales.

This shouldn't be happening. What am i doing?

Juliet's nails dig into my back, her body arching into mine, and fuck, she still tastes the same, still feels the same, still makes my pulse spike like no one else ever has.

I kiss her harder, tilting my head to claim more of her, to make sure there's no room for regret, no space for hesitation.

She bites my lip in response, sharp and punishing, and I groan into her mouth, my grip on her tightening.

This isn't gentle. This is a collision. A fucking car crash we never walked away from.

Juliet's hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders, threading into my hair as she tugs me impossibly closer, like she wants to pull me apart at the seams.

I press my knee between her legs, and she lets out a quiet, shuddering breath against my lips, her grip faltering for half a second.

That sound.

It shoots straight through me, white-hot and impossible to ignore.

I pull back just enough to look at her, my forehead resting against hers, our breathing ragged, uneven.

Her lips are swollen, her pupils blown wide, her hands still tangled in my hair.

Neither of us move. Neither of us speak.

The tension between us is razor-sharp, balanced on a knife's edge.

I swallow, my voice rough when I finally break the silence.

"This what you wanted?"

Juliet exhales, her hands sliding down to grip my wrists, her touch firm.

"Fuck no." Her voice thick with venom.

My chest heaves, my pulse hammering.

I search her face, looking for something, hesitation, regret, a reason to fucking stop this.

I don't find one.

I kiss her again.

Slower this time. More controlled. But just as deep.

The heat between us is unbearable. It consumes everything, the tension, the anger, the fucking years we spent pretending we didn't still feel this.

Juliet presses against me like she's trying to drown in it, her hands tangled in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp, her lips rough and desperate against mine. She bites down on my lower lip again, sharp enough to send a shudder through me. I groan against her mouth, pressing her harder against the door.

My hands grip her hips tighter, The heat between my legs tightens, thick and impossible to ignore, my dick swelling under the layers of fabric between us.

I pick her up and she circles her legs around my waist. I turn around and place her on the cold marble of the bathroom counter, not breaking the kiss.

The kiss is fire, hot, reckless, completely untethered from reason. Juliet's hands pulling me closer, and I don't hesitate to give in, pressing my dick harder against her.

This is bad. This is worse than bad.

Our lips crash harder together, desperate, like we're trying to erase something neither of us can name. Her nails dig into my back, making me groan against her lips. I grip her waist, feeling the way her body arches into mine, like muscle memory, like she never forgot. Like I never did either.

I don't know who's leading this. Maybe we both are. Maybe we're just letting it happen, letting old habits take over.

Fuck.

I press even closer, letting my hands slip lower, feeling the curve of her body under my palms. The scent of her perfume is intoxicating, something expensive and familiar, something that makes my chest ache even as my blood rushes south.

Juliet stiffens.

Her hands push against my chest, firm, sudden. She yanks her lips away, breathless, her pupils blown wide with something that isn't just lust anymore.

"What the fuck," she breathes, her voice sharp, cutting.

I barely register the words at first, still caught in the haze of it all.

She jumps off the counter, shaking her head like she's snapping out of a spell. "We—this—" She gestures between us, her breathing erratic. "This should've never happened."

The words feel like ice water down my spine.

I let out a breath, running a hand over my face.

This was stupid. Beyond stupid.

I exhale sharply, straightening. "Yeah," I say, my voice rough. "Never should've happened."

Her jaw is tight, her lips still kiss-swollen, her hair a mess and for a second, she looks like she wants to say something else. But she doesn't. She just shakes her head, inhales deeply, and smooths her hands over her dress like she can erase the last ten minutes.

"We're done here." she says, voice cold now.

I nod. "Absolutely. A mistake."

We don't move right away. We just stand there, breathing heavy, the tension thick and suffocating between us.

Without another word, Juliet turns and walks out.

She doesn't look back.

I stay where I am, my heart still hammering against my ribs, my hands clenching at my sides.

I should be relieved. I should feel like this is the right thing. Instead, I feel like I just lost something I never even had in the first place. I shake my head, inhaling sharply before walking out the opposite door.

This never happened.

And if I'm lucky, I'll actually believe that.