Part 13 ( Juliet )

The second I step out of the VIP bathroom, I force my spine straight, my chin high, my expression unreadable.

The bass from the club thrums through my bones, pulsing with the same wild, reckless energy that got me into this mess in the first place.

I walk straight past the VIP booths, past the bar, past anything that might slow me down. I don't look back. I don't pause. I don't give myself the chance to think.

Because if I do, if I let myself stop for even a second, I'll feel it.

The weight of what just happened. The heat still lingering on my skin. The way Ellie, fuck, Ellie still tastes on my lips.

No.

No, no, no.

I don't do this. I don't let things like this happen. Not anymore.

I move with purpose, eyes forward, heels clicking against the sleek floors as I push through the VIP crowd. A few people glance my way, their gazes lingering, but I barely register them.

I head straight for the bar, sliding onto an open stool, exhaling through my nose as I raise a single finger at the bartender. He nods, immediately pouring me a glass of whiskey, neat.

I grip the glass the second it's in front of me, bringing it to my lips without hesitation. The burn spreads fast, sharp and unforgiving, but it doesn't do a damn thing to cool the fire still licking at my skin.

I set the glass down, fingers tightening around the crystal edge.

"Juliet?"

I blink, barely turning my head before I register the voice.

Nathan Lancaster. CEO. Investor. Someone I've done business with before. Someone important. Someone useful.

I don't have the patience for this right now, but I also know better than to let myself spiral in a club full of people who will notice.

So I smooth my expression, forcing a small, practiced smile.

"Nathan," I greet, my voice perfectly controlled. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He chuckles, sliding onto the stool beside me. "Same to you. I thought you were more of a 'leave early and handle business' kind of woman."

I lift my glass to my lips again, letting the whiskey sit heavy on my tongue before swallowing. "Sometimes I like a change of pace."

Nathan hums, tilting his head as he studies me. "You okay? You seem a little—"

I arch a brow, daring him to finish that sentence.

He smirks, holding up his hands in surrender. "Never mind."

I don't respond. Because no, I am not okay. My entire body is still wired, my skin still hot, my lips still tingling from a kiss that should've never fucking happened.

I dig my nails into my palm beneath the bar, forcing myself to focus.

Nathan starts talking—something about a new real estate opportunity, something about numbers and properties and the kind of conversation I should be locked into. But I barely hear him.

Because all I can hear is the way Ellie had said my name.

The way she had pressed me against the counter.

The way my body had reacted like it remembered.

I tighten my grip on my glass, inhaling sharply through my nose.

No. I won't do this. I won't fucking do this.

I plaster on a small, polite smile, nodding in the right places as Nathan continues talking. I let him believe I'm interested, let him think I'm completely composed, completely in control.

I let him talk for exactly five minutes before I cut in smoothly, my voice effortlessly cool. "Nathan, as much as I'd love to discuss business, I'm actually heading out for the night."

He raises a brow, glancing at my half-finished drink. "Already?"

"Yes." I set the glass down with deliberate ease, my expression giving nothing away. "But send me the details about that opportunity. I'll have my team take a look."

Nathan nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "Of course. I'll be in touch."

I don't say anything else. I just slide off the stool, smooth my dress, and walk.

Straight out of the VIP section. Straight through the packed club. Straight past everything that feels too much.

By the time I step outside, the cool night air slams into me like a much-needed wake-up call. I exhale, rolling my shoulders back as my driver immediately spots me from the curb.

He steps out, opening the back door of the black car, and I don't hesitate before sliding in. The door shuts behind me with a quiet click, sealing me off from the city. The second we pull away from the curb, I let out a slow, measured breath. I stare out the tinted window, my reflection blending with the blurred lights of the city.

The taste of whiskey lingers in my mouth.

I dig my nails into my palm again, grounding myself in the sharp sting.

This was nothing. A mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake.

I smooth my hands over my dress, letting out another controlled breath.

Tomorrow, I'll pretend like this never happened.

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

-

The first thing I register when I wake up is the dull ache behind my eyes.

It's not a hangover, I didn't drink enough for that. But it's exhaustion, settling deep into my bones, making my limbs feel heavier than they should.

I inhale slowly, blinking against the early morning light filtering through my bedroom windows. The blackout curtains keep most of it out, but a few golden streaks manage to slip through, casting long shadows across my sheets.

I don't move.

But then my phone buzzes.

A single vibration against my nightstand.

I roll onto my side, reaching for it with a tired exhale. My screen lights up.

Anthony Vasquez

10:32 AM

Need to meet today. Something came up. Free this afternoon?

My grip tightens around my phone.

No. Absolutely not.

Seeing Ellie last night was bad enough. What happened in the bathroom, that was worse.

There is no version of today where I willingly sit in a room with her again.

I type out my response quickly, my fingers moving with smooth efficiency.

Juliet Baldwin

10:33 AM

I'm busy. Reschedule for later this week.

I hit send before I can second-guess it.

A few moments later, another buzz.

Anthony Vasquez

10:35 AM

Busy?

I don't respond. Because yes, I'm busy. Even if I have to make myself busy. I toss my phone onto the bed, exhaling sharply before forcing myself to sit up.

The sheets pool around my waist, the cool morning air brushing against my bare arms. I run a hand through my hair, smoothing out the mess of my hair, before swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

Move forward. That's all I have to do. Get through today. Forget last night.

I push myself up, my steps purposeful as I move toward the bathroom.

I flick on the lights, avoiding my own reflection.

Instead, I turn the water on, letting the sink fill as I reach for my cleanser. The routine is muscle memory at this point, cleanse, tone, moisturize, serum. I take my time with each step, focusing on the familiarity of it, the control.

By the time I finish, my skin is cool, refreshed.

Good.

I step back, finally meeting my own gaze in the mirror.

No cracks. No hesitation. No lingering traces of whatever the fuck last night was.

Just business, Baldwin. That's all that matters.

I turn away, walking back into my bedroom.

My phone buzzes again, but I don't check it. Instead, I pull open my closet, my fingers grazing over the endless rows of designer pieces, the carefully curated collection of power and precision.

I reach for a deep navy pantsuit. Sharp. Tailored. Effortlessly in control.

I dress quickly, buttoning my blazer before smoothing out the lapels, adjusting my cufflinks. When I step back toward the mirror, I barely recognize the woman from last night.

Good.

I grab my phone, finally glancing at the screen.

Another message from Anthony.

Anthony Vasquez

10:42 AM

Fine. Later this week. But don't make me chase you, Baldwin.

I smirk slightly, shaking my head.

I type back a single word.

Juliet Baldwin

10:43 AM

Noted.

I slip my phone into my purse, exhaling slowly.

Then, with steady, measured steps, I head downstairs.

-

The familiar scent of the Baldwin Lux office surrounds me as I step onto the executive floor. My heels click against the polished marble, my posture straight, movements precise. Every inch of me is controlled.

Exactly as I should be.

Claire is already waiting by my office door, tablet in hand, her expression composed but focused.

"Good morning, Ms. Baldwin," she greets.

"Morning," I reply smoothly, nodding as I step inside.

She follows behind, falling into pace as she reads off my schedule.

"You have a meeting with the acquisitions team in fifteen minutes," she starts, swiping through her notes. "Followed by a call with the legal department regarding the Maxwell contract. Lunch meeting with the Henderson Group at one. Two back-to-back finance briefings in the afternoon, and a dinner event with the Forbes corporate board later tonight."

Perfect. Every hour accounted for. Every moment filled. Nothing unplanned. Nothing that leaves room for thoughts I refuse to have.

I nod, setting my purse down on my desk before shrugging off my blazer, draping it over my chair. "Push the Henderson lunch up to twelve-thirty. And have legal send over their brief before the call. I want to review it ahead of time."

"Of course," Claire says, typing notes as she speaks. "And the Vasquez meeting—"

"Rescheduled," I cut in smoothly, unbothered.

Claire hesitates just slightly before nodding. "Right. I'll confirm a later date with them."

I pick up the stack of documents on my desk, skimming over the top page, already shifting gears. "That's all, Claire. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Ms. Baldwin." she says, turning to leave.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I let out a slow exhale, rolling my shoulders back before taking my seat.

Work. That's all I need to focus on.

I reach for my pen, flipping open my notebook, ready to dive into the first task of the day—

My phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen.

Mia

11:06 AM

Tell me why the fuck you're dodging my calls.

I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head.

A second later, another message.

Mia

11:06 AM

And don't even try to tell me you're busy. I KNOW you're busy. That's literally your whole personality. That's not the point.

I purse my lips, debating whether to ignore her.

My phone buzzes again.

Mia

11:06 AM

If you don't answer, I'm showing up at Baldwin Lux.

I roll my eyes, finally picking up my phone.

Juliet Baldwin

11:07 AM

I am busy, Mia. Unlike you, some of us have empires to run.

Not even two seconds pass before she replies.

Mia

11:07 AM

Oh, fuck off with that billionaire deflection bullshit. You're avoiding me.

Juliet Baldwin

11:09 AM

And if I am?

Mia

11:09 AM

Then that means I'm right. Which is the worst thing to ever happen to you, isn't it?

I close my eyes, exhaling through my teeth before typing out a final message.

Juliet Baldwin

11:12 AM

I'm not doing this right now. I have a lot of meetings to attend.

Then, before she can reply, I set my phone face down on my desk and refocus on my work.

Because that's all that matters.

I flip to the next page of my notebook, my expression unreadable.

Back to business. Where it should've stayed all along.

-

The city stretches far beyond the glass windows of my office, a skyline of towering steel and concrete. I stare out at it, my hands folded neatly on my desk, my mind anything but neat.

The air in my office is still. Silent.

The opposite of what's inside my head.

I am not the type to dwell. I am not the type to entertain chaos.

I can still taste her on my lips if I let myself think about it for too long.

I clench my jaw.

This is not something I should be thinking about.

My phone buzzes again. Mia.

I ignore it.

Instead, I stand, smoothing my dress, and cross the room to the side cabinet where I keep my most expensive bottles of whiskey. The ones that should be for business meetings, for celebrations, for moments of indulgence.

I pour myself a glass. Because I need it.

The amber liquid swirls in the crystal tumbler, catching the light, smooth and rich.

I take a sip. Let it burn its way down. Let it remind me that I am still in control.

I exhale, pressing my fingers against the edge of the glass.

Last night was a mistake. A reckless, impulsive, utterly idiotic mistake.

And yet, for all the logic in the world, my body still remembers the way she felt. The way she kissed me like she was starving and I was the last thing on earth that could feed her.

Like six years apart hadn't changed a damn thing.

I inhale sharply, rolling my shoulders back, shaking off the thought like an unwanted touch.

Control. Discipline. That is what makes me who I am.

Not Ellie. Not the past.

I force my mind back into focus, setting the glass down with a sharp clink against the marble surface.

The knock on my door comes precisely at noon.

"Come in," I say, voice smooth, composed.

Claire steps inside, holding a folder, ever the image of efficiency.

"The lunch meeting has been moved to twelve-thirty as requested," she says. "Your driver will be ready in twenty minutes."

I nod. "Good."

She hesitates.

I glance up, arching a brow. "Something else?"

She shifts slightly, professionalism never slipping, but there's something beneath it. Something curious.

"Anthony Vasquez called again," she says. "He insisted the meeting couldn't be delayed."

I exhale through my nose.

Anthony Vasquez is an idiot if he thinks I will entertain anything I do not want to entertain.

I lean against the edge of my desk, tilting my head slightly. "What did you tell him?"

"That you were unavailable."

"And?"

"And," she pauses, "that if he has an issue with the reschedule, he can take it up with Baldwin Lux legal."

I smirk, just slightly. "Good."

Claire hesitates for another fraction of a second.

"Say it," I instruct, already sensing her reluctance.

She exhales. "Is this about Ellie Crawford?"

I lift my chin, eyes steady. "No."

Lie.

She simply nods, accepting my answer, even if she doesn't believe it.

"If there's nothing else," I say smoothly, "I have a meeting to prepare for."

"Of course."

She leaves without another word.

The second the door clicks shut, I exhale, rolling my neck, the tension in my shoulders coiled too tight.

I move to the window again, staring down at the streets below. The city is moving, shifting, alive.

Indifferent to the past.

I should be too.

Another sip of whiskey, another controlled breath.

I remind myself of who I am.

Not someone who clings to the past.

- An Hour Later

The restaurant is high-end. Elegant. Private.

A necessary choice for a meeting like this.

I sit at the head of the table, the executives in front of me nodding along as I outline the details of our newest expansion. The conversation flows effortlessly, every word measured, every response precise.

This is my domain.

Where I thrive.

The meeting progresses. I say all the right things, make all the right moves. I secure another investment, another deal, another win.

But even as I shake hands, even as I step outside into the city air, something lingers.

Something I don't have time for.

My phone buzzes.

I glance at it.

Mia

1:47 PM

I'm outside your building.

I let out a slow breath.

Of course she is.

Juliet

1:47

I'm not in my building.

I hail my driver instead. If Mia wants to talk, she'll have to wait.

I slide into the backseat of the car, my eyes focused ahead. I tell myself I am unbothered.

That I am unaffected.

But as the car pulls into traffic, I catch my reflection in the glass.

And for the briefest second,

I don't believe myself.