Too late to regret

The bass from the club below thrummed through the soles of my heels, a rhythmic reminder of a life I no longer felt part of.

"To Maya! To freedom and getting rid of dead weight!" my best friend, Sarah, shouted over the music, hoisting a neon-colored shot glass.

I forced my lips into a practiced curve-the same fake smile I'd been wearing for the last three hours. "To freedom," I echoed, tilting the glass back. The liquid burned, but it didn't touch the cold void in my chest.

My friends meant well. They thought a night at The Onyx was the cure for a three-year secret marriage ending in a cold-blooded divorce. They didn't know that every time a slow song played, I could still feel Julian's hand on the small of my back. They didn't know that the "settlement" check sitting in my purse felt like blood money."I'm just going to the restroom," I whispered to Sarah after another thirty minutes of pretending to dance.

"Don't be long! The DJ is about to play your favorite!"

I nodded, keeping the smile tucked into place until I turned the corner toward the VIP hallway. The air was cooler here, dimmed by velvet wallpaper and soft gold lighting. I didn't head for the restroom. Instead, I pushed open a heavy oak door to a darkened lounge, desperate for a single moment where I didn't have to perform.

The room was silent, smelling of expensive cedar and aged bourbon. I leaned against the back of a leather armchair, and finally, the mask shattered.

The first sob felt like a physical tear in my throat. Then came the rest-a silent, shaking deluge of three years of suppressed loneliness, of being a secret, of being discarded for a woman who "fit the image." I gripped the leather until my knuckles turned white, my head bowed as I cried my eyes out for the girl who had been foolish enough to believe in fated love.

I was so lost in the sound of my own grief that I didn't hear the leather creak.

I didn't notice the shadow moving in the corner of the room.

Not until a hand appeared in my peripheral vision-large, steady, and holding a square of pristine blue silk.

I froze, my breath hitching in a jagged gasp. My eyes, blurred with tears and ruined mascara, followed the arm up. He was sitting in the shadows of a high-backed wing chair, a glass of amber liquid resting on the side table.He didn't say a word. He just kept the handkerchief stretched in my direction.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, frantically wiping at my cheeks with my palms, only making the black streaks worse. "I didn't realize anyone was in here. I'll leave."

"The silk is better for the skin than your hands," a voice rumbled. It was deep, smooth, and held a command that made the air in the room feel heavy.

I hesitantly reached out, my fingers brushing his. A small jolt of electricity-sharp and unexpected-snapped through my skin. I took the handkerchief; it was warm and smelled faintly of sandalwood and something dangerously expensive.

"Thank you," I whispered, dabbing at my eyes.

"He isn't worth the ruined makeup," the man said.He leaned forward slightly, the dim light catching the sharp line of a jaw and eyes that seemed to read every secret I was trying to hide. "Whoever he is."

I stiffened, my pride flaring up through the sadness. "You don't know anything about it."

"I know that a woman who cries in the dark is usually mourning a ghost," he replied calmly. He stood up, and I realized just how much he towered over me. He was broader than Julian, more imposing, with an aura of raw power that made the penthouse I'd just left feel like a dollhouse. "Go back to your friends, Maya Thorne. The world is too small to hide in for long."

My heart stopped. "How do you know my name?"

He didn't answer. He simply picked up his glass, took a slow sip, and gestured toward the door. "Keep the handkerchief. You look like you might need it again before the night is over."I clutched the silk handkerchief, my heart hammering. "How do you know my name?" I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. "I've never met you."

"I make it my business to know the players in this city," he said, stepping fully into the light. He was devastatingly handsome, but in a way that felt dangerous-like a storm barely held in check by a three-piece suit. "And while your 'husband' kept you in the shadows, I've always found the shadows to be where the most interesting people hide."

He knew. He knew about the secret marriage. The humiliation I thought I was burying rose up, hot and stinging. "If you're looking for a scandal to use against Julian, you're too late. He's already moved on to his 'perfect' bride.""Is that what you think she is?" A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. He walked over to the small bar in the corner and poured a second glass-not bourbon, but a clear, sparkling water with a twist of lime. He held it out. "Drink. Dehydration makes for a terrible comeback story."

I took the glass, my fingers brushing his again. That same spark flared, but this time I didn't pull away. I took a sip, the coldness helping to settle the fluttering in my stomach.

"Julian Vane is a man who counts his coins and misses the gold," the stranger said, leaning against the bar with an effortless grace. "He thinks he traded up. In reality, he just traded a rare diamond for a piece of glass that shines only because of his family name."

I looked down at the blue silk in my hand. "You're very confident for someone I just met.""I'm Cyrus," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me forget how to breathe. "And I'm not confident. I'm just observant. For instance, I noticed that you've been 'smiling' for three hours, but your eyes haven't crinkled once. It's an impressive performance, Maya. You should retire it. It doesn't suit you."

I felt a genuine, small huff of a laugh escape me-the first one in weeks. "Is that your professional opinion, Mr. Cyrus?"

"It's my personal one," he replied, and for the first time, his expression softened. "There. A real smile. It's a start. It's much more expensive than anything Julian could ever buy Isabella."

The mention of my name and that slight jab at Julian's new life felt like a secret weapon being handed to me. For the first time since signing those papers, I didn't feel like a discarded object. I felt seen.

"I should go," I said, setting the glass down. "My friends will be looking for me."

"Of course," Cyrus said, bowing his head slightly. "But remember, Maya-the next time you want to cry, do it because you're winning. It's much more satisfying."

As I turned to leave, his voice caught me at the door one last time.

"Keep the handkerchief. Consider it a down payment on our next meeting."

I walked back into the loud, pulsing heat of the club, but the noise didn't bother me anymore. I felt the weight of the silk in my pocket-a blue promise from a man who seemed to know my worth better than the man I had been married to for three years.