Chapter 3: Shots, Sass & Sadness
The neon glow of Velvet Room Lounge shimmered against Zara's car window as she pulled up. The valet barely had time to open her door before she was out—heels clicking, perfume trailing, heartbreak masked beneath red lipstick and attitude.
The bass from inside the club was already vibrating through the pavement.
She needed this.
Inside, the lounge was moody and intimate—velvet seats, low golden lighting, chandeliers shaped like upside-down wine glasses, and a DJ spinning remixes of old-school Rihanna and Britney Spears.
And there by the bar stood Jessica.
A silver sequin dress. Braids twisted into a high bun. Matte black lips. Holding two shots already. She was always prepared.
Zara walked up with a deadpan expression.
Jessica raised one brow. "Girl. You look like you just murdered a man in a Versace ad."
Zara sighed. "Emotionally? I kinda did."
Jessica handed her a shot. "To grief. Corporate betrayal. And bad bitches bouncing back."
They clinked and downed the tequila.
"Okay, spill," Jessica said, motioning to the bartender. "And don't leave out anything—especially if someone cried. That makes it spicier."
Zara groaned, leaning on the counter. "Stei dragged me. In front of the whole board. Said my collection was brunch-core. Brunch-core, Jessy!"
Jessica blinked. "The disrespect."
"She called it fantasy fashion and said it wouldn't sell. Then everyone just… agreed with her. Like they were under some evil CEO spell."
Jessica rolled her eyes. "That woman gives off 'divorced three times and proud' energy."
They took another shot. Zara exhaled, the liquor warming her chest, softening the tight knot in her stomach.
"I'm so tired of pretending like I don't care," Zara said softly. "I act like I'm fine, like I'm unbothered, but I feel like I'm just one failed pitch away from breaking".
Jessica placed a hand on hers.
" Z, you've been building this empire from the ground up. One boardroom witch can't tear it down. You're the sun. She's a storm cloud. Temporary."
Zara managed a smile.
" You're annoyingly poetic when I'm spiraling".
Jessica grinned. " it's the shots. I get wise when I'm drunk".
They both took another shot—this one burning a little slower, the kind that lingered.
Jessica leaned back against the bar, watching Zara closely.
"So… you're really not gonna talk about it?" she asked softly.
Zara blinked. "Talk about what?"
Jessica gave her a look.
Zara sighed, setting her shot glass down. "David."
"Thank you. I was starting to think you hit your head and forgot you had a whole-ass boyfriend," Jessica said, folding her arms. "What's going on? You've been all cryptic."
Zara looked away, suddenly more sober than she wanted to be.
"I don't even know anymore," she muttered. "We had a huge fight last week. I confronted him because… I think he's cheating."
Jessica's brows shot up. "What? Z, are you serious?"
Zara nodded slowly. "He's been acting off. Always on his phone. Constantly defensive. Distant. Like, physically there but emotionally… checked out. So I asked him. Straight up. 'Are you seeing someone else?'"
Jessica's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"He flipped it. Started yelling. Said I didn't trust him. Made it about me. Like I was paranoid or controlling."
Jessica hissed. "Classic guilty behavior."
"Exactly," Zara said, voice cracking just a little. "And after that… he just stopped responding. No calls. No texts. Nothing."
Jessica's tone softened. "Z… I'm so sorry."
"I keep checking my phone, hoping he'll say something. Even if it's just to tell me it's over. But this silence? It's eating me alive."
Jessica slid an arm around her shoulders. "Then block him. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. He's a grown man, not a ghostwriter. If he has something to say, he should use his words."
Zara gave a half-laugh. "You and your one-liners."
"No, seriously," Jessica said, tightening her grip. "You don't beg for the bare minimum, babe. If he really gave a damn, he'd be here. He's not. But I am. And tonight? We're dancing. Not crying over a man with commitment issues and probably crooked boxers."
Zara let out a full laugh this time, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Okay. You win."
Jessica stood up, adjusting her dress like she was going to war.
"Let's go. Let the heels click. Let the floor shake. Let the exes be damned."
Zara stood too, swaying slightly from the drinks. "You're insane."
Jessica grinned. "I'm your best friend. It's basically the same thing."
Together, they disappeared into the glowing crowd and the beat of the music—two hearts healing, one shot at a time.
The night blurred into pulsing lights, endless drinks, and too many shots with names Zara couldn't remember.
She and Jessica partied hard—laughing, spinning, letting the music drown their pain. Zara's head buzzed, her feet hurt, and her words slurred. Somewhere between Rihanna's Pour It Up and a random guy offering tequila in a coconut, the world tipped sideways.
Jessica leaned in close, giggling. "Stay here—I gotta go pee."
Zara blinked at her, barely upright. "Humm… okay…"
She swayed where she stood, gripping the edge of the bar. Her vision doubled.
"Damn… I feel like throwing up," she mumbled, pressing a hand to her stomach.
But the club was packed, and the path to the bathroom felt like a labyrinth. The crowd was suffocating, loud, sweaty.
Against Jessica's drunken orders, Zara stumbled outside—heels clacking unevenly, mascara smudged, her curls sticking slightly to her forehead.
She barely made it past the valet line when her stomach gave up.
"Twah… twah—"
She leaned against a random car and vomited.
Everything.
"Ughhh… oh shit," she groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm so wasted. I can't feel my face."
Another wave hit.
Twah.
She choked out the rest of her dinner, heels wobbling beneath her, one hand gripping the car's hood for balance.
Then—
A voice. Deep, calm, and cold enough to sober her instantly.
"What the hell is this?"
She blinked, looked up slowly—and there he was.
Damien Cross.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Muscular in a way that said he worked out and fought lawsuits for sport. His jet-black suit hugged his frame like it was custom-stitched by God himself. White shirt, open collar. Curly dark hair that framed a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets. His expression?
Emotionless.
Like ice.
Zara squinted at him. "Hey… fine shyt," she slurred. "Can't you see I'm wasted? What's it look like I'm doing—taking a shower?"
She let out a drunk little snort, still leaning into the car for support.
Then her stomach dropped.
The car she had just painted with tequila and regret… was his.
She looked down at the mess, then back up at Damien.
He hadn't moved. Hadn't blinked.
Still stone cold. Still unreadable.
Zara let out a nervous, drunken giggle. "Oh. Wow. Yeah, okay. So this... might look bad."
Silence.
The wind blew softly. Her curls fluttered across her face.
Damien just stared at her like she was an unsolvable equation.