The club throbbed with life—bass vibrating through the floor, strobes painting the walls in flashes of purple and gold.
Celeste stepped inside, instantly swallowed by the crowd, the music, the heat. It was overwhelming—and maybe that was the point. She didn't have to think here. Didn't have to feel every echo of Leon's words.
Damien slid in beside her, eyes scanning the room. He looked good—clean button-down rolled at the sleeves, relaxed smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"Too loud?" he shouted over the music.
She shook her head. "Too perfect."
He laughed, then held out his hand. "One drink?"
She hesitated. Then took it.
The bar was packed, but Damien moved like someone who belonged in every room. He leaned in, ordered smoothly, then passed her a tall glass glowing faintly pink under the lights.
"To bad decisions," he toasted.
Celeste arched an eyebrow. "You're such a good influence."
"I'm a fantastic influence," he said, grinning. "You just usually don't need saving."
They clinked glasses.
The drink burned, but it brought color to her face, loosened something inside her chest.
Minutes blurred into hours. They danced—nothing wild, just swaying, spinning, laughing when someone stepped on Damien's shoe or when Celeste bumped into a girl in stilettos who looked ready to start a fight.
And for the first time that day… she smiled. Not a fake one. Not for show.
Real.
Her hair stuck to her neck, her voice was nearly gone, and her heels were punishing—but she felt alive.
Damien leaned in as the DJ switched to something slower, less electric.
"Better than moping on the couch?"
Celeste looked up at him, eyes glassy but clear.
"I forgot," she said softly.
He blinked. "Forgot what?"
"How to breathe without him."
Damien didn't respond right away. He just reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, gentle.
"You don't need him to breathe, Cel."
Her smile faded a little, but she nodded.
And somewhere between the flickering lights and the steady beat, a piece of her began to come back.