Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Rebound Night

"Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt. I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my underwear would be on full display.

"Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?" Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear.

"But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta. I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp.

Yvaine let out a dramatic groan. "Mira, come on. We're going to a bar, not an Arctic expedition."

"I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back.

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now.

I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine.

She had zero plans to follow the rules.

With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard chest like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini.

Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in.

Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant.

And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne.

The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of champagne. I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine.

She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this.

I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap.

Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels.

If I hadn't known each cocktail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off.

"Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just insulted my entire bloodline.

Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me."

I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude. Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get.

Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry.

It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power.

We found a table near the bar and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us.

Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms.

He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign. Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect.

"Two 75s, French brandy,"

Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the bartender. "Make it strong."

And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between sexy and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt."

The bartender reached effortlessly for the gin, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?"

"More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon."

I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast."

She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks."

Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch.

In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor.

"Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream sexy without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card."

I shook my head. "Nope."

Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sleep like a baby."

"Pass."

She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad."

I groaned into my hands. "Yvaine, please."

She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds."

Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system.

Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No?"

"...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels.

Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits.

Then I followed her gaze.

A half-private booth.

Rhys.

He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless.

I didn't need more details.

That face-I would never forget it.

Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances. I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys.

And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so intimate it looked less like a casual bar date and more like a budget version of Fifty Shades of Grey.

I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on.

Until I heard what came next.

"Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug."

Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just killed someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body.

She gently swirled the wine in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile. "Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?"

She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration. "Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene. She's so stupid-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your affair."

Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it."

Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his chest. "Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth."

Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a blade. "But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless."

Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside."

Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are."

A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum.

Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything stupid-but I didn't hear a word.

I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore.

I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab."

The bartender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water.

With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose.

The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from hell-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender.

I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene.

I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength.

Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of blood beginning to drip down between his brows.

Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!"

She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-"

Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake."

Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bleeding. We have to get to the hospital."

Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore. She raised her hand, ready to slap Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bitch-!"

I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently."

I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand trash."

Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond.

Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly escort these two walking health code violations off the premises."