Chapter Ten : The Distance Between Us.....
1042 Words
MOLTEN’S BAR……
Scott had never been a heavy drinker.
But that night—
“Whiskey,” he muttered to himself. “We’re drinking whiskey.”
He didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Maybe himself.
Maybe the version of him that had started questioning his sanity.
The bar he chose wasn’t public in the usual sense. Not many people came there. It was his bar. A private establishment hidden behind exclusivity and influence. The kind of place where entry wasn’t bought with money alone, but with status.
Dim lighting. Deep blue undertones. Polished black marble floors. Expensive silence.
Scott sat alone at the counter.
“One more,” he said flatly.
The bartender didn’t argue.
The glass touched the counter with a soft clink.
Scott stared into the amber liquid like it held answers.
“I’m losing it,” he murmured under his breath.
Because the dreams had returned.
Her face.
Those eyes.
The way she looked at him as if she knew him.
As if she had touched him before.
He downed the drink in one smooth motion.
Outside, a sleek black car idled quietly across the street.
His assistants had arrived earlier.
Bodyguards stepped out briefly, scanning the perimeter, but remained near the vehicle. They didn’t interrupt him. They knew better than to disturb him when he was like this.
WESTBRIDGE……
“I need to go for a walk,” Gretchen had said quietly.
Pressly had grabbed her arm immediately. “At this hour? Are you sure?”
“I just want to walk,” Gretchen replied. “Just for a bit.”
The truth?
She needed to observe.
To make sure no one was watching.
To confirm the strange presence she had been feeling wasn’t lingering nearby.
Pressly stayed close, fingers wrapped around Gretchen’s arm. The night made her nervous.
They walked until a glow of light caught Gretchen’s attention.
A bar.
Not just any bar.
It illuminated the entire street. Expensive cars parked outside. Soft golden lighting spilling onto the pavement.
Pressly stopped.
“Gretchen… this place is for rich and influential people. We can’t even afford a glass of water in there.”
But Gretchen wasn’t listening.
She felt it again.
That pull.
Not fear.
Not curiosity.
Something deeper.
Without fully understanding why, she walked toward it.
Pressly followed reluctantly.
They noticed the black car.
They noticed the men in dark suits standing nearby.
But they assumed it was just security for some wealthy guests.
Nothing more.
They entered inside.
Pressly's eyes widened in awe.
The atmosphere was breathtaking.
Crystal lights suspended from the ceiling like constellations. Velvet booths. Music low and controlled. Every detail deliberate.
There were very few people.
_Of course, it's for only influential figures. What am I expecting?_ Pressly said inwardly.
“I don’t belong here,” she whispered.
Gretchen didn’t answer.
Her gaze scanned the room slowly.
And then—
She saw him.
Scott.
Sitting alone at the bar.
Whiskey in hand.
Her breath caught.
The world seemed to narrow.
It was him.
The man from her memories.
The man whose touch once made her knees weaken.
The man who used to hold her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She remembered how he used to look at her in Malibu.
How his hands would trace her skin with quiet hunger.
How he would leave her breathless—
Not from recklessness.
From intimacy.
From intensity.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
She wanted to run to him.
To hold him.
To feel if he was real.
But she stayed still.
Pressly also scanned the area. She didn't notice Scott. Her eyes caught something else. A door with the inscription “Game Room.”
She was filled with euphoria as she was someone who was very easy to please. She turned to Gretchen. “I'll be back in a jiffy, wait for me.”
She didn't even notice Gretchen's absentmindedness. She just ran off and headed towards the door. She took a deep breath. _Even though I don't participate, at least viewing and admiring would do no harm._ With that the door opened on its own. _Wow! It already knows I want to get in. Unbelievable!_ With that being said, she got in and the door shut.
Gretchen kept looking at Scott, like the world didn't matter anymore.
Scott felt it.
That strange awareness again.
He lifted his head slowly.
And there she was.
The same girl from his dreams.
Standing in his reality.
He stared.
Not blinking.
His grip tightened around the glass.
She looked exactly the same.
Those eyes.
That presence.
“Impossible…” he muttered.
Gretchen bit her lower lip unconsciously, fighting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between them.
Their eyes locked.
Time stretched.
She searched his face desperately for recognition.
Anything.
A flicker.
A memory.
But all she saw was confusion.
And frustration.
Scott stood abruptly.
The chair scraped against the floor.
He walked toward her without breaking eye contact.
Gretchen’s heart pounded violently.
He stopped in front of her.
Too close.
His scent hit her.
Familiar.
Painfully familiar.
Without thinking, he grabbed her arm.
“Why are you everywhere?” he demanded, his voice low and strained. “Why do you keep showing up in my dreams? In my head? Who are you?”
The words hit her like a blade.
She swallowed hard.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to scream at him.
She wanted to remind him of every moment they had shared.
But instead, her voice came out soft.
“You still don’t remember me?”
He stared at her like she had lost her mind.
“Remember you? I’ve never seen you in my life.”
Her heart shattered silently.
The queen inside her—the strong, authoritative woman—felt small in that moment.
Because the man she loved was looking at her like she was a stranger.
Scott’s jaw tightened.
“Why are you tormenting me?” he demanded. “What do you want from me?”
“Scott…. I…..” Before she could answer, Pressly returned.
Both Gretchen and Scott turned towards her direction.
“Gretchen I had f…..” She halted as her eyes widened at the scene before her.
- Writer
