The Beginning of the End
Ring... Ring...
Clang. "Hello...?"
"Hazel? It’s Asher." The bass from the club thrummed through the phone, a rhythmic vibration that seemed to mock the quiet stillness of Hazel’s kitchen.
"You need to get down to Hill Valley Club right now. Dan is... he’s out of control. He’s drunk, he’s making a scene, and he’s refusing to leave. You’re the only one who can handle him. Hurry."
Hazel’s heart plummeted. "I'm on my way! Please, just keep him safe until I get there."
She hung up, her hands trembling. Minutes ago, she had been humming a soft tune while stirring a pot of beef bourguignon.
For five years, she had been Dan Marcer’s sanctuary. From the golden days at Rulan University to the day he slipped a diamond onto her finger, she believed they were building a loving castle of two.
She caught a whiff of herself—onions and steam. I can’t show up like this...
She dashed into the shower, scrubbing her skin until it glowed pink, then threw on her most comfortable jeans and a loose top. She didn't care about fashion at that moment. All she cared about the man she thought was drowning in whiskey.
---
The Hill Valley Club was a fortress of exquisite glass and gold colour interior, a playground for the 1%. Hazel rushed past the valet, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
As she neared the VIP wing, a specific roar of laughter drew her toward Lounge 402. The heavy designed door was propped open an inch—an intentional, cruel invitation.
Hazel reached for the handle, her fiancée instinct ready to go into damage control. But the sight that met her eyes turned her blood into liquid nitrogen.
Dan wasn't slumped over a table. He wasn't drunk at all in any way that impaired his motor skills.
Aurora, the childhood sweetheart who had supposedly been away for whatever reasons—was draped across him. She was straddling his lap, her dress hiked up to her hips, her thighs squeezing his waist.
Dan’s hands weren't pushing her away; one was clamped firmly onto her lower back, crushing her pelvis against his, while the other was tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose the long, pale line of her throat.
They were locked in a kiss so visceral, so carnal, that the air in the room seemed to smoke. It was a wet, rhythmic exchange of breath and tongue. Dan was groaning into her mouth, a low, guttural sound of surrender.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" the group chanted, fueled by the spectacle.
"Dan... if you're uncomfortable, you don't have to," Aurora whispered against his lips, her voice a sultry provocation. "I can ask Asher."
"I'll help you," Dan growled, his voice thick with a lust Hazel hadn't heard in months.
He didn't just kiss her. He reclaimed her whole body. His hand slid from her waist, moving upward with a predatory slowness until his fingers sprawled across her breast. Through the thin, expensive fabric of her dress, he began to roll her n****e between his thumb and forefinger, his grip firm and demanding.
Aurora let out a jagged moan, her back arching as she pressed herself harder against him.
Dan leaned down, his teeth sinking into the fabric covering her chest. He bit down on her n****e through the cover, tugging sharply, causing Aurora to cry out in a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated pleasure.
They moved together with a rhythmic, desperate friction, their bodies grinding in a way that made it clear they were seconds away from finishing what they started right there on the comfy sofa.
"Ah… Hazel? When did you get here?" Asher called out, his voice a theatrical explosion of feigned surprise.
The friction on the sofa slowed. Dan pulled his face away from Aurora’s chest, his lips slick and swollen. He didn't scramble. He didn't even try to push Aurora off his lap. He just looked at Hazel with a cold, glassy indifference, his hand still resting possessively on Aurora’s thigh.
"Listen, Hazel, don't take it the wrong way," Dan said, his voice husky and deep from the arousal still coursing through him. "It was just a dare. I was helping Aurora with her dare."
Aurora stayed draped over him, her cheek resting against his chest as she looked at Hazel with eyes full of triumphant pity.
"Please don't misunderstand Dan. Hazel, is it? Dan and I are childhood sweethearts. He just didn't want me to kiss some stranger for a game."
Hazel wanted to scream. To cry. To do something - anything. To yank Aurora's perfect curls from her scalp. But nothing came out.
"It's okay," Hazel whispered, her voice a ghostly wail forced through a throat that felt like it was filled with broken glass. "You guys continue. I... I need to use the restroom."
She turned and fled. The chatter picked up instantly—laughter and the low, muffled sound of Dan leaning back into Aurora’s heat.
Hazel barely made it to the restroom stall before the sobs tore out of her. She leaned against the door, her lungs burning. Her mind replayed the loop: Dan’s teeth on Aurora’s skin, the way he had looked at her like she was his entire world, the way they moved together like they were one person.
Was she just a placeholder? The girl who cooked his meals while he waited for the first love to return?
When the tears finally slowed, she stood and faced the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot. She splashed freezing water over her face, scrubbing at the evidence of her pain.
This is it...she whispered.
---
