His Obsession, My Ruin

Guilty Conscience

Chapter 5

Melanie's POV

The music pulsed like a second heartbeat, low and primal, laced with synth and bass that made the velvet walls of the club feel like they were breathing.

Aria had dragged me out tonight with the promise of “no drama, just shots and serotonin.” Riley, her boyfriend, was already tucked into a corner booth, halfway through a drink and chatting with two guys I didn’t recognize.

She’d come dressed the same as always, red-dyed hair flowing down her shoulders, the skimpiest shirt she could find, and an attitude that made it seem like she was powered by pure chaos.

Aria clinked her glass against mine and leaned in. “Don’t look so stiff. You look like someone brought their therapist to the club.”

I rolled my eyes, even as I took a sip of the drink she shoved into my hand. “Well, you should have thought about that before you brought them along.”

I gestured to Riley and his “friends.”

“It wasn’t my idea, I swear,” she said. “Either way, loosen up.”

“I had a long day.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all have long days, Mels.” She gestured around with her glass. “That’s why this exists. The bass, the cocktails, and the lighting that makes your ex’s new girlfriend look like a swamp goblin.”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” I laughed.

She smiled, pretending to lose her balance. “A teeny weeny bit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I wish Idris was here, you know.”

“And why isn’t he?”

“He said he was too tired.”

The words tasted ridiculous even as I said them, because last night should have meant something. I had given him every part of me I knew how to give, every soft, desperate, foolish part that still wanted him to look at me like I mattered. And for a while, he had. For a while, his hands, his mouth, his voice, and the way he claimed me had made me believe we were still us.

But morning came, and nothing had changed.

He was still distant. Still busy. Still somewhere I couldn’t reach unless he wanted me there. So maybe that was why the club felt easier than the apartment tonight. Maybe loud music and Aria’s reckless laughter were better than sitting at home, waiting to be chosen by a man who already had me.

Aria snorted. “He’s always too tired. He’s never gonna come to one of these with you, or is he worried he’ll get mistaken for a fun person?”

Actually, I wasn’t even supposed to be at one of these; my father would freak if he found out. Aria was just too much of a bad influence.

“He works hard,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. “Besides, I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Hmm.” Aria sipped from her straw, eyes glinting. “You sure about that?”

She tilted her chin toward the bar.

A man stood leaning against it, holding a glass of something amber. He wasn’t subtle about watching me. Older than most of the crowd, mid-thirties maybe, with sharp cheekbones and the kind of smirk that said he’d never heard the word "no" without laughing.

I gave Aria a look. “Seriously?”

“Don’t 'seriously' me. You’ve been staring at your phone all night like it’s gonna text you back.”

“I wasn’t...”

“You were. Don’t lie, Mels. It’s sad.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“And you’re stunning tonight. Black dress, heels, and that thing you do with your eyes when you’re pretending not to be bored? You’re the damn main character. You don’t even see it, do you?”

I glanced at the man again. His gaze didn’t waver.

“I see it,” I muttered. “I just don’t need it.”

Aria grinned. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”

“Good luck.” She stood and started to walk away.

“No.” I tried to hold on to her clothes, but there was practically nothing to feel. “Aria!”

I knew what she was doing.

She winked at me and disappeared into the crowd. Before I had time to process it, the guy from the bar had already made his way to me.

“Let me guess,” the man said, sliding into the empty space beside me. “You’re either someone important or avoiding someone who is.”

I blinked. He had a voice like smoke, the kind that didn’t raise itself to compete with the music; it pulled you in closer. His eyes were dark, full of humor and something more dangerous underneath.

“I’m just here for the overpriced drinks,” I said, lifting my glass.

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Then allow me to buy your next overpriced drink. Seems criminal to be drinking alone when you’re clearly the most interesting person in the room.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“I’m a bold guy.”

I laughed lightly, more than I should have. Too much champagne. Too much adrenaline. Too much Aria in my head.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Let’s not ruin this with details.” He winked. “Unless you want mine. In that case, it’s Adrian. With an A.”

“Melanie with an M.”

He leaned a fraction closer. “You’ve got that ‘everybody’s watching me’ kind of presence.”

“I think that’s just the lighting,” I muttered, but I didn’t step away.

His gaze dropped for a second to the neckline of my dress, then came back to my eyes. No apology in it. But not sleazy, either. Just confident. Comfortable in his skin.

“Is your date coming back?” he asked.

“I didn’t come with one,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Even better.”

I should’ve shut it down there. I wasn’t stupid. I had a fiancé, but something about this stranger, his ease, his voice, and the way he looked at me like I was worth something without needing a surname, made me linger.

Aria’s words echoed in my head.

“You’re always the loyal one.”

Like it was a bad thing. Like being dependable made me predictable.

Adrian’s fingers brushed the edge of my glass as he reached for his own. Just a brush. Nothing scandalous. But it felt like a current.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” he said slowly.

Well, that was a first. I was amused.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

His gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips. “Make your mind go completely blank for five seconds.”

My mouth dried. I didn’t say yes, but the problem was I didn’t say no either.

The next thing I knew, his hand had settled near my waist, not gripping, not forcing, just close enough for my body to notice. He leaned in slightly, and suddenly, his lips were close enough for the rest of the room to blur.

“So, wanna see it?” he whispered.

His eyes locked on mine, waiting. Not demanding. Just offering. Like he already knew the answer.

For one terrifying second, I wondered what it would feel like to be wanted without begging for it.

Then logic hit me like cold water.

Idris.

My life.

The promises I hadn’t broken.

I turned my head sharply, breath catching. His lips brushed my cheek instead, barely. Like even the universe had flinched with me.

"I…" I took a step back, voice unsteady. “I shouldn’t.”

Adrian’s gaze didn’t drop. No anger. Just a quiet, knowing smirk.

“Shame. That would’ve been one hell of a magic trick.”

I forced a tight smile, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “You should write greeting cards.”

And then I walked away, heels shaking a little with every step, like guilt had started living in my bones.

The cold hit harder than expected when I stepped out of the club, like the city was punishing me for something I hadn’t fully done. I didn’t even try to find Aria. I couldn’t handle her questions, not with my pulse still crawling all over my skin.

I walked a few steps before stopping, arms wrapped around myself, regretting every clicking step of the night.

What the hell was I thinking?

His name wasn’t even real. Or maybe it was. I hadn’t cared. For five seconds, I’d let a stranger lean into me like he had a right, and I hadn’t flinched.

Do I even feel chosen anymore?

The question landed like a bruise.

I pulled out my phone. No texts from Idris. No missed calls. Nothing.

Just silence.

When I got home, the apartment was dark except for the glow of Idris’s laptop.

He was slumped on the couch, one arm draped across his chest, the other dangling over a half-empty whiskey glass. His tie was loosened, shirt half-untucked, the way he got when sleep snuck up on him mid-email.

He stirred as the door clicked shut behind me.

“You’re late,” he mumbled, eyes barely opening.

“I know.”

He didn’t wait for more. His breathing evened out again, deep and unbothered.

I stood there for a second, coat still on, watching him sleep. And for a moment, I didn’t feel guilty. I felt displaced. Like a ghost in my own living room.

I walked to the bathroom, stripped off the dress like it was something shameful, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. Let it burn away everything: the flirtation, the champagne, and Aria’s voice in my head.

When I stepped out, my skin was flushed raw, but I didn’t feel cleaner.

I needed comfort. Something familiar. Idris’s old hoodie, the soft one that smelled like laundry and aftershave, would do.

I padded into the bedroom and opened his wardrobe, flipping past suit after suit.

Nothing.

I crouched to check the lower shelf, then started moving folded clothes and checking the pockets of the pants he always threw there out of habit. A flash of white caught my eye.

I pulled it out.

A price tag from La Rue Noire.

Luxury lingerie.

My pulse stuttered as I turned it over. Black lace set. Size small. Final sale. Paid in-store.

Final sale.

Not my brand. Not something I’d ever wear. Not something I’d ever seen.

I sat back on my heels, staring at the tiny tag like it was a lit matchstick. What was it doing in the pocket of his favorite suit pants?

Was it a gift?

But there was no box. No receipt on the dresser. No clue that it was meant for me.

I checked the drawers. Mine first, then his.

And there it was.

A black box with gold stripes, with the date of our anniversary stuck to the top.

My heart dropped at the sight.

Something felt wrong about how quickly my mind had decided to suspect him. A question popped into my head.

A few hours ago, if I saw the receipt, would I have even batted an eye?

Did I look for the box out of curiosity or out of fear born from my own guilt?