CHAPTER ONE
1440 Words
The bar smelled like cheap whiskey, lust, and strong male hormones,
Lyra Callen slid another glass across the sticky counter, ignoring the man’s leering eyes as she turned on her heel. Her black boots echoed on the floor, scuffed from too many nights like this. Music thrummed low in the background—a sultry rhythm matching the ache in her chest.
Tonight wasn’t about work.
Tonight was about forgetting.
She’d clocked out an hour ago but hadn’t moved. The whiskey she nursed had long gone warm in her hand, but she clung to it like a lifeline. If she let go, her mind would drift—to them.
Her boyfriend.
Her best friend.
Their bodies tangled together on her couch.
Her hand tightened around the glass.
“You gonna keep staring at that drink or order another?”
The voice cut through the haze—deep, rough, male. A voice that didn’t belong here. Too calm. Too confident.
Lyra looked up.
He stood across from her at the bar, towering, dark-haired, broad-shouldered. He wore black like a second skin—leather jacket, dark jeans, sharp boots. His face was sculpted, handsome in a feral way. Dangerous. Like a man who could tear through you or kiss you breathless.
His eyes caught hers. Pale gray, nearly silver. Not human. Not normal.
Her lips parted, unsure what to say.
“I, uh…” she glanced at her glass. “I didn’t nnotice you.”
“You were too busy being somewhere else.”
He slid into the seat next to her. Close—too close. She caught a scent on him: smoky pine, rain-soaked earth, and something wild. Her heart stuttered.
“I’m Ronan,” he said.
“Lyra.” Her voice was soft, caught in her throat.
He gave a slow nod. “Pretty name. Doesn’t suit this place.”
“What, this place doesn’t allow girls with pretty names to be sad?”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Only if you tell me why.”
She studied him. Most men in bars had one thing in mind. She knew that look. Ronan was different—there was something primal in his stillness. Like a predator who could wait hours before striking.
“Maybe I’m not in the mood to talk,” she muttered, turning her glass.
“And yet…” he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, “you haven’t walked away.”
She felt the shiver crawl up her spine.
He was right.
Something about him made her skin buzz. Her blood heat.
“I just broke up with my boyfriend,” she said finally. “Found him in bed with my best friend.”
“Hmm.” Ronan didn’t sound surprised. He sipped from a drink she hadn’t seen the bartender give him. “People betray. It’s what they do.”
“Thanks for the comfort,” she said dryly.
“I’m not here to comfort you, Lyra.”
His voice lowered, rough with something darker. “I’m here because something about you… calls to me.”
Her breath caught.
“What kind of line is that?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t playful. It was like watching a storm gather behind calm clouds.
“The truth.”
She should have gotten up. Walked away. Gone home and cried into her pillow like she had the night before.
But something about Ronan made her sit still.
No—made her want to stay.
She glanced at his hands—large, calloused, strong. His wrist bore a faint scar that traced beneath his sleeve. He was rough, unpolished… and yet there was something controlled about him, like a beast caged just behind those pale eyes.
“You always walk into bars and tell women they ‘call’ to you?” she asked, arching a brow.
Ronan tilted his head slightly, those silver eyes glowing faintly in the low light. “No. Only you.”
That shouldn’t have made her stomach flutter. But it did.
Lyra looked away quickly and signaled the bartender. “Another,” she murmured, pushing her glass forward.
“You don’t need more liquor,” Ronan said smoothly, voice like velvet and smoke. “You need… release.”
She turned to him sharply. “Excuse me?”
“Release,” he repeated, low and steady. “From the pain. From the betrayal. From the weight in your chest. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Not to drink. To feel something else. Or maybe nothing at all.”
Her heart slammed. She didn’t like how well he read her. How he stripped her down with just words.
“You don’t know me,” she said quietly.
“No. But I know that look.” His voice dropped a notch, rougher now. “You want to forget. I can help you forget.”
She felt it then—his hand, brushing lightly against her thigh under the counter. Not aggressive. Not demanding. Just a touch. Just an offer.
Lyra should have find it repulsive and slapped him. But instead… she leaned into it.it actually feels good.
“You don’t waste time,” she whispered.
“I don’t play games.”
The air between them tightened, charged. Heat rippled down her spine. She didn’t even remember nodding. Didn’t remember standing.
Only that the next moment, they were leaving the bar.
---
The motel was just across the street. Cheap, quiet, anonymous.
The door clicked shut behind them.
He turned to her, breathing deep, like he was scenting her.
“Take off your coat,” he said.
She stared at him. “Are you always this—”
“Yes.”
Lyra laughed nervously, then shrugged off her coat. She was still wearing her work shirt—black, fitted, low neckline. Ronan’s eyes dropped to her chest, then slowly met her gaze again.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, closing the distance.
His lips met hers with surprising softness. But it didn’t stay soft. The kiss deepened, hot and consuming. His hand slid to her waist, fingers gripping like he owned her, while her own hands tangled in his hair.
He tasted like danger and midnight. Like the kind of mistake that feels too good to stop.
When he pulled her down onto the bed, her pulse thundered. She let him unbutton her shirt, each press of his hands leaving trails of fire. Her breath hitched as he leaned down, lips brushing along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled against her skin.
She didn’t. Couldn’t.
She wanted to drown in this. In him.
---
Hours later…
She woke up alone.
The sheets beside her were cold. The room dim, silent.
For a moment, she lay there—naked, tangled in the scent of him, still tasting him on her lips.
Then panic gripped her.
What have I done?
She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. The memories flashed fast—his mouth, his hands, the way he made her body sing. But also… the way he looked at her. Like he knew something.
And now he was gone.
---
Flashback — One Week Earlier
“Jason, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
Lyra stood in the doorway of her boyfriend's apartment, frozen. Her boyfriend of two years sat on the couch—shirtless. Next to him, tangled in a blanket, was her best friend, Kayla.
Neither of them looked sorry.
Jason stood up lazily, scratching the back of his head. “It just happened, Lyra. You were always busy. Always running off to work.”
Tears burned her eyes. “So you screw my best friend because I had a job?”
Kayla didn’t even flinch. “Don’t be dramatic. You two were basically over anyway.”
That night, Lyra packed a bag, slammed the door, and wandered the city until she found that dingy little bar. The place no one from her past would ever walk into.
She’d been looking for something—anything—to drown the heartbreak.
She found Ronan instead.
---
Back to Present
Lyra stood under the motel shower, hot water pouring over her skin like it could erase what happened. But it didn’t.
Worse—she didn’t want to forget.
And that scared her.
She dried off quickly, dressed, and fled the motel room without looking back.
By the time the sun rose, she was on a bus to another city.
No phone calls. No goodbye. Just a name echoing in her mind.
Ronan.
And the way her body still burned for him.
---
- Writer
