BACK TO BLACK

CHAPTER 5

Roxanne pov



The scent of my childhood home—a mix of vanilla candles and old wood—filled the air as I perched on the edge of my bed, curling a strand of my hair. The familiar creak of the floorboards outside my door was all the warning I got before it flew open. Rona burst in, arms draped in what looked like her entire closet, the hangers clinking together like wind chimes. She dumped the pile onto my bed, sending my throw pillows flying.

"Okay, what screams over twenty-one?" she asked, breathless and grinning. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and I knew she wasn’t about to settle for anything less than drama. Typical Rona. She had months before her birthday but was always in a rush to grow up.

I sighed, setting my curling iron down. "Hard to say while they’re still on the bed," I teased, gesturing to the heap of fabric.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing the first thing on the pile—a cream sweater dress that hit mid-thigh. She slipped it on and twirled, her reflection in my childhood mirror catching the glow of the fairy lights strung along its frame. "This?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Perfect," I said, meaning it. But Rona was Rona, and one twirl wasn’t enough. She tried on a second outfit—a backless black sequin dress with a layered hem. When she paired it with knee-high flat boots, she looked like she’d just walked off a runway.

"Drama queen," I muttered under my breath, smiling as she struck a pose. "But it works."

I finished my look: blue denim shorts, a black crop top, and knee-high heeled boots. My black leather jacket hung on the back of my chair, ready to complete the outfit. Standing next to Rona in front of the mirror, we were the same height, our boots making us look like we meant business.

My phone beeped with a text from Ivy informing me she was there. She’d invited her co-star, Mabelle Hale, who was wrapping up a shoot in D.C. and wanted to celebrate before heading back to L.A.

The plan was simple: dinner at Capitol Mix downstairs, drinks upstairs, and then who knows what. It was Monday night, but who cared? We didn’t have the 9-to-5 grind tying us down.

As Rona adjusted her dress one last time, I caught a glimpse of my old life in the reflection—a room full of memories, echoes of who I used to be. But tonight wasn’t about looking back. It was about the music, the lights, and the kind of freedom that came with knowing tomorrow didn’t have to start at sunrise.

The black limousine purred quietly outside our house, its sleek, glossy surface catching the glow of streetlights. Inside, the leather seats smelled faintly of a new car and faintly of champagne. As I slid in, I found myself face-to-face with Mabelle.

Her brown curls framed her face like a halo, each coil alive with movement as she turned to greet us. The warm, golden undertones of her skin seemed to glow under the soft interior lights, and when she smiled, her cheeks dimpled, deep and endearing.

"Hi," she said, her hazel eyes lighting up like the first sip of something sweet and strong. Her voice carried an effortless warmth, the kind that immediately put everyone at ease.

Ivy introduced us, but Mabelle already felt like someone I’d known for years. Her energy filled the space between us, and as we settled in for the ride, I found myself thinking: this night might just live up to the hype.

Dinner at Capitol Mix was a lively blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and the kind of chatter that didn’t need to stick to any particular topic. The restaurant's warm lighting and soft hum of background music set the perfect tone for our conversation, which bounced from current TV dramas to ridiculous childhood memories and back again.

Mabelle fit right in, her laugh ringing out like a melody, contagious and genuine. She shared behind-the-scenes stories from her TV show, and by the time our appetizers arrived, we were already exchanging inside jokes.

At one point, between bites of her perfectly grilled salmon, she mentioned she'd be attending the wedding. My fork paused midair, and I looked up, surprised but pleased. "Really? That’s awesome," I said, my smile mirroring hers.

I liked the idea of seeing her again, especially in a setting like that. Mabelle had this magnetic energy about her—warm and easygoing, the kind of vibe that made you feel instantly comfortable. By the time we moved upstairs for drinks, it felt like she’d been part of the group forever.

We took the elevator to the club which thrummed with life, a pulsating heart of neon lights and electric energy. Music poured out in waves, a hypnotic beat that wrapped around everybody in the room, compelling them to move as if in a trance. Shadows danced across walls adorned with sleek, modern art, while the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume, spilled cocktails, and anticipation. Conversations hummed at the edges, fragments of laughter and secret exchanges blending into the rhythm of the night. It was a world apart, where time blurred, and the outside world ceased to exist.

Ivy had booked a VIP section for us where we were led. Rona was looking around probably for her friends who had sneaked in too. The section was a sanctuary of exclusivity, perched above the main floor like a private kingdom overlooking its realm. Velvet ropes marked the entrance, where only the privileged few slipped through. Inside, the lighting was softer, a golden glow illuminating plush leather seating and low glass tables adorned with bottles of champagne on ice and crystal glasses waiting to be filled. A private bar gleamed in the corner, its bartender crafting top-shelf cocktails with effortless precision. The air was cooler here, quieter but charged with a palpable sense of importance, where deals were sealed with a handshake, secrets were whispered, and the night stretched luxuriously long. The seats were the epitome of comfort and style, a perfect blend of sophistication and indulgence. Oversized and upholstered in rich, buttery leather, they came in deep shades of black or jewel tones that caught the golden light. Their high backs and padded armrests cradled guests in a cocoon of luxury, inviting them to lounge with an air of effortless elegance. The seats were strategically arranged in semicircles or intimate clusters around low, polished tables, fostering a sense of connection while maintaining exclusivity. Every detail, from the meticulous stitching to the subtle gleam of metallic accents, whispered of opulence tailored for those who expected nothing less.

Rona was gone before I could finish my sentence, her excitement pulling her toward the entrance like a magnet. "My friends are here!" she called over her shoulder, vanishing into the crowd.

I sighed, lifting my drink. "If you need one, come get it here!" I called after her, hoping my voice carried over the pulsing bass. Telling Rona not to drink was a lost cause. Steering her toward something manageable was the next best thing.

The VIP section was alive with movement—people swaying to the beat, laughter spilling over from every direction. Some danced solo, eyes closed, lost in the rhythm. Others paired off, bodies pressed close. Drinks were raised in silent toasts, numbers exchanged with fleeting smiles. It was chaos and connection all at once.

Then, through the haze of lights and bodies, a familiar figure caught my eye. He stood near the bar, deep in conversation with another guy, his posture relaxed, one hand tucked in his pocket. As if sensing my gaze, he turned. Our eyes met. Recognition flickered, then locked in place.

A slow grin spread across my lips as I lifted a hand in a small wave. He hesitated for half a second before stepping toward me, cutting through the crowd with an easy confidence.

The bartender slid our drinks onto the table just as I rose to greet him.

"Even the universe is bringing us closer at this point," Kai murmured, his voice warm with amusement. His arm brushed against my back as he leaned in, his lips grazing my cheek in a quick, familiar hello.

I tilted my head, studying him. "I thought you left for New York already."

But he wasn’t listening. His gaze had shifted past me, lingering where I’d been sitting. His brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly before his expression cleared with sudden recognition.

"Belle?" His voice lifted in surprise.

I turned, following his line of sight. Mabelle had looked up at the sound of her name, her hazel eyes locking onto his.

"Mal?" she breathed.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face, a memory surfacing, maybe. The space between them seemed to shrink and stretch all at once, like time rewinding to a version of them I didn’t know.

I had completely forgotten they knew each other.