HER SECRET,HIS BETRAYAL

CHAPTER 6:

ZANE:

By midday, my eyes are burning from staring at spreadsheets for too long. I lean back in my chair, pinch the bridge of my nose, and decide I need five minutes of quiet before my brain shuts down completely. I’ve been working nonstop since morning, meetings back to back, constant calls, emails flooding in faster than my assistant can sort them. My phone vibrates. Ethan. Of course. I answer. “What.”

“Damn, good afternoon to you too,” he laughs. “Listen, tonight we’re going out.” “No.” “Yes,” he insists. “You cancelled last time, and you promised we’d reschedule. And guess what? Today is another time.” I expect him to push harder, to whine about it, to spend ten minutes begging. But the truth is, I’m tired, and for once, I don’t feel like arguing. “Fine,” I say. There’s a pause. “Hold on… you agreed? Just like that?” “Yes.” “Are you sick?” “No.” “Blink twice if you have a gun to your head.” I sigh. “Ethan.” “Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Inferno tonight. Don’t bail.” “I won’t.”

We hang up, and I push myself back into work until the day finally ends. By the time I leave the building, the sky is a deep gradient of violet and blue, city lights flickering to life. The drive to Inferno is smooth, the kind of quiet that lets my mind drift without permission. I pull up outside the club, valet taking the keys before I even finish stepping out.

By the time the car slows to a stop outside Inferno, the sky has settled into a deep violet, neon bleeding across the sidewalk. The bass from inside rumbles faintly beneath my feet as I step out. I straighten my coat, ignoring the line of people waiting to get in. A few recognize me, or think they do, but I move quickly enough that no one has time to confirm it.

Inside, the lights are dim, casting everything in red and gold. Music thumps through the floor, steady and heavy. People laugh, drink, flirt. It’s exactly the sort of place I avoid. I spot Ethan instantly. He’s leaning against the bar, two empty glasses already in front of him, grinning like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. “There he is!” he announces the second I approach. “Mr. CEO actually showed up. I should frame this evening.” I shake my head, sitting beside him. “You said one drink.” “And I meant it. One drink… at a time.” He orders something before I can protest. The glass slides my way. I ignore it.

We talk for a bit, business, the disaster of his last date, some idiotic stunt our friend Owen pulled last week. It feels normal. Easy. Ethan thrives on chaos; I’ve always been the one cleaning up behind him. Then he shifts gears. “So,” he says, tone lighter but too pointed. “Stella?”, A scowl spreads on my face at the mention of my ex girlfriend who's still trying to get back with me after I caught her cheating with her gym instructor. “What about her?” I ask, “She still texting?”, “Occasionally.” “And…?” “And nothing,” I say plainly. “It’s done.”

He watches me for a long second, eyes narrowing. “You know, for someone who hates drama, you’ve had plenty lately.” “Ethan,” I warn. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He raises his hands in surrender. “For now.”

The lights shift above us, dimming, darkening, refocusing toward the stage. A low murmur rolls through the room. Ethan leans forward. “Showtime.” The first dancer steps onto the stage. She’s good, confident, skilled, but my attention slips almost immediately. The second is the same. Beautiful, yes. Talented, yes. But nothing that holds me. And then it happens. She steps into the light.

Gabriella.The same girl from the diner. The same green eyes I haven’t stopped thinking about for a week. Except now she isn’t wearing a polite smile or a worn apron. She’s dressed in shimmering black, hair cascading down her back, the lights catching the soft lines of her face. She moves with effortless grace , clean, fluid motions, every step precise. Controlled, but not caged. And just like that, my heartbeat stumbles.

“…Zane?” Ethan asks slowly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I don’t answer. Because all I can see is her, the woman who served me coffee with practiced gentleness, now dancing with a power that demands attention. Something uneasy coils in my chest.

“You’re staring,” Ethan says.I still don’t look away. “I’m going to ask her for a private dance.” He coughs on his drink. “What—already? Just like that? You haven’t even finished your drink” “Doesn’t matter.” He stares, then laughs. “Who are you and what have you done with my emotionally-detached best friend?” I stand. Ethan grins wide. “This is going to be good.” But I’m already moving, weaving through the crowd toward the manager’s stand.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t know what I’ll say. I don’t even know what I expect. But I know one thing for certain: I need to see her up close again.