I sighed, irritation starting to creep in. "I'm not most girls."
He smirked. "That's what they all say."
I finished my drink and picked up the second glass, scanning the crowd again.
Still no sign of Ivy.
I checked my phone.
Nothing from her.
I set the glass down and shifted my weight, the first real spark of concern blooming in my chest.
"She's probably stuck in line," I told myself. "VIP or not."
Ryan leaned closer again. "You seem tense."
"I am," I said shortly.
"Come onlet me help you relax."
Before I could respond, he reached out, his hand brushing my arm.
That did it.
I stepped back sharply and shoved his shoulder away from me. Not hard enough to make a scene, but enough to make my point.
"Don't fuckign touch me," I said.
His expression changed instantly, irritation flashing across his face. "Wow. Okay."
"Move," I added.
He scoffed. "You didn't have to be like that."
"I absolutely did."
He muttered something under his breath about being a bitch and finally stepped away, disappearing back into the crowd.
I barely noticed.
My attention was already elsewhere.
I grabbed my phone and typed quickly.
Where are you cupcakes?
The message stayed unread.
I looked toward the stairs leading up to the VIP section, my stomach tightening. Too much time had passed. Way more than necessary.
I left the drinks on the bar and pushed through the crowd, heading for the stairs, my pulse picking up with every step.
Something felt wrong.
The stairs felt steeper on the way up. Each step thudded beneath my heels, the music duller up here, replaced by quieter bass and low conversation. The VIP level smelled different. Cleaner. Colder. Less sweat, more money.
I scanned the hallway immediately.
"Ivy?" I called, keeping my voice steady even though my chest was already tightening. "Ivy?
No answer.
The restroom doors stood open and empty.
My pulse jumped.
"Ivy," I called again, louder this time, pushing into the bathroom anyway, checking the stalls one by one like she might have somehow disappeared into thin air. Marble counters. Gold fixtures. A woman fixing her lipstick glanced at me like I was an inconvenience.
"She was just here," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
I stepped back out into the VIP lounge, my heart starting to race now. The space was wide, dimly lit, booths lining the walls, curtains half-drawn for privacy. People sat in small groups, laughing softly, drinks glowing amber under low lights.
Too many places to miss someone.
I moved quickly, scanning faces, dresses, hair colors. Ivy's laugh usually carried. Her energy stood out.
Not now.
My mind jumped to every possibility at once. She could've gotten lost. She could've met someone. She could've panicked and gone somewhere quiet without thinking to text.
Or....
I shook the thought away and pushed forward.
That was when I heard her voice.
"I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to..."
I turned sharply.
She stood near one of the booths, hands clasped together tightly, shoulders drawn in. Her eyes were wide, panicked, shining too brightly under the low lights. A half-empty drink sat on the table beside her, liquid spilled across the surface and dripping down the edge.
A man stood in front of her.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a dark suit that looked untouched by trend or effort. The fabric was soaked along one side, darkened by whatever Ivy had spilled on him.