The later it got, the louder the room became.  

The client was drunk on his own success, his laughter booming over the music.  

Bottles covered the table, some half-empty, some already knocked over.  

Evan held his glass loosely, his mind a blur of noise and heat.  

He didn’t dare look across the room—where Sienna sat beside the client—but the thought of it burned in his chest.  

“Evan! Don’t just sit there—join us!”  

Rachel’s cheerful voice broke through, sliding a cup and a dice shaker toward him.  

Beside her, Ivy sat upright, wrist turning gracefully as the dice clattered.  

“Let’s play liar’s dice. Loser drinks.”  

Evan blinked, already dizzy, but the others pushed him in.  

“Four threes!”  

“Five threes!”  

“Six threes!”  

“Call!”  

The lid came off, and his numbers fell short.  

Rachel laughed behind her hand. “You lost—drink up!”  

Evan gave a weak smile and downed the shot.  

The liquor burned down his throat, spreading a dizzy heat to his face.  

The game went on. Ivy’s expression stayed calm, her tone controlled, and somehow she always won.  

“Five twos.”  

“Six twos.”  

Evan hesitated, forced a bluff, and lost again.  

“Another one,” Rachel teased, filling his glass.  

He drank. Again. And again.  

The edges of the room softened; the lights smeared into gold.  

He knew he was drunk—but he didn’t stop.  

Because being drunk was easier than being aware.  

The client, red-faced and roaring, slapped a stack of cash onto the table.  

“Ladies, have fun!”  

The room erupted in laughter.  

The manager hovered beside him, nodding too fast, pouring more drinks.  

It was all noise, light, and excess—everything Evan didn’t belong to.  

A fast pop song came on, and the client grabbed one of the women, spinning her around.  

Applause followed, voices cheering.  

Chairs shifted. People moved.  

A new space opened beside Evan, and he didn’t even notice.  

His head was low, vision blurry.  

Then—  

a faint, familiar scent.  

He froze.  

When he looked up, his pulse stopped for a beat.  

Sienna.  

She’d taken the seat next to him.  

Her face calm, her smile the same polished mask she wore for every guest.  

But to him, the entire room seemed to fade out.  

The alcohol made everything shimmer.  

He knew it was coincidence—just a change in seating, nothing more.  

Yet his heart raced anyway.  

He gripped his glass tightly, afraid his voice might betray him.  

“You… you’re here—”  

Before he could finish, Sienna turned slightly toward him.  

“Just a seat,” she said softly.  

Three words. No warmth, no distance.  

He couldn’t think of anything to say.  

Around them, laughter and music kept pouring like a river—but for him, it all fell silent.  

Only her profile remained, close enough to touch, and yet impossibly far away.