Elsa was stacking books on the shelves, but her mind kept drifting to her upcoming night shift at the club. She hated feeling anxious, especially about her colleagues. She couldn't help noticing that they rarely initiated conversations with her or tried to get close; they only talked to the people they actually liked. Being pushed aside made her feel unimportant, even though part of her felt it was better not to be the center of attention anyway. It's probably just in my head because I don't have friends there, she thought, standing by the shelves. Shaking off the thought, she focused back on the book in her hands, reading the title printed along its spine.
5:30 p.m. — Rosa's Club
The club was already bustling, neon lights pouring outside and flooding the interior with energy. Roman sat in the VIP area on a plush leather couch, a bottle of alcohol resting on the table before them. From his seat, he had a clear view of the dance floor and the strippers performing on stage. Beside him, Silas sat sipping his whiskey, watching the crowd sway to the heavy beat.
"The club's always packed," Silas commented.
"That's what makes it fun," Roman replied, taking a sip from his glass.
"You're not wrong," Silas agreed, his eyes wandering back over the crowd.
Roman's gaze trailed to a stripper moving seductively down a pole, a sudden surge of heat stirring in his groin.
"I was wondering... how's Catlyn doing?" Silas asked after a pause. He hadn't heard from her in a while and wanted to see if Roman was still in touch.
"She's fine. Just got back from a trip recently," Roman explained, turning to look at Silas, who maintained a calm demeanor against the cushions.
Roman knew things had been strained between them ever since the breakup. In the past, whenever Roman asked what happened, Silas would shut the conversation down, saying only that they broke up before growing distant. Looking at him now, Roman figured enough time had passed.
"Why did you two really break up?" Roman asked directly.
Silas went quiet. A sudden memory flashed in his mind: Catlyn standing in his living room, her face tight with cold anger as she turned to head upstairs to pack her things. "It's over. I can't do this," she had said.
"She didn't think I was a compatible partner," Silas finally answered.
"What? She actually said that?" Roman almost chuckled.
"Yeah. She did." Silas's chest tightened at the memory.
"What could she possibly think you were missing?" Roman asked, genuinely curious.
"She didn't trust that I was good for her. And I didn't make her feel like she was enough," Silas shrugged, though his expression gave away his pain. "I get so caught up in what I want that I forget she matters. Everything becomes about my own interests."
"Let me guess—that's what ended it?" He wanted to laugh but held it in.
"Unfortunately, yeah."
"That's tough, man. But women are tougher," Roman smiled, taking another drink. "Typical, really. They love to complain and whine."
Silas didn't agree, but he didn't argue. What he and Catlyn had shared was real—a deep, genuine bond. He had loved her fiercely. Maybe I really do just suck at relationships, Silas thought. They used to be the perfect pair. He could still vividly recall her radiant smile and the way her dark eyes shone like rare gems when she was happy.
It broke him that they had drifted apart. Even though her words had crushed him, a small part of his heart still harbored a faint hope that they might find their way back to each other one day. He felt like she was right, though—he had been too self-centered.
He could still hear her final, measured tone echo clearly in his mind: "I don't think we're compatible, Silas. I'm sorry, but we're just not fit for each other." She had thought it through thoroughly, entirely unaware of just how deeply those words had shattered him.