Page 115 of Double Standards
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ican’t seem to settle into a routine—at least not one that doesn’t feel like I’m faking stability. Hope feels intrusive, almost disrespectful. I’ve spent most of the week combing back through cases I shelved before the holidays, before Axel’s hospitalization threw my life off its axis.
Still, I cling to the quiet, fragile belief that he’ll find his way back to me. It’s naïve, I know that. But I’ve always prided myself on knowing when someone’s worth holding on to. Whether Axel blames me or not, I refuse to let go until we’ve spoken. And yet… I’ve stopped reaching out. After four unanswered days of calls and texts, I got the message loud and clear: he wants space. Solitude. Maybe silence.
The truth is, I don’t know what he’s been through or how deep his trauma goes. And without that conversation… I don’t know how to ease the ache that’s opened up inside me.
“What do you say to a night out?” Jada drops into the chair across from my desk, her voice light but probing.
I hum a vague response, barely lifting my gaze from the pile of files I’m sorting through. She groans.
Honestly, a night out might be exactly what I need to get out of my own head, to stop replaying Axel’s silence on a loop. Ihave no interest in men tonight, but I know Jada’s probably made them the center of her plans.
“Cass?” she presses again.
She doesn’t know about Axel. About what he meant to me, or still does. I haven’t said a word. I’ve kept it locked inside, a wound I refuse to show anyone other than my best friend. Whether she’s ignoring my mood or just unaware, I’m not sure.
“Yeah, sure,” I sigh, rifling through paperwork like I can hide in the admin.
“Gemini Lounge. Eight-thirty?”
“Sure.”
Apparently satisfied with my half-hearted yes, she leaves. As the door clicks shut, I glance at my watch. Ten minutes left in the day. Not enough to dive into another case, but more than enough to sit with thoughts I’m tired of entertaining.
By the time I get home, the apartment is sunk in shadows. Lexie is obviously working late tonight.
I toe off my shoes and move through the silence, shedding the stiffness of the day along with my blazer. The soft pad of my feet against the hardwood, the faint creak of old floorboards, it’s my own private soundtrack to this in-between moment. I shower quickly, letting the water wash the day off my skin, scrubbing until I feel more like a woman and less like a suit with a pulse.
The closet stares back at me like a challenge. I don’t do club wear, not really—but Jada doesn’t take no for an answer and I don’t feel like arguing with the version of myself that’s too tired to try. I slip into something simple: green satin that clings just enough, heels sharp enough to make me feel dangerous. A swipe of dark lipstick. Smoky eyes. Hair down, wild like the parts of me I pretend aren’t still alive.
By the time I get to the club, the line is long, but I don’t bother with it. Jada’s already added us to the guest list. The door guy spots me, waving me past the velvet rope like I’m royalty or trouble—maybe both.
Inside, the bass music rattles through my ribs, lights strobeacross a sea of sweat and skin. I understand why Jada wanted to come. The men here all look like they walked off the pages of a lifestyle magazine—powerful, dangerous, magnetic. Every single one of them has an agenda.
I scan the crowd until I see her, draped over a leather booth like she owns the whole damn place, drink in hand, grin slow and wicked. She lifts her glass when she sees me and I saunter over.
“There she is,” she purrs, like I’m late to something important.
Jada has ordered two cosmos, in anticipation for my arrival. I feel eyes on me, that prickling sensation that burrows under the skin, but I can’t find the source. No one’s gaze meets mine directly, but the feeling won’t leave. I shake it off when Jada hands me the drink, downing half in one breath.
“Let's go to the back,” she yells over the music. She doesn’t give me time to respond, just takes my hand and drags me through the hoard of dancing bodies.
Her champagne-colored dress clings to her like it was poured over her skin, liquid silk that catches every glint of club light and turns it into gold. The fabric hugs her curves like a secret, the high slit teasing the curve of her thigh with every step, the low back revealing smooth skin that seems to shimmer as she moves. It’s the kind of dress that doesn’t just make you look—it makes you forget everything else.
Every man we pass turns to stare, their conversations faltering mid-sentence, drinks halfway to their lips. Their eyes rake over her, full of hunger and possession, like they’ve never seen a woman before, or like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to see this one. Some are subtle, flicking glances and shifting closer. Others are blatant, jaws slack, eyes dark, practically undressing her with every look.
But she doesn’t even blink.
She walks like she owns the room, like their attention is her birthright and not a gift, but a given. When she glances back atme over her shoulder, there's a flash of something else—something wicked and knowing, like she can feel the way my breath catches and my pulse stutters. Like she knows the power she holds in that dress… and exactly who she wants to ruin with it.
We slide into a booth, drinks in hand, the leather seats cool against the backs of our thighs. The bass from the dance floor thrums through the soles of my shoes, vibrating up my spine, setting everything inside me just slightly off-balance. The lights cast the whole place in a dreamlike haze—shifting blues and purples, flecks of gold catching in Jada’s hair like stardust.
She leans back, her drink balanced effortlessly between two fingers, and glances past me with a slow, sly wink. I follow the direction of her gaze just as two men break off from the crowd and start walking our way.
The blonde is tall and clean-cut, all charm and confidence, like a walking invitation. Jada shifts with a little smirk and makes space for him beside her, brushing her thigh against his as if by accident—but we both know better. She always moves like she’s dancing to a rhythm only she can hear.
The other man’s attention falls on me.
