Clyde had not intended to go out that night.
In fact, for several days in a row, he had been avoiding any form of social gathering altogether. The penthouse, once filled with presence and warmth, now felt uncomfortably vast and hollow, every quiet corner echoing with the absence of a certain silver-haired individual who had, without permission, become an inseparable part of his daily existence.
However, Mason had been persistent. Relentless, even.
The invitations had started as casual suggestions, then gradually escalated into direct messages, then phone calls, and eventually, thinly veiled threats disguised as jokes. Under normal circumstances, Clyde would have ignored him entirely. But tonight, after hours of sleepless staring at the ceiling, replaying conversations that had already ended, he found himself… agreeing.
And that was how he ended up seated in a dimly lit private section of an upscale bar. The atmosphere was lively, almost suffocatingly so.
