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“Do you guys do this a lot? Changing up the nightclubs?” I take another sip of the fruity drink.

Lana nods. “Our patrons expect novelty. I don’t come to the clubs often. The last time I was here, I think, was…Ethan’s promotion? Yeah, it was his promo to a senior analyst when he was undercover at Fleur. It’s been years.”

“Undercover?” I sit up taller. The mention of his name chases away some of the alcohol fuzziness.

In the last month since I started at Fleur, I’ve seen him a handful of times—usually from a distance as we crossed paths in the grand lobby or in the corridors when he comes down to talk to Rex.

I’d feel his presence each time before I see him—a searing heat prickling my senses or the goosebumps pebbling on my arms for no reason. When I’d look around, I’d always find him in the vicinity, his gaze trained on me even if he was talking to someone else. Butterflies would swarm in my gut. But when our eyes locked, he’d look away and pretend I wasn’t there.

This strange connection between us. It feels deep—bottomless, even. And I don’t know how to explain it.

“Yea. My brother doesn’t talk a lot, but he thinks a lot. Back then, he got it in mind that he wasn’t smart enough to be an Anderson.” She sighs and shakes her head. “He thought he needed to prove himself, so he worked from the bottom up. Took on a fake name and everything. Naturally, he kicked ass. The idiot.”

“Really? Interesting.” The person she painted—a person trying to prove himself to the world—is someone I can empathize with, and yet, it definitely doesn’t resemble the ice monster who radiates so much confidence and arrogance, he can bottle them up and add to his billions selling the concoctions.

Then I remember what I insinuated in rehab when he offered me a place at Fleur.

I implied he got his job because of his last name.

Shit. I wince.No wonder he looked upset that day.

“It’s sad though. He works too much. I’m not sure what happened, but after he revealed his identity to the company, he spent all of his waking hours in the office. Almost like he was possessed. You’d think he’d let go a bit. After all, he was climbing the ranks fine on his own when people didn’t know who he was. They called him the Deliminator because he was so good with numbers. He didn’t need to prove himself anymore.” Lana smiles sadly at her drink.

“He withdrew into this dark hole no one could reach, and he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Became a loner. Barely smiled. Turned into a block of ice. I worry about him.” She downs the entire drink and when she sets her glass down, her eyes shine with moisture.

“Sometimes, I think he’s just going through the motions in life and not really living.” Lana sniffles. “Anyway, ignore me. It’s the alcohol talking.”

My heart spasms like someone punched it, and I rub the area, but the ache doesn’t go away. My mind flits back to Ethan’s handsome and stern face, the way he looms and lurks in shadows as if he’s hiding his presence, which is ridiculous because there’s no way the god of war could hide his fury—

A gasp tumbles out of me but is swallowed by the club music.

God of war.

Something about that phrase sent my pulse soaring and my fingers trembling.

Then, the searing headache hits again, and I groan and brace myself for the painful wave to pass.

“You okay?” Olivia takes my glass away. “Not feeling well?”

I hold up my hand and let out a ragged exhale, sweat beading on my forehead as the headache intensifies before slowly receding.

The frequency of these spells seems to be increasing. Originally, the doctors said this could be side effects from the meds for the trial. But it’s still odd—these random flashes come from nowhere, usually accompanied by other strange physiological symptoms, like random thoughts literally stopping me in my tracks.

Do these thoughts mean anything? Is my mind trying to tell me something?

“Lexy?” Olivia turns me to face her, her eyes roving over my face.

“I’m fine. Just a sudden headache. Gone now.”

“Okay. Well, tell us if this is too much for you.” She motions at the flashing strobe lights, the loud music, and crowds. “One step at a time. Pushing yourself to the brink doesn’t help anyone, and you know that.”

Her voice is soft as she squeezes my hand. She’s a psychiatrist who introduced me to my therapist because she thought it’d be better if I talked to someone who wasn’t in my social circles.

“Yes, Dr. Lin. Don’t worry, I’m a hard nut to crack.” I wink and she chuckles.

“Well, there’s no shame in seeking help when you need it—it’s not a weakness, okay?”

I nod.