Maverick leaned against the side of his car, the cold metal biting through his shirt as rain traced rivers down his neck. He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers — not from regret.
From rage.
Not at Catherine.At himself.
At the mess.At the fact that he felt anything at all.
She had made a scene — not him. She provoked it. That's what he told himself. That's what helped him breathe.
And yet... the image kept playing in his head.
Catherine, running into the rain.
The look on her face — like he had crushed something soft and sacred inside her.
It gnawed at him. It refused to fade.
His phone buzzed.
Rose:She really thought tonight was for her? Cute. Come back in, baby.
He exhaled slowly, watching smoke curl into the night. Then flicked the cigarette onto the pavement and walked back inside like nothing had happened.
The restaurant was quieter now.Fewer eyes.More wine.Less judgment.
Rose sat with her legs elegantly crossed, her wine glass half full, her lipstick barely smudged. Her golden hair dripped down her bare shoulders, damp from the "accident," but styled like a goddess carved from trouble.
The red wine stain on her dress looked like art. Intentional. Provocative.
"You took your time," she purred, eyes glinting as he approached.
"You really went for it," he muttered, sliding into the booth beside her.
She grinned, wicked and proud, her fingers creeping onto his thigh beneath the table. "She walked into our story and thought it was hers. You just reminded her who the main character really is."
Maverick didn't respond.
He loosened his collar, still feeling the warmth of Catherine's cheek beneath his palm. Not in a romantic way.
In a haunting way.Like the moment you realize you've broken something too valuable to replace.
Rose leaned in, lips grazing his ear.
"You hit her. And the best part?" Her voice was sugar-laced poison. "She didn't even hit you back." Her nails dug in — just enough to sting. "So sweet. So fragile."
Maverick turned to her, kissed her hard — not out of desire, but desperation. Her mouth tasted like strawberries and lies, and for a moment, he let himself drown in it.
Rose laughed into the kiss. "Mmm. You're so much better when you're cruel."
"Don't start," he said, voice sharp.
"Why not? I like this version of you," she whispered, climbing into his lap like sin with a name. Her hips moved slow, deliberate. Her breath was warm against his neck. "The man who takes what he wants. Leaves the guilt behind. Remembers who he really is."
But the truth?
Maverick didn't know who he was anymore.
Her hands were all over him now, tugging at his shirt, claiming skin and space.
But when he closed his eyes…It wasn't her face he saw.
It was Catherine.
The way she looked at him when he used to make her laugh.The gentle touch on his shoulder after long nights.The two cups of coffee — even when he forgot to come home.
Something human. Something soft.Something real.
He opened his eyes.
And Rose was still there — panting softly, lips parted, smiling like temptation.
But suddenly, he felt nothing.
Not heat. Not lust.Just cold.
"You wanna take this home?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Because even with her body pressed against him, all he could feel was the weight of the moment he lost something beautiful.
And knew — deep down — he may never earn it back.