Thirty and Single.

Chapter 19.

He left.
He fucking left me.

I stood motionless in my kitchen, staring at the door Colton had just walked out of. The silence wrapped around me like a noose. My chest felt tight, like something had cracked open and spilled inside me. A part of me wanted to run after him, stop him, scream at him, beg him to stay but I didn't. What would be the point?

He left.
He walked away like that kiss meant nothing.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and angry. I didn't even try to wipe them. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe he never liked me the way I liked him. Maybe I was just a moment, a mistake. I had opened up, made myself vulnerable... and he turned around and left.

"Genesis? Are you okay?" Brooklyn's voice broke through the buzzing in my head.

I turned to her, barely managing a nod. She rushed over and wrapped her arms around me. Her warmth felt like safety.

"Shhh... please stop crying, darling. Everything's going to be okay," she whispered, her hands rubbing my back.

"I... I kissed him," I sobbed into her shoulder. "And he just... walked away."

She tightened her hug. "Oh, baby. He doesn't deserve you. No man who makes you cry like this deserves to be near you."

Eventually, my breathing steadied and the storm inside me calmed—just a little. She guided me to the kitchen table, and we sat in silence for a moment.

Then she suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what?"

I blinked at her, confused. "What?"

"We are going out."

I stared at her. "Wait, what? Brooklyn, no. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to curl up, cry, eat something terrible for me, and pass out in a pile of blankets."

"No buts." She stood, already dragging me out of my chair. "You cannot lock yourself in here and drown in your feelings. You need to be seen. You need to remember who the hell you are."

I sighed dramatically, knowing resistance was futile. "Fine. Let's get dressed."

Twenty minutes later, I was stepping into my black Catarina ruffled mini dress, hugging curves I wasn't even sure I had. I paired it with blush-pink pumps that screamed, I might be heartbroken, but I still slay. Brooklyn, meanwhile, looked like a walking billboard for sexy rebellion in a Balmain sequined pleated mini and black ankle boots.

She did our hair, waves for me, sleek ponytail for her and finished our makeup with the precision of a Vogue shoot. When I looked in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself.

We drove to The Luxe, the hottest club in town. The line outside looked like something out of a red carpet event. People were dressed to kill, phones out, flashes going off.

"Brooklyn, we're never getting in. Let's just go home," I muttered, shrinking into myself.

She turned, eyes sparkling. "You think we dressed like this to go home? Follow me."

As we walked past the line, heads turned. I wasn't imagining it, men actually stopped mid-sentence. Some tried to talk to me, but I wasn't in the mood for small talk or flirtation. I wanted music, neon lights, and enough alcohol to make me forget Colton's name.

At the entrance, Brooklyn walked straight up to the bouncer, whispered something, and pulled out her phone. He glanced at the screen, chuckled, and nodded. She turned back to me with a grin.

"Let's go, baby."

Inside, the club was electric. Strobe lights flashed over bodies swaying to the beat, and bass pulsed through the floor like a second heartbeat.

"How the hell did you pull that off?" I asked as we made our way to the bar.

"He's friends with Logan. I showed him that drunk video of Logan singing 'Let It Go' in boxers. Boom. Instant access."

That explained it.

"Hello, beautiful ladies," the bartender said with a wink. "What can I get you tonight?"

"Dirty vodka martini for me," Brooklyn said, cool and composed.

"Three Jägerbombs," I said without blinking.

Brooklyn raised a brow. "Look at you! Taking shots like a boss."

"Let's see if I survive them first," I muttered, and downed the first one.

Fifteen minutes and three shots later, my limbs felt lighter, my heart less heavy. The club had become a blur of neon and noise, and suddenly all I wanted was to dance.

"Lyn, let's go!" I tugged her arm.

"No way, girl. Go shake what your mama gave you," she teased, sipping her drink.

With an alcohol-fuelled boost of confidence, I strutted to the dance floor just as Levitating by Dua Lipa dropped. The crowd moved like one breathing organism, and I melted right into it.

I swayed my hips, closed my eyes, let the music take over.

That's when he appeared.

A redhead in an oversized leather jacket started dancing near me. Harmless at first, but then he got closer. Too close. I moved away. He followed. I turned. He grinned. I zigzagged. He zigzagged harder.

Jesus Christ.

Annoyed, I retreated to the bar.

Brooklyn raised an eyebrow as I grabbed another shot. "What's with the ginger shadow?"

"I don't want to dance with him," I said, already a little wobbly.

"You're cut off, then. I'm driving."

"Probably for the best," I muttered. "My brain feels like a snow globe."

"You're doing great, babe," she said, kissing my cheek. "Now c'mon. Our song!"

The opening notes of Tick Tock by Clean Bandit & Mabel blasted from the speakers.

We screamed.

Then we danced like two completely unhinged women at the edge of heartbreak, wild, sweaty, laughing like fools. My shoes were punishing me, my hair was frizzing, and my eyeliner was halfway down my cheek. But for the first time in what felt like forever, I was having fun.

Real fun.
Not forced date fun. Not office cocktail party fun.
Free fun.

Eventually, our energy fizzled and we made our way back to the bar, breathless and glowing.

"I need water," I said, fanning myself with a napkin. "Or a new liver."

Before I could order anything, the bartender placed a crystal flute of something pink and sparkly in front of me.

"But I didn't order this," I said.

He gestured toward the VIP section. "Compliments of someone at that table."

I followed his gaze and froze.

A devastatingly handsome blonde, dressed in black tailored slacks and a crisp white shirt, was leaning against the velvet rope of the VIP lounge. He raised his glass to me, smiled, and waved.

Brooklyn nearly choked on her drink. "OH. MY. GOD."

"What?"

"That is Dimitri Vladislav."

My brain hiccupped. "Who?"

"The richest guy in town. Possibly in the entire region. Tech billionaire. Super private. Drives a Bugatti. Owns half the buildings in downtown. And, rumour has it, he's single."

I blinked. "And he just sent me a Dom Pérignon Rose Gold?"

Brooklyn nodded, eyes wide. "Girl, forget Colton. This night just went full Cinderella."