No rain, No flowers.

5

Ben burst through the exit, his blue eyes locking onto mine with exaggerated urgency, his hands already on me before I could blink. His fingers brushed over my arms, his touch too familiar, too invasive.

"Jesus, I thought I lost you," he muttered, his hands moving over me like he was checking for invisible wounds.

I tensed, fighting off a surge of nausea. The tequila was one thing, but his hands made my skin crawl. I gently pulled back, trying to put space between us.

"Ben, I don't feel good," I said, trying to steady my voice. But his hands lingered, ignoring my discomfort. His grip slipped behind the back of my head, his lips brushing my jaw in what he must've thought was a reassuring gesture.

"It's okay, Rose. I can make you feel better," he whispered, his mouth moving down my neck.

My heart pounded, not from desire, but from an overwhelming sense of discomfort. Over his shoulder, I caught sight of the bouncer at the door, his eyes rolling as he spoke into his earpiece. He was watching, a silent witness to this awkward and escalating moment. I managed a weak, awkward smile at him, but inside, I was screaming for help.

"Ben, I really don't feel good," I said again, sharper this time, hoping he'd get the hint.

But he didn't. His body remained pressed against mine, his obliviousness making my skin crawl.

Suddenly, a firm voice sliced through the tension. "She said she doesn't feel good."

In a blur, Ben was yanked back, his grip on me broken. I blinked, my head spinning, and there stood Anthony, his presence commanding and steady. Oh no, not now. My stomach lurched violently, the tequila surging upward in a tidal wave. And before I could even register what was happening, I doubled over, retching onto the pavement.

"Ugh, gross," Ben muttered, stepping back in disgust.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, humiliation burning through me. I felt a hand pull my hair back into a loose ponytail, and that's when I realized it was Anthony. His touch was firm yet gentle, and I heard his voice, softer now.

"I've got you," he murmured.

I wanted to disappear into the concrete beneath my feet. Embarrassment washed over me in waves as I tried to pull away, but Anthony held firm, his grip steady as another round of dry heaving hit me. All I could do was lean into him, the shame curling in my stomach almost as much as the nausea.

Finally, it stopped. I straightened up, feeling utterly drained and exposed. Anthony's hand left my hair, and he took a step back, his calm presence still hovering around me like a shield. Anthony's hand lightly brushed my back, guiding me a few steps away from the mess I had just made.

"If you need to sit down, I'll stay with you," he offered, his voice low, steady—like he was used to dealing with chaos.

I couldn't say anything. All I wanted was for this night to disappear, for the tequila and the humiliation to dissolve into nothing. I glanced toward the entrance, where Ben stood with a look of irritation and disgust plastered across his face.

"I'll go find Scarlett," Ben grumbled, stumbling back into the club. His presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I couldn't bring myself to care. I was done with him—done with this whole night.

I sighed, exhaustion weighing down every limb. Anthony was still there, watching me with those sharp green eyes, like he was seeing more than I was comfortable showing. Why hadn't he left yet?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The apology hung between us, heavier than the tequila that still coursed through my veins.

Anthony tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Sorry? For what?"