Withering Rose

Chapter 2

At Havana Club

Destiny's P.O.V.

We stepped out of the Lyft, and my eyes widened at the sight of the line stretching far down the street. It was ridiculously long, and I already regretted coming. By the time we got to the bouncer, the club would either be closed or packed beyond capacity.

I glanced at Stephanie, hoping she'd change her mind so we could head home, order takeout, and binge-watch something mindless. But, of course, she looked entirely unfazed. Without hesitation, she walked straight to the bouncer, so I followed, trying to keep up.

The bouncer was huge—towering, muscular, and intimidating. I was sure he'd turn us away, but to my shock, his face broke into a wide grin.

"STEPHANIE! LONG TIME NO SEE!" he boomed over the music thumping behind him.

I stared, my jaw practically hitting the ground. How in the world did Stephanie know him?

"TRYING TO BRING MY FRIEND OUT TO HAVE A GOOD TIME!" she yelled back, flashing her signature charming smile.

The bouncer's eyes landed on me, and he gave a warm, reassuring smile. "A FRIEND OF YOURS IS A FRIEND OF MINE!"

He opened the door for us, motioning us in.

"THANK YOU, DEBO!" Stephanie squealed, skipping inside. I trailed behind, still in disbelief.

Grabbing her wrist, I made her turn to face me. "Are you going to tell me how the hell you know Bigfoot?"

She chuckled at my comment. "That's Debo, my gay friend from college. Long story. Now let's go!"

Before I could ask more, she disappeared into the crowd, moving at her usual lightning-fast pace. Panic began to set in as the sea of people swallowed her. Unable to find her, I squeezed through the crowd toward the bar, my heart racing.

Finally reaching a stool, I sat down, taking deep breaths to calm myself. But then, a tap on my shoulder made me turn around.

"Stephanie, why the fuck did you—" I froze mid-sentence.

It was him. The man from my dreams.

My jaw dropped. Was I dreaming again?

"I don't mean to bother you, but can I buy you a drink?" he asked, a killer smirk on his lips.

That smirk—dangerous and alluring—was enough to make my mind go blank. Words failed me, and I couldn't think of a coherent response. Instead, I nodded.

He slid into the seat beside me and called the bartender, who immediately perked up when she saw him.

"What can I get you, handsome?" she asked, her tone dripping with flirtation.

Unbothered by her comment, he replied smoothly, "Whiskey for me and..." He turned to me, waiting for my answer.

Since I didn't drink often and had no idea what to order, I panicked. "Whiskey... uh, whiskey for me too," I blurted out.

The bartender raised an unimpressed eyebrow before turning to prepare our drinks. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I avoided looking at him.

To my surprise, he laughed—a deep, rich sound that made me glance his way despite myself.

"A woman with great taste is a woman for me," he said, licking his lips slightly as his eyes lingered on me.

The bartender scoffed and left to grab our drinks.

"I'm Marcus Fowler, by the way," he said, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

"Destiny Anderson," I replied shyly.

Without warning, he took my hand and kissed it gently. "Nice to meet you, Destiny."

His touch sent shivers down my spine, and his intoxicating scent surrounded me. We held eye contact, the world around us fading away, until the bartender cleared her throat, breaking the spell.

"Thank you," I said, taking the drink she placed in front of me.

"Mhmm," she muttered, walking off.

I took a sip, instantly regretting it as the strong alcohol burned my throat. I coughed, trying to hide my reaction.

Marcus chuckled, setting his empty glass down. "Already done?" I asked, pointing to his glass.

He nodded. "I don't mess around." Turning to the bartender, he called out, "Double it!"

4 or 5 drinks later...

"Hahahaha, you're so funny, Marcus!" I laughed uncontrollably, my head spinning.

"Are you sure this isn't your first time drinking, Destiny?" he asked, amused.

"Don't be silly, Michael! I do this ALL THE TIME," I slurred, wobbling as I stood from the stool.

The room tilted, and I stumbled forward, but Marcus caught me effortlessly. "That's it. You're too drunk to go anywhere."

Lifting me like I weighed nothing, he carried me through the club as I mumbled, "I gotta see Stephanie..." before the alcohol dragged me into darkness.

The Next Morning

I woke up with a pounding headache and immediately swore off drinking forever. Looking around, I realized this wasn't my room. Panic set in when I noticed I wasn't wearing my clothes—just an oversized shirt. Oh God. Did I...?

I rushed out of the room, following the smell of breakfast. Peeking around the corner, I saw Marcus standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like a professional chef. The sight of the feast on the dining table made my stomach rumble.

"Woah..." I muttered without thinking.

Marcus turned, flashing me a million-dollar smile. "Morning. You were pretty out of it last night, so I brought you here. You also threw up on yourself, which explains the shirt." He chuckled. "Don't worry. Nothing happened."

Relief washed over me, but then he stepped closer, his eyes darkening with something I couldn't quite place.

"But now that you're sober..." he said, his voice dropping to a growl as he leaned in, "nothing's stopping me."