The phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Sienna didn't move. She stared at it, heart hammering against her ribs. She knew that number by heart—even without looking.
Cassian.
The buzzing stopped. Then started again. Persistent. Hopeful.
Sienna squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't do this. She wasn't ready.
Across the room, Maeve watched her carefully, noting the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she shrank into the couch like she could disappear inside it.
After the third call, Maeve crossed the room and scooped up the phone, silencing it with a tap.
"You don't have to talk to him," she said firmly, tossing the phone onto the kitchen counter.
Sienna hugged her knees to her chest. She felt hollow, exhausted, unbearably heavy.
Maeve sighed and dropped down beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulder.
"Alright," Maeve declared. "That's it. We're going out."
Sienna blinked sluggishly. "What?"
"You heard me. We're getting dressed. We're hitting a bar. We're drinking until you forget his name."
Sienna gave a hollow laugh. "I don't know if that's possible."
Maeve squeezed her shoulder. "Challenge accepted."
By the time night fell, they were downtown, loud music pounding through the floor, neon lights smearing across their vision.
Maeve dragged her straight to the bar and ordered two shots of tequila.
"To bad decisions that are way better than the ones made sober," Maeve toasted, grinning wickedly.
Sienna hesitated, but Maeve nudged her with the shot glass. She knocked it back.
It burned—hard and fast—but it jolted something inside her awake.
They drank. They laughed. Sienna even managed a few smiles.
A few guys wandered over, drawn by Maeve's energy and Sienna's broken beauty. But every time one got too close, Maeve would swoop in, flashing a dangerous smile and casually steering them away.
"Not tonight, boys," she chirped sweetly. "She's got a no-men policy for the foreseeable future."
Sienna barely noticed. She floated in a fog of alcohol and aching memories, tuning out the world.
Maeve kept watch over her all night, a silent guardian.
Sienna didn't dance. She didn't flirt. She sat at the bar, nursing a drink, occasionally letting Maeve pull a smile out of her.
Maybe it wasn't healing. Maybe it wasn't fixing anything.
But for a few hours, it was enough not to feel completely shattered.
Until she saw him.
Cassian.
He pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning until they landed on her. His face looked wrecked—tired, desperate, scared.
Maeve spotted him instantly and stepped in front of Sienna like a shield.
"Turn around, Cassian," Maeve warned, her voice cold.
Cassian shook his head, voice low and pleading. "Please, Maeve. Just five minutes. We need to talk."
"She doesn't want to hear it," Maeve snapped.
Cassian hesitated, glancing toward the end of the bar. His hands almost trembling.
"Please, Maeve," he said again, voice rough. "I have to talk to her."
Maeve's glare didn't waver.
"How did you even know we were here?" she demanded.
Cassian looked toward the end of the bar. Sienna followed his gaze and spotted Theo—Cassian's cousin—waving sheepishly from a corner booth.
"He called me," Cassian said, his voice cracking slightly. "Said you were surrounded by guys. I couldn't—I couldn't just sit there, knowing you might think you had to move on without hearing me out."
He turned pleading eyes back to Maeve. "Please. Just five minutes."
Sienna, swaying slightly on her stool, placed a hand on Maeve's arm.
"It's okay," she whispered, voice thick with alcohol and heartbreak. "I need to talk to him."
Maeve caught her hand, leaning in fiercely. "Call me if anything happens, okay? Anything at all."
Sienna nodded sluggishly.
Maeve's grip tightened once more. "And don't fall for his cheap tricks," she muttered, loud enough for Cassian to hear, before reluctantly stepping aside.
Cassian moved in, gently wrapping an arm around Sienna to steady her.
"Come on, baby," he murmured, guiding her carefully toward the exit.
Sienna let him.
Cassian helped her into his car, moving carefully as she stumbled slightly in her heels. She sagged into the passenger seat, head lolling against the headrest, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and alcohol.
He closed the door softly, circling around to the driver's side.
As he started the engine, he glanced at her—broken, beautiful, hurting—and his heart squeezed painfully.
They drove in silence, the city lights a blur beyond the windows.
When they reached his apartment, Cassian got out quickly and hurried around to help her again.
"We're almost there," he whispered, steadying her as they made their way into the elevator.
Sienna clung to his arm, half out of necessity, half out of aching familiarity.
Neither spoke as the elevator climbed, the weight of everything unsaid filling the small space.
When they reached his apartment door, Cassian unlocked it quickly, guiding her inside—into the scent of him, into memories she wasn't ready to face.
Inside, as he helped her toward the bedroom, Sienna suddenly tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer in her drunken haze.
Before he could react, she kissed him—messy, desperate, tasting of whiskey and heartbreak.
Cassian froze, torn between his own longing and the knowledge that this wasn't right. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face.
"Sienna... we need to talk."
"Shut up," she slurred, clutching his shirt tighter. "Just kiss me."
Her pleading, broken whisper undid him.
He kissed her back, tender at first, but it quickly spiraled—frantic, messy, clothes tugged away in clumsy desperation.
Cassian knew she was drunk. He knew they shouldn't.
But he missed her too much.
He let himself be pulled under, letting the need between them ignite.
By the time he helped her to the bed, they tumbled down together, tangled and breathless.
Their bodies moved in desperate rhythm, the taste of regret already lingering between them.
It was reckless. It was messy. It was a poor substitute for the words left unsaid.
But neither of them had the strength to stop.
Later, when Sienna passed out against him, her breath warm against his skin, Cassian held her tightly.
Wide awake.
Drowning in guilt, longing, and fear.