It Can't Be
1148 Words
HAZEL
Fine.
I lift my chin, ignoring the burn in my chest, and start following him as he follows her.
Kat leads us up a narrow staircase, hips swaying with every step like she knows he’s watching. Maybe he is. I don’t dare look at his face to confirm it. I don't care if he is watching.
The music changes up here—it’s lower, heavier, a slow, deliberate rhythm that vibrates through the walls. The air smells different, too. Money. Perfume. Lust. The lights dim even more, just enough to see gold against black, and bodies pressed too close to be polite. There are booths shaped like half-moons, tables filled with champagne bottles and smoke, and people who look like they haven’t worked a single day in their lives.
We reach the top floor, where the air changes. It’s quieter here, more exclusive. No one enters this area unless they have a name, power, or both. The walls are darker, lined with tinted glass that reflects the golden shimmer of the chandeliers. You can still hear the faint thump of the bass below, but it’s distant, like a reminder that the world of noise and chaos is beneath us.
Kat leads us through a short corridor guarded by two men in suits. They both nod at Axel as we pass. She stops in front of a private lounge overlooking the entire club from above. It’s glass-fronted, angled so Axel can see everything....the bar, the exits, the crowd, but no one can see him.
It’s a vantage point. A throne room disguised as a booth. You can tell it’s not just random. In a place like this, nothing is random.
“Your spot, Mr. Moretti,” Kat says, smiling just for him.
She gestures toward the plush leather seat facing the glass. “I’ll bring you both something to start with.”
I stand there, feeling stupid in my pajamas, surrounded by velvet and gold. She barely spares me a glance before she leaves, her hips swaying as she disappears through the door.
Axel nods. No warmth, no acknowledgment of what just happened downstairs, no sign he even sees me standing there in my ridiculous pajamas. I stand for a moment, awkward and angry, arms crossed.
Axel gestures for me to sit. “Sit down, Hazel.”
“I’m fine standing.”
His gaze slides to me, cold and unreadable. “Sit.”
It’s not loud, but it’s final. I sit.
He leans back, resting one arm along the back of the seat,
“Do you know why we’re here?”
I shake my head, staring straight ahead at the crowd below us. “Because you like to humiliate me?”
Axel is unfazed. “Because you don’t listen.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. “You dragged me out of bed for this? ”
“No,” he says quietly. “To remind you what the world looks like outside those four walls you keep hiding in.”
I look down at the people dancing, at the glittering light washing over them. “You call this the world?”
He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “It’s the part of it that keeps you safe.”
Safe. That word again. Always on his tongue, like it means something I don’t understand. The door opens again. Kat returns with a tray and two menus, though I know she already knows what he likes.
She gives him another of those smiles, the kind that lingers too long.
“What can I get you tonight, Mr. Moretti?” she asks softly.
“My usual,” he says without looking at her.
She turns to me, pretending politeness. “And for her?”
I want to say nothing, but that would make me look weak. “Whiskey,” I say, even though I have never tasted it before.
Axel’s gaze cuts to me. “She’ll have water.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His voice stays calm, quiet, and dangerous. “Water or juice. Pick one.”
Kat’s smirk twitches before she smooths it out.
“Fine,” I say tightly. “Juice.”
Kat nods, writing something down that she doesn’t need to. “Right away.” She leaves again, and I swear I can feel her satisfaction in the air.
The silence makes my pulse beat too fast.
“You enjoy doing that, don’t you?” I finally say.
He doesn’t answer. He just sits there, watching me like I’m part of some game he’s already winning.
He must have been bored or done with me because he just pulls out his phone, scrolling like he did in the car, like I don’t even exist. His fingers move lazily across the screen, tapping, clicking, the faint light of the phone reflecting against his sharp features.
He doesn’t look up. Not once. I hate that he can be so unbothered.
After a while, it gets too much. I push myself up, cross to the glass wall, and stare down at the floor below. The world feels louder down there — brighter, freer. Couples dance to the music, their bodies moving together like the beat belongs to them. Some are kissing, some are laughing at the bar, others are just watching each other with that easy, familiar warmth that I’ve forgotten how to feel.
And God, it makes me jealous. Jealous of people who can just be. Who can touch, who can love, who can stand there without fear or secrets.
Jealous that I’m up here, trapped, when I could’ve been down there, with him.
If it were Haris, I think, maybe we’d be dancing too. Maybe he’d be whispering something soft in my ear. Maybe I’d be laughing instead of aching.... I miss him so much it hurts.
And then.... I freeze.
Because right there, among the crowd, I see someone. A tall figure at the edge of the dance floor, that familiar tilt of his head, and my heart stops.
Hariss?
No. It can’t be.
But I blink again, and my breath catches. The resemblance is so strong my stomach twists. I lean closer to the glass, trying to see through the blur of lights and motion.
He can’t be here. This place belongs to Axel Moretti.... It's his world. Haris would never step into a club like this.
Would he?
He doesn’t know what this place is. He doesn’t know what Axel is.
And yet, the longer I look, the more I start to doubt myself. Because the man down there — he moves just like him, but there is also a difference. His hair color isn't the same, he doesn't wear the same kind of clothes he loved so much....
And that’s when I feel Axel’s eyes on me from behind.
- Writer
