The last song had stopped, and the final laughs had faded. The last people left the club, and the red curtains at the door closed, making the club strangely quiet. Zariah stood for a moment in the main hall. The air still smelled of sweet perfume, old drinks, and the buzz of the night. Her staff moved around her like quiet shadows, quickly cleaning up. Darcy, who ran things for Zariah and was one of the few people Zariah trusted, came up to her. Darcy looked tired but still respectful.
"Another good night, Ms. Cruz," Darcy said softly in the quiet. "You should get some rest. You've earned it."
Zariah just gave a quick nod. "You too, Darcy. Get home safe."
She watched Darcy leave, then slowly walked to the private elevator that went up to her apartment above the club. Usually, after a long night, she would feel a quiet kind of victory, a tired feeling of doing well. But tonight, a different kind of energy grew under her skin, making it hard to rest.
As the elevator went up silently, Zariah's mind wasn't on the club's money or the next big event. Her mind was full, as if a thousand tiny, nagging voices were swirling inside her head. All of them kept saying the same thing: the kiss.
She played the moment over in her head. His unexpected hold, the soft warmth in his hazel eyes, the gentle press of his lips. It had been reckless, a clear disrespect for her careful image. And yet… it had started something she thought was dead. Something wild and scary. That strange flutter in her stomach, the one she'd tried to stop right away, was now refusing to be ignored. It wanted to be felt, a small, rebellious spark.
Stepping into her apartment, Zariah felt the usual empty feeling that met her. But tonight, it felt different. The big, open rooms, which usually showed how much she had achieved, felt wide and unwelcoming. The city was her kingdom, and she ruled it with a strong hand. But suddenly, even the city seemed less bright, less powerful than the memory of a simple kiss.
She tried to push him out of her mind. He's nobody. A mistake. Just a drunk guy's clumsy move. But the words felt empty, even to her. There was something about his gentle eyes, even when he was dazed, that didn't fit with anything she knew about men who dared to get close to her. He hadn't looked hungry like Damon, or arrogant like many others. He had looked… lost. And then, searching.
She walked quickly to her well-stocked bar, but stopped. The whiskey from earlier still warmed her throat, but it hadn't chased away the memory of that kiss. It had only made things blurry. She didn't want blurry now. She wanted clarity even if it made her uncomfortable.
She sat down on a soft, dark sofa, pulling out her phone. Her thumb scrolling through social media, news, anything to make her stop thinking. She told herself she was just passing time, waiting for her mind to calm down. But deep down, a different kind of curiosity was starting to grow.
Then, she stopped scrolling. An image. A piece of art, strong and eye-catching, yet full of a quiet feeling that caught her attention. It was a painting of a mother and child hugging tenacity and a smile on their faces. Something she had always desired. The art had an honest, real feel that she rarely found, especially online. It would look amazing in the club's private lounge, a perfect fit to remind her what true love felt like.
She tapped the image. It led to an online art gallery. The artwork was for sale. She quickly typed a message to the seller.
"I'm interested in the 'Mother's Heart' painting. How much is it? Can I see it in person?"
A reply came back almost right away, much faster than she thought. The seller's name was simply "Artworks." No fancy titles, no bragging, just a plain, simple name. It was strange, almost too simple for such good art.
"Thank you for your interest. Yes, you can see it in person. My studio is downtown. What time works for you?"
Zariah typed back, her mind already thinking about the details. She rarely bought art without seeing it first. And something about this painting, it's quiet power, made her want to see it up close. She liked to feel the canvas, to see the brushstrokes. It was rare for her to even look at art this closely, unless it was for her club. But this was different. This piece felt right to her.
She checked her plans for the next day, which was Friday, then the weekend. Fridays were usually very busy with meetings. Saturday, though, was often quieter.
"Saturday afternoon. Around 2 PM?" she sent.
"Perfect. Looking forward to it."
Zariah put her phone down. A strange mix of satisfaction and something else she couldn't quite name settled over her. She had a new piece for the club, a beautiful one. And it was a Saturday meeting, which meant she could give it her full attention.
Finally, her mind started to calm down. The thought of the art, of getting something beautiful and powerful, slowly pushed out the unsettling memory of the kiss. She got up from the sofa and stretched. The city outside her window was full of life, something that was missing in hers. She was Zariah Cruz, and she was in charge of her world. She would buy the art, make her club look better, and move on. The short, unexpected spark from a drunk stranger was just that – short.
She walked towards her bedroom, the soft carpet making her steps silent. As she slipped under the cool sheets of her big bed, tiredness finally took over. But even as she drifted off to sleep, a faint, almost unnoticeable warmth settled in her chest. It was a quiet reminder that some things, once touched, refused to truly settle. She closed her eyes, ready for the deep sleep she needed.