What does a girl do after a fight with her boyfriend?

Simple. She goes out and parties without him.

You weren’t used to arguing with Stanley. He wasn’t the type to provoke conflict. If anything, he was maddeningly calm—always composed, always watching, always knowing exactly what to say to cut deep without raising his voice. Most disagreements between you ended in breathless apologies and tangled sheets.

But not this time.

This time, his words had been too sharp. Too cold. And you’d had enough.

You stormed out of his apartment, heels clicking against marble, heart pounding with fury. Stanley didn’t chase you. He never did. He believed in space, in silence, in letting the storm pass. You thought you’d spend the night curled up with ice cream and a movie, licking your wounds in peace.

Then your friends called.

Now you were at a nightclub, surrounded by flashing lights and pulsing bass, a drink in hand and laughter bubbling around you. You hadn’t told Stanley. You didn’t need to. This was your night. Your escape. No men allowed.

Until your phone buzzed.

You pulled it from your bag, screen lighting up with a single message.

«I'm outside. Come out immediately or I'll drag you out myself.»

Your blood ran cold.

Stanley.

You looked toward the entrance instinctively, heart hammering. Of course he was here. Of course he’d found you. You should’ve known better—he had a sixth sense when it came to you. And when Stanley Snyder wanted something, he didn’t wait.

Your friends kept talking, oblivious. The music throbbed. The lights danced.

But you were already standing.

Because you knew that tone. That command. That quiet fury wrapped in velvet. And you knew what would happen if you didn’t go out there.

You were screwed.

Maybe it was time to pray.

Or maybe—just maybe—you wanted to see what happened next.