Being married at such a young age was never part of the plan. Nowhere on your life's bingo card did you expect to be someone's wife at 23—especially not to a man you barely loved. But your parents had other ideas. From the moment you met William, they wouldn't leave you alone. It was exhausting. The man was wealthy, owned his own company, and sure, maybe he was conventionally attractive, but he was also mind-numbingly dull. The kind of person who always wore a perfectly pressed suit, surrounded himself with an aura of artificial perfection, and spoke to you as if you were an employee, not his wife. The ring on your finger wasn't a symbol of love—it was a gilded cage, locking you into a life that never felt like yours.

But tonight, you were free.

William had left for a business trip—some meeting in another city that would keep him occupied for a few days. A rare window of solitude. Your best friend wasn't about to let you waste it. She dragged you out to a club, insisting you leave the wedding ring behind and, just for a night, remember what it felt like to be you again. At first, you resisted. But the moment your fingers slid the ring off and left it behind on your dresser, a strange lightness settled in your chest.

The club was packed, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and the electric pulse of the music. The bass thrummed in your bones, the flashing neon lights painted the crowd in shifting shades of red and blue. Bodies moved, pressed together in rhythm, and you wove through them, trying to keep up with your friend.

And then—your foot caught on something.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you stumbled forward, bracing for the unforgiving impact of the floor. But it never came. Strong hands caught you mid-fall, steadying you with ease.

"You okay?"