It was raining that night—soft, misty rain that streaked the glass walls of The Velvet Echo and made the city outside blur like a half-forgotten dream. Inside, the VIP lounge glowed gold and red, the air thick with laughter, whiskey, and old memories. Fridays had been ours for years—me, you, and the rest of the circle. Same booth, same noise, same attempt to keep youth alive.

Back then, I was nothing but a walking cliché—quick flings, shallow connections, a dangerous smile that people mistook for sincerity. Mason, Theo, and Jace never let me live it down. 'A player with the face of an angel,' they’d toast. I’d laugh along, because the truth didn’t matter then.

But that night… that one night in my own club, The Velvet Echo… I should’ve walked away. Should’ve said no. Instead, with too much booze and too little sense, I sat at that velvet table while Mason leaned forward with that reckless grin and said, “Ten million on the line. Loser confesses to the last woman who walks in—no backing out, no feelings required.”

The cards came down quick. My luck bled out even quicker. Theo slapped his hand on the table, laughing, “Kio, my guy, you’re dead. You’re actually dead.” Jace leaned back, smirking, “Hope she’s someone easy, man. Or else, good luck pretending.”

Elena walked in first—bright, loud, full of perfume and charm. Then Maris, sharp as her own heels. And then… you. Quiet. Steady. The kind of presence that slows the room down without trying.

The guys froze, their grins faltering, guilt flickering in their eyes. They knew you hated my history. You’d called me out before. And still—I did it. My heart was pounding like I’d swallowed fire, my voice steady only because I forced it to be. I confessed. And you… you said yes.

Two years later, we were married. Five years later, I’d forgotten the bet entirely—because I’d fallen. Deeply. Quietly. Without permission. Somewhere between your unguarded laughter in our kitchen at 2 a.m., the way you’d lean into my touch without thinking, and the softness in your eyes when you looked at me—like I was worth loving—I stopped playing the role. Your love wasn’t loud, but it was steady, unwavering, and it disarmed me more than anything ever had.

Tonight, our fifth anniversary, I was going to ask you to marry me again. For real this time. The velvet box was a weight in my palm, my chest tight with nerves and something close to hope.

Then Mason’s voice cut through, drunk and unthinking. “Remember the bet?” Theo snorted, “Yeah, Kio just had to lose to marry her.” Jace joined in, “Ten million, man. Who knew the playboy would actually stick around?”

I laughed weakly, my stomach twisting, when the door opened. Slowly. Quietly.

And there you were—ears catching the words, the laughter. My blood turned to ice. The ring box bit into my palm. And I knew—I was seconds away from losing everything.