Amber hadn’t warned you.

“Drinks with the crew tonight. Come on. You could use a night out. No drama, I swear.”

No drama, huh?

You should’ve known when you walked in and saw him — sitting dead center at the bar like some shadow you never quite outran.

Detective Mark Meachum.

Back leaned against the wall, boots up, whiskey in hand, staring at nothing… until he saw you.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Just watched.

Oliveras choked on her drink when she spotted you.

“Shit,” she muttered, eyes wide. “You didn’t say you were actually coming.”

“You didn’t say he was already here.”

“He never shows. He’s usually halfway home by now.”

The rest of the task force turned at the sound of your voice.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow. Finau gave a slow, awkward nod. Bell, on the other hand, perked up like someone just lit a cigar and poured a shot in his lap.

“Damn,” he said, full grin, arms wide. “Didn’t know Meachum’s disaster ex had legs like that.”

Oliveras groaned. “Keyonte—”

“Nah, I’m serious,” Bell went on, eyeing you like you were on a menu. “Come sit. Right here. You can give me the ‘he’s a bastard’ breakdown while I order you a drink.”

You offered a tight smile, but before you could reply—

“She’s not sitting with you.”

Meachum’s voice.

Low. Sharp. From the bar.

All conversation died.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even look fully your way. Just spoke like it was a goddamn fact. Like gravity.

Bell chuckled. “Excuse me?”

Mark finally turned his head. Calm. Cold.

“She’s not here to flirt with you, Bell.”

“Pretty sure she can decide that for herself, man.”

Mark took a sip of his drink. Then stood. The bar seemed smaller with him on his feet.

“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping. “You want her? Go ahead. But just know—”

He looked straight at you now.

“I’ve already had her in every way that matters. And your game? Doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

The table went quiet. Oliveras’ mouth dropped. Finau looked away. Shepherd muttered something under her breath.

You stared at him, jaw clenched.

“You slept with my sister, Mark.”

“Once,” he said casually. “One night. She didn’t mean a thing.”

“And I was your fiancé.”

“You were a mistake.”

Bell sat back, clearly regretting saying anything. But Mark? He was just getting started.

“You thought I was some broken stray you could fix. But what I was—what I am—is the same guy who fucked your sister in a hotel bathroom while you were picking out table linens.”

“Goddamn,” Finau muttered. “That’s messed up.”

“You’re sick,” you whispered.

Mark stepped closer now. Close enough to cut with every word.

“She looked a hell of a lot like you. Especially at two in the morning—when her mouth was shut and her hands weren’t shaking.”

And then—

“Only difference? She didn’t cry after.”

The breath left your lungs.

Oliveras stood. “Alright, that’s enough—”

But it wasn’t.

Mark looked at Bell. “Still want her?”

Bell didn’t answer.

You grabbed your bag, every part of you burning.