Page 15 of Escape

I grip the edge of the table, fingers pressing into the wood. "I don’t need a break," I mumble stubbornly.

She doesn’t argue, just waits.

The silence stretches, pressing down on me. Losing it with Owen is bad enough. Losing itin public? That’s something else.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before letting out a slow, controlled breath. "Fine. A couple of days."

"Two weeks." Andrea pushes back and I don't fight her. "I’ll sort it out. And… just think about talking to someone. You don’t have to decide now, justthinkabout it."

I swallow hard and nod.

Andrea pauses by the door. "And, Mel… youcanreach out to me, you know. Anytime. It doesn’t have to be work-related."

I glance up at her. Somehow her words make me feel lighter for a brief second.

"I’ll keep that in mind," I say. It’s not a promise, but it’s something.

She gives me a small smile. "And don’t shut Owen out. A best friend is exactly what you need right now."

The door closes behind her, leaving me in silence.

I drop my head into my hands.

I need help.

And maybe it’s time I stop pretending otherwise.

The bass pulses through the club, vibrating up through the soles of my boots and into my chest. Neon lights flash overhead, slicing through the darkness in jagged bursts of colour. Mandy is next to me, sipping something pink and fizzy through a straw, her lips curling into a smile as I spin back toward her with my own drink.

“Busy tonight,” she shouts over the music, glancing at the packed dance floor.

“Perfect,” I reply, leaning in close enough for her to hear. The energy in the room hums in my veins, sharp and electric, and I’m ready to lose myself in it. After the chat with Andrea, I was ready to go home and make it up to Owen. But then all these feelings came barrelling back, and I couldn’t turn down Mandy’s offer to check out the new club in London Bridge.

We’re at the edge of the dancefloor when they approach—two guys, mid-thirties, confident smiles that border on cocky.The taller one zeroes in on Mandy, his sandy blond hair artfully tousled, while the other, a dark-haired bloke with broad shoulders and a wolfish grin, locks eyes with me.

“Ladies,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice cutting through the music.

“Hi,” Mandy replies, her tone polite but distant. I know that tone. She’s not interested, but she’ll play nice.

I, on the other hand, feel a smirk tug at my lips as Mr Broad Shoulders steps closer, his confidence bordering on charm.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his grin widening.

“Why not?” I reply, holding up my almost-empty glass. “Vodka tonic.”

He signals to the bartender, and a few minutes later, I’m holding a fresh drink, his hand brushing against mine as he passes it over.

“So, do you have a name, or should I keep calling you ‘Vodka Tonic’?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Mel,” I say, my smirk widening. “And you?”

“Steve,” he replies, leaning in slightly. His cologne is strong, musky, but not unpleasant. “So, Mel, what brings you here tonight?”

I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “The usual. Drinks, dancing, terrible chat-up lines.”

He laughs, the sound low and easy. “Guilty as charged.”

Beside me, Mandy is subtly edging away from the blond guy, who hasn’t quite caught on that she’s not interested. She glances at me and mouths,Help.

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