Chapter 7 7

The moment Sheila stepped out of the car; she was greeted by the sight of dazzling city lights reflecting off the sleek black windows of the venue Mira had chosen. The rooftop bar was one of the most exclusive in the city, perched high above the skyline, with a breath-taking view of the twinkling buildings below.

A long red carpet led to the entrance, flanked by gold-plated lanterns that flickered in the night breeze. Inside, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting shimmering lights over the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, a mix of floral and musk that blended with the faintest hint of champagne.

Sheila took it all in, overwhelmed but impressed.

"This is... a lot," she murmured, turning to Mira, who stood beside her, looking positively radiant in a form-fitting black dress.

Mira smirked, looping her arm through Sheila’s. "I know. Isn't it fabulous?”

Sheila narrowed her eyes. "How long have you been planning this?"

Mira let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, honey, for so long I can’t even remember. The moment you told me Jacob brought a woman home, I was already drafting party plans in my head.”

Right. Her friend had never liked Jacob at all. Once or twice, Mira had stood for her against the ill treatment she suffered from Jacob and his family.

Sheila sighed, shaking her head. "Mira, you didn’t have to go all out. It’s just a divorce, not a coronation."

"Exactly why I had to go all out! You just got rid of a parasite. This calls for a celebration." Mira wiggled her brows. "Come on, let's enjoy the night!"

Sheila scoffed, shaking her head. "Mira, this is just—"

"... A celebration of a woman finally breaking free from a cheating husband…" Mira cut in, arching a perfectly shaped brow. " Now stop overthinking, and let's go in! Everyone is waiting."

“Everyone?” Sheila asked, but her friend giggled in response.

The party was already in full swing. The music thrummed through the floor, a deep bass that vibrated through her bones. People Sheila swore she had never met before trouped up to her, grinning as they clinked glasses in her honour.

A woman with a glass of champagne leaned in. "You're such an inspiration! Honestly, leaving a toxic man is the bravest thing a woman can do."

"Uh… thanks?" Sheila replied, bewildered.

She turned to Mira with a questioning look. "Just how many people did you invite?"

Mira took a sip of her cocktail, clearly enjoying herself. "Maybe some really important people I never actually expected would turn up… I invited everyone except your ex-jackass husband."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "Thanks for that, at least."

Mira clinked her glass against Sheila’s. "Now, let’s get you wasted."

Sheila didn’t protest. She was tired of feeling miserable, tired of thinking about the past. So, she drank. One shot turned into two, then three. The tension in her shoulders melted as the alcohol coursed through her veins.

She danced, laughed, and let go in a way she hadn’t in years. Mira cheered her on, clinking their glasses together every few minutes, urging her to take another sip.

At some point, Sheila lost count of how many drinks she had. The room spun slightly, and she let out a giddy laugh, gripping Mira’s arm for support.

"You good?" Mira asked, amused.

"Perfectly fine," Sheila said, though her words slurred slightly.

"Good. Because I have one rule for tonight—no thinking about the past. No regrets. Just fun."

Sheila smiled lazily. "That actually sounds nice."

"Another round?" Mira asked, holding up two shots.

Sheila smirked. "You’re trying to get me drunk."

"Correction—I’m trying to get you to live a little," Mira said, handing her the glass.

And just like that, she let herself go.

She kept gulping down more drinks. The burn of alcohol warmed her from the inside, making her feel lighter, freer. She laughed loudly, swayed to the music, and for the first time in years, she let herself exist without the weight of Jacob’s name on her shoulders.

Yet, even in her drunken bliss, there was a small ache deep in her chest.

Five years.

Five years of shaping herself into the perfect wife, the perfect daughter-in-law. Five years of losing herself in the expectations of Jacob and his family.

And for what? To be treated like trash!

You can't care anymore Sheila… not anymore.

Which was why, when an attractive stranger pulled her onto the dance floor, she didn’t resist.

He wasn’t the most handsome man in the room, but he had a certain charm about him. A chiselled jawline, slicked-back brown hair, and a confident smirk. His navy button-down was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a hint of toned chest, but what Sheila noticed most was the strong scent of cigarettes clinging to him.

"You look like someone who needs a good time," he said, twirling her around.

Sheila giggled, the alcohol making her head spin. "Maybe I do."

He laughed, pulling her closer as they danced, his hands lingering a little too long on her waist.

“John… that's my name.” He said, pulling her closer.

“Ohh... Josh… Sheil...lla...” she stuttered, gasping a little.

“Perfect name doll... I said John, not Josh.”

“Ookayy...”

She should have pulled away.

But tonight, she didn’t care.

Sheila could feel someone watching her, an intense gaze that burned into her skin, but she ignored it.

The man, Josh? John? She couldn’t remember, leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Wanna take this upstairs? Somewhere more… private?"

Sheila giggled, the idea of escaping sounding oddly appealing. She nodded, letting him lead her toward the stairs.

But a deep, angry voice stopped them.

"You will let go of her now, or I'll have your hands ripped off from your body."

The voice was deep, authoritative, laced with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.

Sheila ducked her head, the alcohol making everything hazy, but when she looked up, her breath caught.

The man standing before them was—

Beautiful.

Dark, slightly tousled black hair. A sharp jawline. Hazel eyes that glowed with barely contained anger. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with grey pants that fit his frame perfectly.

Sheila blinked. Who dresses like that to a party?

Yet she couldn’t deny it—he was drop-dead gorgeous. And… infuriating.

"Who the hell are you?" the man beside her sneered.

The stranger didn’t flinch. He simply stood there, radiating a kind of power that made the air feel thick.

Sheila saw the flicker of fear in Josh… John's eyes.

"Pathetic," the stranger muttered before stepping closer. His voice was calm, but there was a lethal edge to it. "You will let go of her because I say so."

The man scoffed, trying to mask his unease. "And who are you to her? If you’re not someone important, I won’t."

The stranger’s jaw clenched. His hands pushed through his dark hair, a spark of frustration flickering in his hazel eyes.

Sheila swayed slightly, trying to keep up with what was happening.

And then, he said the most absurd thing.

"Let go of my wife."

Sheila’s head snapped up, the words hitting her like ice water.

The man gripping her arm went rigid. "What?" he let out a nervous chuckle. "She’s divorced. That was the reason for the party, remember?"

The stranger, her drop-dead gorgeous stranger, tilted his head, gaze dropping to her fingers before he reached out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist in a firm hold.

"She hasn’t signed the papers yet." His voice was smooth, deadly. "Now let go before I lose it."