I'm In Love With My Bestfriend's Billionaire Fiance!
Chapter 124: In Chellar Club

Chapter 124: In Chellar Club

(Casey’s POV)

__________

The moment my call with Jace ended, I didn’t waste a second.

I dialed Janet immediately.

She picked up on the first ring, her voice low and tentative. "Hi, are you still coming?"

"No," I said, barely able to keep the tightness from my throat. "I finally reached Kira."

"Oh, thank God," she exhaled. I could hear the relief swell in her voice. "Is she okay?"

"She says she is. But you know how she is—cryptic as hell. Still, at least she’s safe. You can leave her house now. Just make sure the door’s locked behind you, okay?"

"Of course, Casey. I’m just glad she’s alright. I was getting really worried."

"Yeah," I murmured. "Me too."

As soon as the line went dead and the dial tone shrilled in my ear, I slowly lowered the phone into the cup holder, my fingers stiff with tension. Then I just sat there. My hands clenched the steering wheel as though it were the only thing keeping me grounded.

I stared through the windshield without really seeing anything. Just shapes. Movement. Light and shadow slide over glass. The storm inside my head was louder than anything around me.

Kira.

Just the thought of her name sent another ripple of uncertainty through my chest.

Last night had been a disaster. We argued. No—I argued. I lashed out at her, called her out for hiding things from me. I was angry—furious, really—because I felt shut out. Locked out of this secret part of her life. She had a boyfriend, or at least someone, and she’d kept it from me. Me, the one person who was supposed to know her inside and out. And that had been a major factor in allowing me to completely be free with Jace. I had a magical night with Jace because I was mad and pissed off at Kira.

And now?

Now I wasn’t even sure if it was a boyfriend. There had been signs—brief moments, lingering glances, the subtle discomfort in her voice whenever the topic veered toward relationships. And I had ignored them. Deliberately?

Was she into women? Had she been hiding something so fundamental about herself? Something she thought I couldn’t handle? That I might judge?

My gut twisted at the thought. Not because I cared who she loved—but because she hadn’t trusted me with that truth.

If she was gay—or bi—or something else entirely—I wasn’t angry about that. But the silence? The secrecy? That stung. That dug under my skin and made me question everything I thought I knew about our friendship.

I thought I was her safe space. Her home base. Her truth.

But maybe I wasn’t.

That was going to be part of the conversation tonight. It had to be.

Still gripping the steering wheel tightly, I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. The leather was cool under my palms, grounding me back to the present.

For now, though... I had to shift my focus.

Because I had a date.

With my boyfriend.

At Chellar Club.

I sighed. It felt absurd to even think about anything normal today, let alone dating. But I needed the distraction. Even if my head wasn’t in it, maybe my body would remember how to go through the motions. Maybe I could fake it just long enough to convince myself that things weren’t falling apart beneath the surface.

I put the car into reverse, backed out of the small parking area, and merged into the adjacent lane heading in the opposite direction. The sun had begun its descent, casting a pale gold light over the city as it slid toward late afternoon.

The drive to Chellar Club was long—more than an hour across town, through heavy patches of traffic, and long stretches of silence where the only sound was the low hum of the engine and my thoughts, loud and restless.

Each mile felt like another layer of doubt pulling tighter around my chest.

I shouldn’t have yelled at Kira last night. I should have asked more questions instead of making accusations. I should have listened. But I didn’t. And now, all I had were pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit together the way they used to.

I arrived at Chellar Club sometime past four.

The place, normally electric and overflowing by nightfall, stood mostly quiet under the afternoon sun. A few cars lined the parking lot. The air buzzed faintly with distant music and the low murmur of voices, but there was none of the chaos or glamor the club was known for. And that, honestly, was a blessing.

I wasn’t in the mood for velvet ropes, bottle girls, or artificial smiles. I needed calm. I needed clarity. Even if I had to drag it out of myself one agonizing breath at a time.

The moment I stepped into Chellar Club, the ambient rhythm of soft, sultry music curled through the air like smoke. The lighting was low and moody, casting a warm amber hue over the velvet booths and polished floors. It wasn’t peak hours yet, so the place breathed quietly—an intimate lull before the night’s madness.

A single, chrome stripper pole gleamed in the center of the room like a lonely monument to mischief. It stood untouched, surrounded by lounge chairs occupied by a scattering of patrons—some nursing cocktails, others locked in low, conspiratorial conversations. The kind of place where secrets found shelter in shadows and names were rarely exchanged.

I moved with purpose, ignoring the casual glances and half-hearted nods from people too used to scandal to care. I bypassed the main seating area and headed straight for the series of VIP booths tucked along the edge of the room. Each was hidden behind velvet curtains, lit softly from within. Privacy cloaked them like a promise.

I slipped into one that felt perfect—dim enough to shield us from curious eyes, but not so dark that I couldn’t see his face clearly. And that mattered. I needed to see Jace tonight. Really see him.

The plush leather seat hugged my body as I sank into it. I exhaled slowly, my fingers running over the menu not to read it, but just to do something with my hands. My heart was still a slow thud of nerves and exhaustion, but more than anything, it was anticipation that filled my chest.

With everything swirling around us—Kira missing for hours, Vic leaving behind more questions than answers, the media watching our every move—we needed this space. This pause. This moment where it could just be the two of us, without noise, without suspicion.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzed with a single text:

Jace: Outside. Which booth?

I responded quickly, dropping a pin and a short reply.

Exactly four minutes later, there was a gentle knock at the booth door. A sound so soft and measured, it could only be him. I opened it just enough for him to slip inside.

Jace stepped in quietly, a low, familiar scent clinging to him—fresh cedar, faint cologne, and something uniquely him. He locked the door behind him. He was wearing a black jacket, and his hoodie was pulled low over his forehead, casting shadows across the sharp angles of his jaw. That was how he’d gotten in unnoticed, how he’d passed the curious eyes at the door without causing a stir.

But the moment he pushed the hood back and shrugged off his jacket, my breath caught in my throat.

God.

Every time, it was the same.

His beauty was devastating. And it was something I could never get used to.

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