Chapter 301: Do you want a drink?

KATYA POV

Chiara blinked up at me, already halfway onto the stool. “Hey—where are you going?” she called, her voice chasing after me through the music.

“I’m coming,” I threw over my shoulder, though even I could hear how unconvincing it sounded. Because I wasn’t.

Not really. My feet were already moving in the opposite direction. Through the crowd. Past bodies that brushed against my arms, shoulders, back—none of it registering properly.

The music felt louder again, heavier, like it was pressing in from all sides, but my focus had narrowed into something sharp and singular.

Him.

The closer I got, the more aware I became of everything I wasn’t paying attention to. The way my heartbeat refused to settle. The way my steps slowed just a fraction when I reached the edge of the lounge area.

It was darker here. Quieter, in a way. The lights didn’t reach as strongly, shadows settling into the corners, softening everything except him.

Romeo didn’t move. Not when I approached. Not when I stopped a few steps away. Not even when I stepped closer, until I was standing right in front of him.

Only then did I realize how steady he looked. How completely unaffected. Like the entire walk over hadn’t meant anything. Like I hadn’t just crossed the entire club to get to him.

My fingers curled slightly at my side.

“You followed me.” The words came out sharper than I expected. No greeting. No hesitation. Just straight to it.

His gaze lifted fully to meet mine, slow and deliberate. But he didn’t answer.

Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t even shift.

That silence—God— it made something in my chest tighten.

“I asked you a question,” I continued, my voice rising just enough to cut through the noise around us. “Did you follow me here?”

Still nothing. Just that same steady look. Watching. Waiting. It made my frustration spike and the little fear in me dulled.

“You said you weren’t going to get involved,” I went on, the words coming faster now, slipping over each other before I could stop them. “You made that very clear. So what is this?” I gestured vaguely around us, then toward him.

“This—sitting here, watching me all night—what is that supposed to mean?” My hand dropped back to my side, fingers tightening briefly.

“Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you following me to a club I didn’t even tell you about.” My breath hitched slightly, and I hated that it did.

Hated that there was even the smallest tremor beneath the anger. “You don’t get to do that,” I added, quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to say you’re staying out of my life and then just—show up like this.”

He still hadn’t said a word. Not one. The silence stretched. Long enough for the edges of my anger to start turning into something else.

Something more uncomfortable. My thoughts began to trip over themselves. Maybe I sounded ridiculous. Maybe I was overreacting.

Maybe…..I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair before dropping it again.

Because standing there, talking—while he just sat there watching me like I was something to be studied…it made me feel…. I didn’t even know.

Exposed? Foolish? Like I was the only one actually affected by any of this. My voice faltered slightly as I continued, slower now.

“You can’t just… decide when you’re involved and when you’re not. That’s not how this works.” The words came out less certain. Less sharp.

“Say something,” I muttered, frustration slipping through.The anger that had carried me across the room was thinning out, unraveling into something uneven and embarrassingly raw.

For a second—just a second—I thought he wouldn’t. That he would keep sitting there, silent, letting me stand in front of him like this, breathing too fast, saying too much.

Then finally he moved. Not much. Just enough to lift the glass in his hand slightly, his fingers adjusting around it before he set it back down on the table in front of him with quiet ease.

His gaze never left mine. When he spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm. “Do you want a drink?”

I blinked. The words didn’t register properly at first.

“…what?” He tilted his head just slightly, like he was actually considering the question.

“There’s a waiter,” he added, glancing briefly past me toward the floor before looking back at me. “Or you can sit.” My mouth opened.

Closed, just staring at him. All that build-up—everything I had just said—all the frustration, the questions, the—

And that was his response?

“A drink?” I repeated, incredulous. Something sharp flared again in my chest, hotter this time because it felt ridiculous.

“Are you serious right now?” He didn’t react.

Didn’t rise to it. Didn’t even look remotely bothered.

“If you’re going to stand there,” he said evenly, “you might as well sit.” My grip tightened slightly around the glass in my hand.

“You didn’t answer anything I said.”

“I heard you.”

That only made it worse.

“You—” I cut myself off, letting out a short, disbelieving breath.

“You heard me, and your response is to offer me a seat?”

His gaze dropped briefly—just for a second—to my hand, to the way my fingers were clenched too tightly around the glass, before lifting back to my face.

“You’re shaking.”

The words landed quieter.

Not accusatory.

Not mocking.

Just… stated.

And that—

that annoyed me more than anything.

“I am not,” I snapped immediately, even though the slight tremor in my fingers betrayed me the moment I shifted my grip.

His expression didn’t change.

If anything, something in his eyes sharpened slightly, like he had just confirmed something he already suspected.

“You walked across the entire club to tell me I followed you,” he continued, his tone still maddeningly level. “You could at least sit while you do it.”

I stared at him.

Completely thrown off. Because he wasn’t arguing. Wasn’t denying it. Wasn’t even defending himself.

He was just…redirecting. Like everything I had said was… background noise.

Like what mattered more was the fact that I was standing here, worked up, instead of the reason why.

My shoulders rose slightly with another uneven breath.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered under it.

And yet I didn’t move. Didn’t walk away.Didn’t go back to Chiara.

I just stood there. Caught somewhere between leaving and staying. Between anger and something else I didn’t want to name.

Romeo shifted slightly against the couch, his arm still stretched along the backrest, posture loose, unbothered.

Like he already knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Sit, Katya.” This time it wasn’t a suggestion.

Not harsh. Not forceful. Just… certain. Like he had already decided what I was going to do.

And for some reason that irritated me enough to make me….