Dancing Away Her Stress

With a grin plastered on his face, Harold trailed after Jerica, begging her to go out for drinks. "Come on, Jerica, just one drink... It'll be fun! You don't even have to go alone. Call your husband. He can join us! Where does he work again?" Harold's questions piled up, one after the other, like an overly eager puppy.

Jerica came to a halt, the weight of her reality sinking in hard. Today was their anniversary, and instead of celebrating, her husband had gone through the motions with some half-hearted gestures while she, in her absentmindedness, had almost handed him divorce papers.

Now, how could she even begin to introduce her husband to her ex-boyfriend? Not that Jared would have the time—he'd already told her he was busy tonight. She was destined for a sad, solitary evening with a pizza delivery as her only company.

She sighed. "I have laundry to do."

Laundry. That's what her life had come to. She'd rather face a pile of Jared's shirts needing ironing than the awkwardness of deflecting Harold's relentless questions about her husband. Besides, laundry was therapeutic. Folding clothes was far more predictable than men.

Harold blinked. "Laundry? Seriously?"

Before she could answer, Lila swooped in. "Did someone say 'drinks'?"

Like moths to a flame, the rest of the office started gathering around. Jerica braced herself, thinking Harold might be thrown off by the crowd, but of course, she forgot he was the king of extroverts and loved an audience.

"Drinks are on me if y'all can convince Jerica!" Harold declared with a flourish, arms raised high as if he were some generous deity bestowing gifts upon his adoring followers.

-----

Meanwhile, in his office, Jared glanced at his watch. It was already quarter past five, and Jerica should've left by now. He peered out the window, expecting to see her catching the bus home, but instead, his gaze landed on Harold's car. There she was, stepping into the front passenger seat as Harold, ever the gentleman, held the door open for her.

"Ms. Evans is leaving!" Nick burst into the office in a flurry of urgency, practically tripping over his own feet. He had taken his self-appointed role as Jared's personal assistant far too seriously and now, on their wedding anniversary of all days, Nick was panicking. "The dinner reservation… You should stop her!"

Jared's eyes remained fixed on the group piling into Harold's car, the excited chatter audible even from the distance. His face remained unreadable.

"Cancel the reservation," he said coolly.

Nick blinked, stunned. "But... it's your anniversary..." He trailed off, realizing who he was speaking to.

This was the Siberian Beast, after all. He wasn't about to show a flicker of emotion, let alone anger. But Nick couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. If his wife had ditched him on their anniversary, he'd be fuming. Surely, Jared Petrovski—the Siberian Beast—would be livid?

Nick waited, breath held, as Jared calmly picked up his suit jacket and briefcase, looking as cold and composed as ever. There wasn't even the slightest indication that he cared. Nothing. Not a twitch, not a frown, not a word about the table he'd reserved at that fancy restaurant.

"You can head out if there's nothing left to do," Jared waved him off dismissively.

Nick exhaled, relieved to be released from the freezing tension. As he left the office, he kept glancing back, half expecting Jared to head home. But no—Jared was driving in the same direction Harold's car had gone.

Nick's eyes widened. Was he about to confront them? Or was he going to terrorize them? Whatever it was, his job was done and he left.

-----

"What is this place?" Jerica muttered, covering her ears as the thumping bass from the speakers reverberated through her body. She glanced down at her phone again, hoping—praying—for a message from Jared. But there was nothing. No "I'll be late," no "Where are you?". Just radio silence.

She debated whether to text him and let him know she might be out late. But did he even care? She could almost hear his voice saying something about being busy at work, or some other excuse that would explain why he hadn't bothered to check in. With a sigh, she shoved her phone back into her purse.

This wasn't what she had in mind when Harold invited everyone out. She thought he'd drag them to a pub for some casual drinks, but instead, she found herself in the middle of a pulsing, neon-lit nightclub.

She was just about to turn on her heel and escape when Lila grabbed her wrist, stopping her retreat. "We're all single here, Jerica! Give us a chance!" Lila pleaded, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jerica raised an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Single, huh?" she mumbled under her breath. Nightclubs weren't what they used to be, at least not for her. She couldn't help but think, Isn't this what dating apps are for now? Why are we here?

The overwhelming crowd, the blaring music, the flashing lights—it all felt so familiar, yet strangely foreign. She used to love this scene, used to thrive in it. Now? Now, she just wanted a quiet corner and maybe some peace.

Grabbing a drink from the bar, she scanned the room for a quiet nook. But before she could make her escape, someone's hands slid around her waist. Her heart jumped, and she spun around to see Harold grinning down at her, both of his hands firmly on her hips.

"Remember when we used to tear up the clubs in East Hamptons?" Harold asked, his grin widening.

Jerica's eye twitched. She had to fight the urge to throw her drink on his smug face. Instead, she took a deep breath and, in a low voice that oozed menace, she hissed, "Hands. Off."

Harold's smile faltered, his hands shooting up in surrender as he backed away, looking like a kicked puppy. For a brief moment, she felt bad. She hadn't meant to crush his spirit, but she needed to draw a line. She wasn't the carefree girl she used to be. She was married now. He shouldn't touch her as he pleased.

Rubbing her forehead, she downed the rest of her drink in one swift motion. Harold, clearly wounded, slunk back to the dance floor with the others. Jerica found herself alone, her mind spinning, and the noise from the club only making it worse.

But after a few more shots, something shifted. The infectious energy of the room started to pull her in. The joy around her was magnetic, and before she knew it, she was back on the dance floor, laughing, twirling, and letting loose with Harold and the others.

For the first time in a long time, she danced away her stress, unaware that a pair of eyes had been watching her the entire time.