It Should Have Been Like This (The Revised Version)

Chapter 103: The Club's Unexpected Guest (2)

As she scurried away, still visibly dazed, Apollo watched her go with a satisfied grin. "Too easy," he murmured under his breath as he took a seat beside Phineas.

"You ever get tired?" I asked with irritation.

Apollo shrugged, brushing his long hair over his shoulder. "Of what? Being this irresistible? Never."

Phineas snorted, picking his phone back up.

Apollo leaned back in his chair, the dim light catching the faint shimmer in his silver eyes. His smirk returned, sharper now, almost taunting. "You know," he said, his tone taking on a biting edge, "you're wasting your godly features on Lavender."

My grip tightened around the glass in my hand, the faint creak of the strain barely audible over the music. "Careful," I said, my voice low and firm, each word deliberate. "Lavender is my wife, and you'll show her respect."

His smirk faltered for just a moment, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place—was it irritation? Jealousy? But just as quickly, he scoffed, looking away with a casual wave of his hand. "Better than that Peyton woman, I suppose," he muttered.

The jab hit its mark, striking the faint but lingering regret I kept buried. Peyton had been a mistake, one I had no desire to revisit. But I refused to give Apollo the satisfaction of a reaction.

The tension between us thickened, the air feeling heavier. Apollo's body language was as composed as ever, but his jaw clenched slightly, a crack in his usual arrogance.

"Right," Phineas drawled, his voice cutting through the simmering tension. He placed his phone on the table with exaggerated nonchalance, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Can we focus on the important things here? Like the fact that I'm marrying Rylee in a few days?"

I exhaled, glad for the shift in focus, though I noticed the subtle way Apollo's expression stilled. For someone usually so animated, the sudden quietness in his features was telling.

Phineas leaned forward, a wide grin spreading across his face as he continued. "Not to mention, she's the most incredible woman I've ever met. Beautiful, smart, witty—and don't even get me started on her cooking. Did you know she made this basil risotto the other night that—"

"You're insufferable," I interrupted, though my tone lacked any real bite.

"Insufferable, maybe, but happy," Phineas shot back, his grin widening. He raised his drink in a mock toast. "To me, the luckiest man alive."

Apollo remained silent, his fingers tapping idly against his glass. His usual smug demeanor seemed dimmed, his gaze fixed on a random point in the room.

I watched him carefully, the quietness uncharacteristic and unsettling. But before I could call him out on it, the server returned with our drinks, interrupting the moment.

Apollo tried to recover, flashing a flirtatious smile at the male server, who didn't even blink. "Not interested," the man said bluntly, setting our drinks on the table.

Phineas barked out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Ouch, Apollo. Rejected without hesitation. Must be humbling."

Apollo scoffed, his smirk returning though his pride clearly bruised. "He's not even that good-looking," he muttered, swirling his drink. "Probably overcompensating for something."

Phineas grinned wickedly. "Oh, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

The banter brought back a sense of levity, but as Apollo retorted with a sarcastic quip and Phineas countered with equal snark, I couldn't shake the tension still lingering beneath Apollo's façade.

I sipped my drink quietly, my mind turning over his earlier words. He'd always been vocal about his disdain for Lavender, but tonight it felt sharper, more personal. Something was simmering beneath the surface, and for the first time in a long while, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what it was.

Phineas burst into laughter as Apollo scoffed, muttering under his breath about the server's supposed inadequacies.

For an hour, we sat reminiscing about old times, laughing more than I expected. But then I saw her.

The pulsing bass of the music faded into a dull hum as my eyes locked onto the figure entering the VIP lounge. For a moment, it felt like the room tilted, every sound and light dimming to make way for her.

She was a vision.

The woman walking toward us moved with an unshakable confidence that rippled through the air like a predator surveying its domain. She wore a red dress so stunning it seemed like it had been poured onto her. The fabric hugged her body, accentuating every curve in a way that felt almost criminal. The deep neckline revealed just enough to be tantalizing, her full, abundant breasts daring anyone not to look. The dress cinched perfectly at her waist before cascading down to her hips, its slit high enough to reveal long, toned legs with every step.

Her thick, cinnamon-brown hair fell in glossy waves, swept elegantly over one shoulder. The strands shimmered under the lounge's low lights, framing her face like an artist's masterpiece. Her makeup was flawless—smoky eyes that promised danger, high cheekbones dusted with a hint of blush, and lips painted the richest shade of red I'd ever seen. They gleamed with a faint sheen, drawing every gaze like moths to a flame.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each deliberate step echoing with a seductive rhythm that drowned out the club's music. Even the sway of her hips seemed calculated, a deliberate invitation and warning wrapped into one. The room reacted in waves—men's conversations faltered mid-sentence, their heads turning to follow her as though pulled by some invisible string. Women whispered to each other, their glances a mix of admiration and envy.

She wasn't just beautiful. She was devastating.

Her presence was a storm, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. The room practically bent to her will as she walked, her bright, almond-shaped eyes scanning the lounge with a cool, detached elegance. She was pride and seduction incarnate, and she knew it.

The glass in my hand shattered before I even realized the pressure I'd been holding it with.

"Shit, Nic!" Phineas exclaimed, jerking back as shards of glass fell onto the table and my lap. His voice barely registered as my fury boiled over.

I was already standing, my jaw tight and my fists clenched at my sides. "That woman," I growled, glaring daggers at her as she continued her slow, deliberate approach, "is my wife."

Phineas's head whipped toward her, his sky-blue eyes widening as he took her in. "Well," he muttered under his breath, "that explains the homicidal rage."

But I barely heard him.

My gaze burned as I watched Lavender command the room like a queen on the battlefield. Every step, every glance, every breath she took felt like a challenge. And judging by the smirk tugging at her crimson lips as our eyes finally met, she knew exactly what she was doing.