TETHERED

CHAPTER 1

Elias's POV

I never liked clubs.

Too loud. Too crowded. Too artificial.

But my friends insisted—apparently, turning thirty "quietly with a book" was a crime they refused to let me commit. After a fourteen-hour shift at the hospital, I didn't have the energy to argue. So here I was.

Bright lights, vibrating bass, bodies moving like one heated organism. The floor felt alive under my shoes, pulsating with the rhythm that matched my heartbeat. Sweat, perfume, and alcohol mixed into a dizzying haze, intertwining the chaotic energy of the night. Laughter and snippets of conversations bubbled up around me, the clinking of glasses adding to the symphony of indulgence.

"Come on, Elias, loosen up!" my friend Kai shouted over the music, handing me another drink.

"I'm good," I started to refuse, but the cup was already being shoved into my hand.

I drank it.

Then another.

And someone ordered shots.

By the time the third one burned down my throat, the edges of my vision softened. The music felt less like noise and more like a heartbeat I could fall into. For once, I didn't resist.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the pressure of everything I'd been holding inside. But I let myself get pulled to the dance floor. Lights washed over my skin—blue, pink, purple—in a rhythm that felt surreal. Bodies pushed past me, laughter echoing, hands brushing my shoulders, a whisper of connection that momentarily held my attention before drifting away.

Then... she appeared.

At first, I only saw a flash of long, dark hair and a thin black masquerade-style mask covering her eyes. The mask glittered under the lights as she moved, hips swaying, her dress hugging every curve. She wasn't dancing like the rest—not wild, not sloppy—but with a kind of controlled chaos, like she was expressing something she couldn't put into words.

She looked... Free. Untouchable. Heartbroken. Beautiful.

I didn't know her, but my breath stilled.

She turned, just slightly, and her gaze slid across the crowd—then landed on me. Everything inside me flipped. Amber-brown eyes, bright even in the dim flashing lights, widened just the tiniest bit, as if she felt it too—the spark between strangers who shouldn't feel anything at all.

She tilted her head, studying me as if deciding something. Then she moved toward me.

Not walked. Not stumbled. Danced.

The crowd parted unconsciously, as if it knew she wasn't meant to be blocked. She stopped just a breath away from me, close enough for me to smell her perfume—soft, warm, with a hint of something sweet.

"Hi..." she said, barely audible over the music. Or maybe she didn't say anything. Maybe I imagined it. We were both drunk—very drunk.

Her hand floated up, touching my chest. Lightly. Testing. My pulse jumped under her fingertips. I didn't know what came over me, but I placed my hand on her waist—gently at first, ready to pull away if she resisted. She didn't. Instead, she stepped closer, guiding my hand lower, her fingers curling into my shirt as she moved with the rhythm. Her body fit perfectly against mine.

We danced. Slow. Fast. Chaotic. Drunk. Her breath brushed my neck. My fingers tightened around her waist.

She lifted her head, her eyes catching the lights, turning gold for a second. I leaned forward without meaning to. So did she. Our lips collided in a messy, drunken kiss—soft at first, then deeper, urgent, hungry in a way that surprised both of us.

She laughed against my mouth, her forehead falling against my cheek. "You feel... familiar," I slurred, not recognizing my own voice.

She pulled back just enough for our noses to touch. "Do I?" she whispered. I nodded, though in truth I wasn't sure. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe the mask. Maybe the alcohol was convincing me I'd seen her before.

Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging gently. My grip tightened on her waist. Her lips brushed mine again. Another kiss—deeper, warmer, breathless.

We swayed, bodies pressed together, the music pulsing between us like a shared heartbeat. At one point, she stumbled, and I caught her—our chests colliding, her laugh ringing in my ears. 

She grabbed my collar. I grabbed her hips. She pushed me back playfully. I pulled her closer. Push. Pull. Heat everywhere. Eyes locked even when the rest of the world blurred away.

I don't know who suggested leaving. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was the unspoken tension pulling us like a string we couldn't cut. All I know is that suddenly her hand was in mine, and we were pushing through the crowd together.

Out of the club. Into the cold night air. The contrast was sharp; the coolness against my overheated skin felt electrifying. Still laughing. Still kissing. Still drunk. The streetlights swirled around us in a blur.

We climbed into a taxi—her tugging me by my shirt, me kissing her cheek, her lips brushing mine again, both of us giggling like idiots. "Hotel," she mumbled to the driver. I didn't question it. I didn't think. I couldn't. Everything was noise and heat and her.

The door of the hotel room closed behind us. Then, the night disappeared into a blur of whispered names, warm skin, and alcohol-drenched kisses. 

Until morning.

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