Two Worlds, Two Lives

CHAPTER 7: Drunk in the Club

The priest stood before the mourners, his voice calm and steady as he spoke of peace and rest. Everyone wore black—faces drawn, eyes heavy with sorrow. The air itself seemed weighed down by grief.

I stood still, barely breathing. Losing both my parents felt like the world had fallen away. I fought back the tears pressing at my eyes. Beside me, Max and Marie wept quietly. I understood. My mother had a heart big enough for everyone; she’d taken Max in and always called us brothers. It hurt knowing I’d never hear her voice again.

When the priest closed his Bible, people stepped forward to lay flowers on her grave. When it was my turn, I knelt, my knees weak. Memories crashed over me like a storm, and tears finally broke free.

“I... I love you,” I whispered, setting my flowers by her name. “I hope you and Dad are together now. I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

When the crowd dispersed, Marie offered to stay, but I refused. Her parents didn’t know me, and I’d had enough of people trying to comfort me. I wasn’t ready for any of it.

In the car, Max stopped me before I stepped out. “Call me if you need anything, bro,” he said softly.

“I will.” We hugged briefly, and then I went inside and locked the door behind me.

Two weeks passed.

I hadn’t left the house once. The curtains stayed shut; dishes piled up in the sink. Max and Marie called over and over, but I never answered. The silence had become a strange kind of comfort. Still, guilt haunted me—how could I make Mom proud if I couldn’t even leave the house?

A knock pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t have to guess—it was Max.

He stood in the doorway, eyes narrowing when he saw me. Without waiting, he walked in and kicked a dirty plate aside.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” he demanded, glancing around at the mess.

“I just... haven’t had time to clean up,” I muttered.

“Time?” His voice rose. “You’ve locked yourself in here for two weeks, Jones. You’re living like a ghost.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor.

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forget it. Go change. We’re leaving. I’ll get someone to clean this place.”

“You’re kidding. I’m not going anywhere—and no one’s coming in here.”

“Too bad,” he said with a grin. “The cleaner’s already on the way. And going out isn’t a request—it’s an order.”

I wanted to argue, but I was too tired. With a sigh, I went upstairs, changed, and came back down. Max looked satisfied. We handed the cleaner the keys and left.

After a long drive, we stopped in front of a glowing building alive with bass and lights.

“A club?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Max said, grinning. “Sensation Club—top of the line. Great place to network. Maybe you’ll find a job.”

Inside, the music hit like thunder. Lights flashed across sweating bodies—half-dressed, laughing, lost in motion. Max led us to the VIP lounge, where the chaos softened into luxury.

We sat with a few of his friends I didn’t know. The air reeked of smoke and alcohol. I stayed quiet, nursing a single drink, ignoring the women who approached. Max, of course, was in the center of it all—dancing, laughing, champagne in hand, living like nothing could touch him.

My gaze wandered and froze.

Across the room sat him—Kai Won Alexander—the man who had bought out my old company and left me jobless. He was supposed to be untouchable: rich, respected, always in control. But now he looked drunk, his tie loose, his eyes glassy.

Maybe this was my chance.

If I could get close, maybe he’d offer me something—a job, a connection, anything. After all, he’d ruined one chapter of my life. Maybe he could start the next.

I watched as Kai stood, swaying slightly, and made his way to the bar. I followed.

When I reached him, a group of women surrounded him, laughing too loud, leaning too close. “Excuse me, ladies,” I said, trying to keep calm. “He’s with me.”

They ignored me, giggling as if I wasn’t there. Frustration bubbled up, and before I could think, I blurted, “He’s gay—and he’s my boyfriend.”

The words shocked even me, but they worked. The women’s smiles dropped; they backed away in disgust.

I turned to the bartender. “Two glasses of champagne,” I said. When I looked back, Kai was smirking.

“Hey, boyfriend,” he said with a lazy grin. “That was stupid—but effective.”

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a small smile. “Stupid works sometimes.”

He chuckled, and for a while, we talked. He was charming at first, playful even, but the more he spoke, the more that charm cracked. Beneath it, I saw arrogance—a man drunk on his own fame, used to people worshiping him.

By the end of the night, the admiration I once had was gone. I lifted my glass and drank until the noise, the lights, and Kai’s laughter blurred into one long, numbing haze.