ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 297

"I actually don’t think I have any non-alcoholic drinks up here," he admitted. That didn’t surprise me. This didn’t exactly look like the kind of office stocked with juice boxes. He gestured toward the door.

"Come on. Let’s go back down to the bar." He said easily and relief flickered quietly through me.

"Okay." Michael walked over and opened the door, the sound of the club instantly rushing back in — louder now that the barrier between the office and the outside world was gone.

Music. Voices. Laughter. The bass thumped through the hallway floor again. We stepped out together, the door closing softly behind us as we moved back toward the staircase, leaving Chiara to her own world.

Downstairs, the club was even more alive than before. The dance floor was fuller now, lights moving across the crowd like waves of color.

People leaned against the bar laughing, drinks in their hands as bartenders worked quickly behind the counter. The night had officially started.

Michael glanced over his shoulder slightly as we walked. "So," he said with a small grin.

"Still enjoying the night?" I looked out over the club again — the lights, the music, the energy filling the room.

Then I nodded. "Yeah," I said and he smiled before trying to gain the bartender attention. The bartender looked up immediately.

He had been in the middle of sliding a glass across the counter to someone else, but the moment he noticed Michael standing there, his posture straightened slightly.

"Boss," he said with a quick nod. Michael rested one elbow lightly against the polished surface of the bar, the movement casual, like this was the most normal place in the world for him to stand.

"Hey," he said. "Can I get a whiskey?" The bartender nodded once.

"Of course." Michael glanced sideways at me.

"And something non-alcoholic," he added. "Whatever you’d like." The bartender’s attention shifted to me expectantly.

"I’ll just have a lemonade," I stated and the bartender nodded easily before turning to grab the glasses.

Michael leaned back slightly against the bar while we waited, his gaze drifting over the crowd moving across the dance floor.

The place had filled up quickly. "You sure you don’t want something stronger?" Michael asked lightly, glancing back at me.

I shook my head. "I don’t really drink."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little."

He gave a small amused huff of breath. "Probably the smartest decision anyone’s made in this building tonight." The bartender returned a moment later, setting the drinks down in front of us.

Michael’s whiskey came first — amber liquid glowing under the bar lights — and then a tall glass of lemonade with thin slices of lemon floating near the top.

Condensation had already begun forming on the outside of the glass.

Michael slid it toward me. "On the house," he said casually. I raised an eyebrow.

"Your house."

He grinned slightly.

"Exactly."

I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass and lifted it, taking a small sip. It was sharp and cold, the citrus cutting cleanly through the warmth of the room. I just stood there, letting the taste settle while the noise of the club moved around us like a current.

Michael lifted his own glass, taking a small sip of the whiskey. But before I could even set my drink back down properly—

"Katya!" A familiar voice burst through the noise. I barely had time to turn my head before Chiara appeared beside me like a storm that had finally decided where to land.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her hair a little messier than when we arrived, and there was still half a margarita in her hand.

She grabbed my arm immediately. "You have been gone forever," she declared. I blinked.

"It’s been like... ten minutes."

"Exactly," she said, as if that proved her point. Then she pointed toward the dance floor.

"Come dance." I glanced down at my drink.

"I just got—"

"Nope."

She was already pulling me.

"Chiara—"

"Katya," she interrupted, tugging harder.

"You did not sneak out of Nonna’s house, get dressed like that, and come all the way to a club just to stand at the bar drinking lemonade like someone’s responsible aunt." Michael laughed quietly beside us.

Chiara shot him a quick look. "Don’t encourage her boring behavior."

"I wasn’t," he said, lifting his glass slightly in surrender. But Chiara was already dragging me backward toward the dance floor.

"Come on," she insisted, her grin wide and dangerous. "You’re dancing." I barely had time to put the glass down before Chiara pulled me fully into the crowd.

The music grew louder the moment we stepped onto the dance floor, the bass vibrating through the soles of my heels as lights flashed overhead in slow pulses of purple and gold.

People were packed close together now. Bodies moved in every direction, some swaying slowly, others jumping to the beat, laughter and voices rising above the music every few seconds.

Chiara slipped easily into the space like she belonged there. She lifted her hands slightly, shoulders rolling with the rhythm as she moved her hips in a smooth, effortless way that made it clear she’d done this a thousand times before.

Meanwhile— I stood there, just shifting my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Left. Right. Left again. That was it. A guy brushed past my shoulder as he spun his partner, someone else bumped lightly into my back, and I nearly stepped on a girl’s shoe when I tried to adjust my position.

Chiara noticed immediately. Her dancing slowed and she stared at me like I had just revealed a deeply disappointing secret.

"Katya," she said loudly over the music.

"What?"

"You look like you’re waiting for a bus."

"I am dancing."

"No," she said flatly.

"You’re standing aggressively."

I frowned.

"I’m moving."

"Side to side."

"That counts." Chiara stared at me for another second before groaning dramatically.

"Oh my God."

She lifted her margarita and quickly finished the rest of it in two big gulps, then leaned over and dropped the empty cup on a nearby table without even looking.

"Okay," she said, turning back to me with determination.

"We’re fixing this." Before I could protest, she grabbed my shoulders. I was still holding my lemonade.

"First," she said, gently nudging my stance. "Stop locking your knees like a soldier."

"I’m not—"

"You are." She pushed lightly on my shoulder until my posture loosened a little.

"Relax," she said. Then she stepped back and started moving again.

"Look," she continued, demonstrating slowly.

"It’s not complicated. Just feel the beat." Her hips shifted smoothly with the rhythm, one hand lifting slightly as she rolled her shoulders.

"Left," she said, shifting "Right."

She pointed at my feet.

"You try." I hesitated before copying her movement.

Left.

Right. It still felt awkward. But at least now I wasn’t just standing there like a confused statue. "That’s it," Chiara said encouragingly.

"Now loosen your shoulders."

I tried. My shoulders moved slightly.

"Not like a robot."

"I’m trying!"

She laughed. "Okay, okay, relax. Just move with the music."

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