So that was Clara's plan. That sneaky little bitch. Show David the text from Jamie, tell him you know about this. Ask him how he thinks WE should handle this

You stare at Jamie's text message, anger flaring through you as the pieces click into place. Clara's mysterious bathroom trip, her satisfied smirk, her convenient suggestion for drinks at this specific bar—it was all a setup.

"David," you say, sliding your phone across the table. "Look at this."

His eyes flick down to the screen, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he reads Jamie's message. When he looks back up, his expression is carefully controlled.

"Jamie," he says flatly. "The guy you mentioned earlier?"

"Yes, and I swear I had no idea he was coming." The words tumble out in a rush, your Irish lilt more pronounced with emotion. "This is Clara's doing. She must have invited him behind my back."

David takes a slow sip of his drink, studying you over the rim of his glass. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Honestly? I'm furious." You glance toward the bar where Clara is laughing at something Ryan said. "I don't want to see Jamie. I don't even know him, not really."

A flicker of something—relief?—crosses David's face before he leans forward, his fingers brushing against yours on the table. "So what do you want to do about it? We could leave before he arrives."

"No," you say firmly. "I want to stay and face this. Together." The last word feels weighted with meaning you're not ready to analyze. "I just... I need you to know I didn't orchestrate this. I wouldn't do that."

"I believe you," David says, his thumb now tracing small circles on your wrist that send tingles up your arm. "So what's our plan?"

Our plan. The simple phrase makes your heart flutter. He's positioning the two of you as a unit, a team against whatever Clara has schemed.

"I think we should—" Your sentence cuts short as the bar's entrance door swings open.

A man walks in—mid-twenties, athletic build, wearing a navy polo that stretches across broad shoulders. His brown hair is styled in that carefully messy way that takes significant product, and his confident stride suggests he's used to being noticed. This must be Jamie.

He scans the room, eyes landing on your table. Recognition flashes across his face, followed by a broad grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper. "That's him."

David's hand covers yours completely now, a warm anchor. "Want me to handle this?"

"No," you say, gathering your courage. "Let's handle it together."

As Jamie approaches, David shifts subtly closer to you, a silent declaration of solidarity that makes your chest warm despite the tension of the moment.

"Mia," Jamie greets, his voice carrying a hint of cockiness. "Looking gorgeous as ever." His eyes flick to David, then to your joined hands. "Didn't realize this was going to be a group thing."

20:00 | Sunday 3 August 2025 | Ember Lounge, London

[Comfort Mode Level 2] | 02:15 hours remaining