‘I was a total dick,’ Ben begins quietly, just loud enough for us to hear over the music. He’s still in the closet. ‘I don’t want anyone to know before I’m ready to . . . share.’

‘When might that be?’ Gregory snaps, shocking me. I was certain he’d turn to mush all over the dopey-eyed Ben. I’m pleasantly surprised.

Ben shrugs sheepishly and drops his eyes to the glass of champagne in his grasp. ‘I need to prepare myself, Greg. This is a huge deal.’

‘You’re making it a bigger deal by pretending and dragging it out.’ Gregory takes my elbow. ‘We’re done here,’ he says, pulling me towards the dance floor. I let him take me, and I peer over my shoulder as I’m escorted away, seeing Ben standing lonely and looking a little lost, until an over-the-top woman approaches, throwing her arms over him, and he switches straight back to smiley, people-pleaser Ben. Any ounce of sympathy I had for him diminishes instantly.

‘I’m proud of you,’ I say as we arrive on the dance floor and get a little taster of Jean Jacques Smoothie.

He grins and discards our glasses before taking me in his hold and twirling me out on a spin. ‘I’m proud of me, too. Let’s dance, baby girl.’

I don’t argue, but as I’m twirled around the floor, I’m mindful that Gregory’s massive smile and forced carefree appearance is for the benefit of Ben, who’s standing at the edge of the floor talking to a different woman but doing a terrible job of engaging, his eyes nailed to my friend. This is good, as long as Gregory continues to hold his own and doesn’t let Ben muscle his way back into his life.

I fulfil my role perfectly, laughing along with Gregory and letting him swing me about and grind into my waist seductively, but then the music cuts abruptly before the track ends, not even mixing into another. Everyone halts dancing, looking around a little bemused. The only sounds now are of confused chatter.

‘Is it a power cut?’ I ask, but quickly realise the stupidity of my question when I register all of the blue lights still glowing at every turn.

‘I’m not sure,’ Gregory replies, confused. ‘Maybe the fire alarm will kick in.’

I gaze around the club, seeing motionless forms everywhere, all looking confused by the sudden quiet. Even the doormen have entered from outside to find out what’s happening, and when I cast my eyes over to the DJ, I see him shrug at the security guy next to him, who’s obviously asking what’s going on.

Unease sets in, strangeness settles in my gut, and the hairs at the back of my neck rise. William’s words are suddenly all I can hear. I reach over to take Gregory’s hand, feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet with no explanation except a silly power cut.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, casting my eyes around the club, looking for . . . I’m not sure.

‘I don’t know.’ Gregory shrugs, not in the least bit concerned.

But then the club is suddenly filled with music again, and everyone seems to sag around me, including Gregory, who starts laughing. ‘I think the DJ might be getting sacked.’ He turns to me, his smile dropping when he registers my blank face and static form. I can’t move. ‘Livy, what’s up?’

The words to the track soak through the haze of alcohol, punching me in the stomach . . . hard. ‘Enjoy the Silence’. My eyes close.

‘Livy?’ Gregory shakes me a little, prompting my eyes to fly open and shoot around the club. ‘Olivia?’

‘I’m sorry.’ I force a smile, trying to appear fine, but my heart is crashing against my breastbone, set on fighting its way from my chest. He’s here. ‘I need the toilet.’

‘I’ll come.’ He starts leading me off the floor.

‘No, honestly. Get the drinks. I’ll meet you at the bar.’

Gregory relents easily, letting me find my way to the toilets alone while he orders more drinks. But I don’t head for the ladies’. I divert once I’m out of Gregory’s sight and hurry towards the front of the club, taking the stairs fast, down to the maze of corridors beneath Ice. William told me to run, but I doubt he wanted me moving towards the danger. I’m a woman possessed as I follow the passageway, taking too many wrong turns and shouting my frustration when I land in front of a storeroom. I can still hear the music – the words distressing me, reminding me, as I rush back the way I came and try a different route. The sight of the metal keypad outside Miller’s office fills me with relief and dread all at once as I charge for it. I have no clue what the code is or what I’ll find . . . or what I’ll do if I find anything – if I find him.

I don’t need the code. The door is ajar and one tiny push swings it open.

Internal fireworks explode.

He’s standing in the middle of the room, suit adorned and expressionless, just watching me as I hover on the threshold of his office. My eyes instantly fill with tears as I breathe erratically and watch him watching me. My knees feel weak. The music is relentless. I drink him in, his dark suit pristine, his hair seeming longer, the soft waves flicking out from below his earlobes. There are no words, just intense eye contact. There’s no facial expression or body language to tell me what he’s thinking. He doesn’t need to tell me what he’s thinking, though. His eyes are doing that. And they’re angry. He’s been watching the club’s CCTV footage. He’s been watching me being hit on by countless men. I take a worried pull of breath. He’s been watching me encourage and accept it.

‘Did you let any of them taste you?’ He steps forward, and I instinctively step back, wary.

This isn’t going to be a happy reunion. He has a nerve to ask such a question after he’s been in another country with another woman. My shock from his presence is turning into irritation fast. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He’s jealous again, and this gives me an unreasonable thrill.

His perfect jaw is ticking. ‘When you’re in my club, it’s my business.’

‘It’ll never be your business again.’

‘Wrong.’

I shake my head as I step back further, hating my uncooperative body for staggering slightly. ‘I’m right.’

He runs displeased eyes up and down my tight, short-dressed form. ‘You’re drunk.’

I ignore his accusation, remembering something. ‘Which means you can’t f**k me.’

‘Shut up, Olivia!’

‘Because you want me to remember every kiss, every touch, every—’

‘Livy!’

‘Except I don’t want to remember every moment. I want to forget them all.’

His neck veins bulge to bursting point. ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’

‘I mean it!’

‘Shut up!’ he roars, sending me back a few more paces, his ferocity stunning me into silence. I gather myself fast, but my wide eyes are undoubtedly displaying all of the shock I’m feeling. Shock that I came here, shock that he’s here, shock that he’s so fuming mad. He has no right to be, despite my provoking him. I knew what I was doing. And he knows that, too.

‘You told Tony to let me in if I came, didn’t you?’ It’s suddenly very clear. He anticipated this. ‘You told Tony to monitor me.’