Say Less I Love You Episode 23

Chapter 265 

 NYLA

The bass thrums through my body as I throw my head back, laughing at Anastasia's attempt to pronounce the DJ's name. The strobe lights paint her porcelain skin in neon patterns while Lori twirls beside us, her sequined dress catching every flash.

"Another round?" Anastasia signals the VIP server, not waiting for our response.

"You're going to be the death of me," Lori groans, but she's grinning as she accepts the shot glass.

"Live a little!" I bump her hip with mine. "When else are we going to party in Ibiza?"

A tall stranger materializes beside our table, all sharp cheekbones and knowing smiles. He slides three small pills across the glossy surface.

"Ladies, care to make this night more interesting?" His accent wraps around the words like silk.

Lori starts to shake her head, but I catch her eye. This could be my chance - get Anastasia to really open up, maybe even spill something about her father's plans for Neuromax.

"Come on," I urge, picking up one of the pills. "Just this once. We're safe here together."

Anastasia's eyes sparkle with interest. "It has been ages since I properly rolled..."

"I don't know about this," Lori hesitates, ever the voice of reason.

"Please?" I touch her arm. "We'll watch out for each other."

The stranger waits patiently, that knowing smile never wavering. The pills gleam under the strobing lights like tiny promises.

"When in Ibiza, right?" Anastasia reaches for one, her bracelets jingling.

The music pulses through my veins, mingling with whatever was in that pill. Colors seem brighter, sounds sharper, every sensation heightened to an almost unbearable intensity. I watch Anastasia throw her arms up, her long dark hair swaying as she moves to the beat.

Lori catches my eye from across the dance floor, concern evident in her expression. I give her a reassuring nod. The drug is strong, but I'm still in control enough to focus on my mission. She threw hers in the trash when Anastasia wasn't looking.

"This is amazing!" Anastasia grabs my hands, pulling me closer. Her designer dress sparkles under the strobing lights. "I haven't felt this good in forever."

"Me neither," I say, though my heart races with anticipation rather than chemical euphoria.

"You know what?" Anastasia leans in, her lips nearly touching my ear. Her breath is warm against my skin. "I have to tell you something important."

My pulse quickens. This could be it - the intel I need about Neuromax. I squeeze her hands encouragingly. "What is it?"

"My father..." she starts, then giggles. "I guess he's good for something. I didn't have access to the jet when I wasn't living with him."

I keep dancing, "How's that been going, being home?"

Anastasia giggles again, "How do you think? I'm running off to Spain."

"Yeah, well he must be happy to have you home," I postulate, hoping she'll elaborate.

Anastasia flubs her lips, a rare moment without poise. " He only wants me home so he can watch me and make sure I don't talk."

My heart starts pounding, "Talk about what?"

Anastasia sways closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The bass drops around us as she opens her mouth to speak. "Well, he doesn't want anyone to know this but…"

Just as Anastasia leans in, her eyes go wide and she lurches away from me. The music drowns out the sound, but I see her body convulse as she doubles over, the contents of her stomach splattering across the dance floor.

"Bathroom, now!" I grab her arm, steering her through the packed club. Lori appears at my other side, helping me guide Anastasia's stumbling form.

We burst into the marble-lined bathroom, the bass now a muffled thrum through the walls. Anastasia collapses in front of the nearest toilet, retching violently.

"Here." Lori dampens paper towels with cool water while I hold back Anastasia's long dark hair.

"I'm dying," Anastasia moans between heaves. "Everything's spinning."

"You're not dying." I rub her back in slow circles. "Just a bad reaction to mixing everything."

"This is why I didn't take that pill," Lori mutters under her breath, passing me more damp towels.

Our eyes meet over Anastasia's hunched form. The frustration in Lori's gaze mirrors my own - we were so close to learning something crucial.

"Let's get you cleaned up and back to the villa," I say, helping Anastasia to her feet. She sways unsteadily, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

"My father's going to kill me if he finds out," she slurs, gripping the marble counter.

"He won't," I promise, though my heart sinks at another missed opportunity. "This stays between us."

Lori flags down our driver while I help Anastasia fix her makeup. Whatever secrets she was about to spill will have to wait for another day. For now, we focus on getting her home safely, our questions burning unanswered.

I pad across the sun-drenched terrace of the villa, balancing a tray of green smoothies and aspirin. The Mediterranean breeze carries the salt-tinged scent of the sea, almost mocking our hungover states.

Anastasia lies sprawled on a lounger, oversized Gucci sunglasses hiding what I'm sure are raccoon eyes. Her silk kimono has slipped off one shoulder, revealing the strap of last night's designer dress.

"I'm never drinking again," she moans, accepting the smoothie I offer. "What even happened last night?"

"You mean after you tried to out-dance that Spanish model?" Lori settles into the chair beside her, sipping her own smoothie. "Or when you declared yourself the queen of Ibiza?"

"Please stop talking." Anastasia presses the cold glass to her forehead. "Everything hurts."

I catch Lori's eye, silently communicating not to mention Anastasia's almost-confession about her father. The moment feels too delicate, the trust between us still too new.

"At least we got you home in one piece," I say instead, claiming the remaining lounger. "Though I think that Uber driver deserves a medal."

"Did I..." Anastasia hesitates, picking at her manicure. "Did I say anything weird?"

"Nothing memorable," Lori answers smoothly. "Just the usual drunk girl declarations of eternal friendship."

Relief visibly washes over Anastasia's features. She takes a careful sip of her smoothie, then grimaces. "God, what's in this?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," I laugh. "But it'll help."

We fall into comfortable silence, letting the gentle Mediterranean breeze and hangover remedies do their work. Some truths aren't ready for the light of day. For now, this tentative friendship is enough.