Seven years later (present day)...
The club's music pulsated with an electrifying energy, enveloping the packed dance floor where exuberant young souls surrendered themselves to the intoxicating rhythm.
Savoring the delectable dish of the evening, they mingled closely, their skin brushing against one another in a symphony of contact and warmth.
Standing proudly at the heart of the dance floor was a meticulously designed pole bar, where strippers swayed their hips in tune with the music, performing a lavish spectacle for eager eyes to devour.
The essence of hip-hop filled the air, as people immersed themselves in the moment, hands reaching skyward, heads bobbing, and jubilant shouts blending into the room's vibrant atmosphere.
Just a few steps away from the pulsing dance floor, a staircase ascended to the club's upper level, leading to a bar area where the bartender diligently attended to his patrons.
Amidst it all, a solitary man sat hunched over at the bar, cradling a glass of whiskey in his weary hands.
His vision blurred by alcohol, his mind a chaotic swirl of thoughts.
He felt as though his head was adrift, struggling to command his limbs, drowning in a sea of regret over his dismal existence.
A weary groan escaped his lips, a testament to the consequences of his drinking; his eyes darted to the glass, revealing a mirrored self that seemed both cold and sinister, yet pain lingered behind the façade.
He stared intently at the whiskey glass, as if it were a foe to vanquish, fingers curling around it, poised to take the final sip. But then, his phone's ringing shattered the spell.
A crease formed on his brow as he set the glass down and answered the call.
"She's calling again," he muttered, holding the phone to his ear with a slurred tone.
"Who's calling at this hour? You don't seem to think that I'd be asleep by this time," Jordan joked, his voice thick with inebriation, swirling the drink with exaggerated care.
His demeanor shifted to one of slight disdain.
"Where are you, Jordan? I've been searching for you," he heard from the other side of the call making him retort with a scoff, followed by a detached chuckle.
"Oh, really? I never thought you'd bother with someone as foolish as me."
"Just tell me where you are."
"She wants to know," he sneered, a sardonic chuckle escaping his lips as he propped his head on his hand, his body tilting forward ever so slightly while the phone remained glued to his ear.
"Listen to the noise around me; I'm sure you can guess my whereabouts. I'm soaking up the atmosphere at the bar, so feel free to track me down. Like always, trace my location if that's what you desire; I couldn't care less. Right now, I've got a drink to savor, and I despise it when it's anything less than perfectly chilled," he declared with a voice dripping with irritation before abruptly cutting the call short.
"But Jordan—" The woman began, only to realize the line had gone dead, leaving her words hanging in the air.
She let out a growl of frustration, her exasperation evident.
Meanwhile, after the call, Jordan's gaze wandered to the shelves of bottles behind the bar. His mind drifted into the corridors of his past, with memories flooding in, clouding his thoughts. He took a forceful swig of his drink, the bitter aftertaste mirroring the turmoil within his heart.
"Hey there, handsome," a sultry voice purred as a delicate hand rested upon his. He turned, his eyes steady and unyielding, meeting the gaze of a woman clad in a provocatively tight mini dress that accentuated her curves and left little to the imagination. Her intentions were clear, her eyes dancing with seductive allure.
Her long, dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, partially concealing her cleavage as her eyes, filled with intent, locked onto his.
She looked appetizing by the sight of her creamy and fresh skin.
Jordan met her gaze silently, prompting her to drag a polished nail across his skin, her lips curling into a deceitful smile.
"Hey, handsome, don't let her get to you. I know what you crave. Why not let me help you forget it all?" she teased, her voice dripping with charm and mischief. But Jordan's thoughts were far away as he tightened his grip on his glass, his eyes shifting away.
The woman licked her lips, placing her hand under his chin to gently guide his face back toward her.
She took in his appearance, inching closer, her nail softly grazing his skin as it traced along his moustache.
Jordan maintained an air of composure, allowing her to act as she pleased, clearly content with the look of delight on her face. As she approached with a playful grin, her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his lips.
"Damn, I'm burning up; do you feel it too?" she murmured softly. Jordan remained silent as she pressed her lips against his with a yearning that was impossible to deny, her hands resting gently on his lap, lost in the moment.
Yet, Jordan kept his poise, allowing her to guide the encounter, until the spell was abruptly broken by a voice calling his name.
"Jordan!" His name sliced through the air as the woman he was kissing was forcefully pushed aside.
"You bi*ch," she gasped in shock and annoyance at the intrusion of another woman.
Her arm raised, ready to retaliate with a slap, but it was caught mid-swing, her wrist firmly held. Jordan's expression turned severe, his demeanor intense.
He positioned himself between the two women, standing firm.
The woman grimaced, trying to free herself from his grasp.
"Uh-huh," she whimpered as his grip tightened, pain beginning to surface.
"Never think of laying a hand on her," Jordan stated tersely, releasing her as she stormed out, brimming with fury.
His gaze lingered on her departure until a gentle touch on his hand drew his attention back.
Meeting his eyes with a worried expression, she lifted her hand to gently touch his cheek.
Jordan's demeanor softened, though his eyes remained wary.
"Jordan, you truly frightened me," she admitted with a sigh, as a scoff escaped his lips.
"You came to pick me up, didn't you? Come on, let's leave this place," he demanded with a sharp edge in his voice, as he struggled to navigate his way out of the pub, tightly clutching her hand.
As she gazed at Jordan, an unsettling feeling washed over her, and she couldn't help but let out a sigh filled with worry.
*
In the car, Jordan sat in the passenger seat, the seatbelt snugly across his chest, his head resting against the window with a puzzled look etched onto his face. His closed eyes betrayed a restless mind, and his expression twitched with unease.
After pulling into the parking spot, she reached for her phone and dialed a number, turning her attention to the other side of the vehicle.
"Stephanie," the voice on the other end greeted, as she leaned back in her seat, rubbing her temples in exasperation.
"Were you able to locate him?"
"Yes, Michael, he was at a pub," she replied, her eyes shifting to Jordan, who stirred slightly in his sleep, turning his face towards her.
"Dear God, Stephanie. He's becoming increasingly unpredictable," Michael remarked with concern.
"Michael, did he mention anything about going out?"
"No, he didn't; I assumed he would have informed you since he suddenly left the shoot without any notice. He was nowhere to be found."
"Michael, I've been wondering. Could his odd behavior stem from the fact that he still remembers her?"
"Who are you talking about?"
"Sydney."