Last time on L.A. Connections…

Sadie lured Blake to Mrs. Tremond’s house, drugged him, and chained him in the conservatory. Brett and Sharon gave in to their passion and made love. Mickey showed Suzanne a rare vulnerable side by opening up about a painful time in his past. Jordan stripped Brett of his invoice approval power, threatening Mickey’s plans just as a huge drug deal loomed. Damning footage from Nico’s trial hit TMZ, prompting Siobahn to cut ties with Miranda and fire her as her agent, while Carlo offered to help Stormy beat his assault charges only to be flatly refused.

* * *

A line of limousines and sports cars lined the hill leading to the porte cochere, photographers called out names, and a steady stream of celebrities, influencers, and industry players arrived dressed to be seen. Inside, the music pulsed, the lights cut through the crowd, and the air buzzed with the promise of another perfect Hollywood night. Only this time, it all belonged to Nico. Finally, Corso was open for business.

He didn’t linger anywhere too long. A handshake here, a clasp on the shoulder there—working the room with precision. He recognized the faces—the same people who had turned away, who had pretended not to know him when he was sent to prison. Now they were back, congratulating him, acting like nothing had ever happened. Nico met them exactly where they stood—gracious, charismatic, and quietly taking note of every single one.

“Nico, unbelievable space.”

“Appreciate it.”

Another laugh, another nod. Another group, another greeting. He leaned in close for a quick exchange with a producer, flashed a smile for a waiting camera, then slipped past a cluster of influencers positioning themselves toward the best lighting.

He spotted Alex standing near the bar, elegant as always, her hand resting lightly on Jordan’s arm as they spoke with another couple. 

“Alex,” he said as he approached, his confident smile firmly in place.

She turned and attempted to appear unaffected. “Nico.”

Jordan observed their exchange closely. “Congratulations,” he said. “The place looks great.”

“Thank you,” Nico replied, shaking his hand briefly, his attention already drifting back to Alex, a slow, appreciative smile forming. “You look incredible.”

Alex met his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

A hint of something knowing lingered in his expression. “Still know exactly how to get my attention,” he added under his breath.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Must be the actress in me,” she said with a shrug

“Must be,” Nico replied, his eyes briefly lowering to her ample cleavage.

Jordan didn’t catch any of it, his attention diverted when someone approached and pulled him into a conversation.

Alex let out a breath, her expression contained. “Well, enjoy your night,” she said, a touch more formal now.

“Always do,” he said, stepping back into the crowd.

Then he was gone again, absorbed back into the current of the room. He passed through another wave of guests, nodding to security, exchanging a few quick words with staff. He reached the front where Steve stood just off the main entrance, headset on, dressed in a black Armani suit over a crisp, white shirt. He managed the flow of arrivals with efficiency, glancing up as Nico approached.

“They just keep coming,” Steve told him. “Line’s still wrapped around the block.”

Nico followed his gaze toward the door where the steady stream of high-profile arrivals hadn’t slowed. “Good.”

He turned back toward the doors just as they opened again, and the shift in the room was immediate, subtle but unmistakable.

Miranda stepped through the door in an effortless and composed fashion. Eddie followed a half step behind, his eyes already assessing.

Nico paused, of course recognizing them instantly, the distance between past and present collapsing into that one moment. He began to seethe with anger and had to will The Beast not to make an appearance. Not yet. 

Beside him, Steve glanced over, sensing the shift in the moment without fully understanding it. Nico didn’t move right away. He let it marinade for a second—the eye contact, the silence, the weight of twenty-five years hanging there without a word spoken.

Then he smiled. He took a step to the side, gesturing toward the interior of the club with a wide armspan. “Welcome,” he said smoothly. “Please, let us know if there’s anything at all you need.”

Miranda didn’t react. Instead she kept moving. Eddie stayed close at her side as they entered the crowd, the noise and movement of the room closing in around them.

“You okay?” Eddie asked quietly once they were clear of the entrance. “We don’t have to stay. We can turn around right now.”

Miranda didn’t break stride. “No,” she said evenly. “I’m not going to let him think I’m afraid of him. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

Eddie studied her for a second, then gave a nod. “You’re the boss.”

They moved deeper into the room, weaving through clusters of guests until a familiar face came into view near the bar. Siobahn stood with Vaughan and Sheldon, the three of them in conversation that seemed to stop as Miranda and Eddie approached.

Miranda’s gaze moved to Siobahn, taking her in. “You look beautiful,” she said, her tone polished and sincere as to suggest that Siobahn’s abandoning her hadn’t broken her completely.

Siobahn met her eyes, returning the composure just as cleanly. “Thank you, Miranda. So do you.”

Miranda tilted her head slightly, then her attention shifted a fraction toward Vaughan. The look that passed between them was icy but restrained. 

Sheldon turned to Eddie, hoping to disassociate himself from the awkward scene. “Hey, have you seen Blake today? Or talked to him?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Why?”

A crease formed between Sheldon’s eyebrows. “We were supposed to come together tonight,” he said. “I haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning. I’ve been blowing up his phone, but nothing.”

Eddie pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen as if something might have come through that he’d missed. “That’s not like him,” he said, scrolling quickly. “No, nothing here.” He looked back up. “You think he’s okay?”

Sheldon gave a slight shrug, his attention drifting for a second past Eddie—toward Travis watching from across the room. “Yeah. I mean, he was fine the last time we talked.”

Eddie nodded and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll track him down,” he said. “See what’s going on. He’s probably just lost track of time. I know things have been a mess at FlickFix since Zoanne’s murder.”

Sheldon didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go for now. He gave Eddie a quick pat on the shoulder and moved off into the crowd, weaving between clusters of guests as the music swelled around him. He’d barely made it a few steps before Travis slipped into his path, timing it perfectly.

“Flying solo tonight, handsome?” Travis asked, that easy grin already in place. “Or did you and Blake have a fight?”

Sheldon didn’t take the bait. “No,” he said, brushing past him.

Travis fell into step anyway. “No?” he pressed, amused. “So what—he stood you up? That’s cold.”

“He didn’t stand me up,” Sheldon replied dismissively. 

Travis arched a brow, clearly not buying the restraint. “Mm-hmm. And here you are, all dressed up and no date.” He let his gaze linger for maximum effect. “Seems like a shame.”

Sheldon shot him a look. “Drop it.”

“Or,” Travis went on, undeterred, “you could admit you’ve been thinking about that last time as much as I have.”

Sheldon stopped just long enough to face him fully. “You’re the only one still thinking about it,” he said flatly. “Take a cold shower or something.”

Travis laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying himself.

Sheldon turned and kept moving, done with the conversation. As he cut through the crowd, he clipped someone’s shoulder standing at the bar.

“Sorry—” he started, already half past them.

Brett barely had time to react before Sheldon disappeared back into the crowd. He turned back to the bar and let out a deep breath. The place was packed, the noise pressing in from all sides—music, laughter, voices overlapping and making it hard to hold onto a single thought. He signaled to the bartender, then waited, his eyes drifting over the room without really focusing on anything.

When the drink finally landed in front of him, he picked it up, took a quick sip, and turned. That’s when he saw her.

Sharon.

She was across the room, just beyond the edge of the bar crowd, moving through it with that same effortless composure she always had. For a second, everything else fell away. Brett’s grip tightened slightly around the glass as something pulled him forward instinctively.

Then he stopped.

Sharon reached someone just off to the side of the main floor in a cordoned off VIP area, her expression softening in a manner Brett hadn’t seen before. The man she approached was older and stood with quiet authority, flanked by two others—one of them Mickey.

Brett’s movement stalled completely now, his attention sharpening.

The older man turned as Sharon reached him, and without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him.

The realization settled in slowly, heavily, each piece sliding into place with uncomfortable precision. Her husband was Carlo Bravetti. Her stepson—Mickey. 

Brett didn’t move. He just stood there, the noise of the club rushing back in around him as the reality hit him. Then he started forward. His grip tightened slightly around his drink as he moved, eyes darting toward Mickey first.

Mickey saw him and nodded as if to let him know he had. Brett held his gaze for a beat before turning his sights to Sharon. She saw him too, and for the briefest second, something flickered in her expression—surprise, or maybe panic. Brett kept walking past them, realizing every move he made could be under a microscope with Mickey and the Bravetti’s. 

Carlo watched him go, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Is that Brett Armstrong?” he asked.

Mickey didn’t take his eyes off Brett’s back as he moved deeper into the club. “Yeah,” he said. 

Carlo glanced at him, then back toward Sharon. “Quite handsome, wouldn’t you say, bella?

“Yes, he is,” she said, offering nothing more.

Mickey’s attention shifted from Brett to her, studying her for a beat—then past her, as Bruno and Dennis appeared, guiding a man toward Carlo as if presenting a gift to an overlord.

Carlo’s focus moved instantly. “Mr. Hargrove,” he said, a faint smile forming. “Daniel Hargrove. President of Double Strike Studios. I’m glad we could finally connect in person.”

Hargrove didn’t bother softening it this time. His jaw was set, irritation already visible. “Yeah, well, I wish it were under different circumstances,” he said. “Because I’ve been pretty clear about where we stand.”

Carlo’s smile didn’t falter. “I’ve been hoping we’d have a chance to speak. I understand you’ve been… resistant to our interest in helping your operation.”

“Resistant?” Hargrove let out a short, humorless breath. “No, I’ve been direct. I’m not interested. I don’t know how many times I need to say it.”

Carlo tilted his head slightly, as if the pushback only made him more patient. “The industry is changing,” he said calmly. “Faster than most people are prepared for. Infrastructure, distribution, financing—these things require flexibility. We offer that.”

“And I’ve told your people we’re fine,” Hargrove shot back. “We don’t need your help, we don’t want your help, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped bringing this to my door.”

The music pulsed around them, but the space between them had gone cold.

Carlo’s smile remained, though something behind it sharpened. “Of course,” he said.  “I respect a man who stands by his decisions.”

“Good,” Hargrove replied tersely. “Then we’re done here.”

“Enjoy your night,” Carlo said.

Hargrove didn’t answer. He turned and disappeared back into the crowd without another look.

Carlo watched him go for a moment, then, without shifting his gaze, he spoke quietly—just enough for Mickey to hear. “Handle it.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate. He set his glass down and moved immediately, Bruno and Dennis falling into place on either side of him as they slipped into the crowd after Hargrove.

They were almost past the center of the floor when Suzanne stepped directly into their path, her expression one of relief.

“There you are,” she said, a smile forming as she reached him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

He stopped, but only briefly, his focus settling on her without the usual warmth she had come to expect. “You just got here?” he asked, his tone even, already distracted.

Suzanne nodded, studying him. “Yeah. I thought we might—”

“I have to go take care of something,” he said, cutting in, not harshly but without any of the softness he normally reserved for her. There was no kiss, no hand at her waist, no acknowledgment beyond the words themselves.

She felt the shift immediately. “Right now?” she asked, a hint of confusion creeping in.

“I’ll find you when I’m done,” he replied, already angling his body to move past her, as if the conversation had already ended.

Suzanne hesitated, something about the moment not sitting right. Her eyes moved past him, drawn to the men flanking him, taking them in more carefully this time. She’d seen them before, but not moving with such urgency.

As Dennis shifted to follow Mickey, his jacket pulled just enough for Suzanne to catch the outline of a gun pressed against the fabric at his back. 

She let out a slight gasp, barely noticeable, but enough to change the way she looked at all three of them. “Mickey—” she tried again, quieter now, but he didn’t stop.

“Later,” he said over his shoulder, already moving.

And then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Suzanne standing where she was. As she watched the direction they’d gone, the unease that she’d felt a few days ago settled in more firmly, but now it was harder to ignore.

She turned and came face to face with Kelly approaching with a man Suzanne recognized immediately. Riley, the escort she’d hired a few months back. The recognition hit just as quickly as the memory attached to it, but neither of them acknowledged it. 

“Hi, Suzanne,” Kelly said, brightening as she noticed her. “You look fantastic.”

Suzanne smiled, her composure already back in place. “So do you,” she said, then leaned in slightly. “Is Heather here?”

Kelly shook her head. “No. She wasn’t really in the mood tonight.”

Suzanne nodded, unsurprised, then let her attention shift, just enough to make it natural. “Hi,” she said to Riley.

Kelly followed the glance. “Oh, have you two met? This is Riley—”

“We’ve met,” Riley said smoothly.

There was the briefest pause, but Suzanne didn’t miss a beat. “At the agency party back in December,” she added quickly

Kelly smiled. “Right, of course.” She turned back to Suzanne, a hint of excitement creeping in. “Riley was just cast as the lead in Stormy and Keaton’s biopic about Nathan Blackthorne.”

Suzanne’s eyebrows lifted slightly as she looked at Riley again, reassessing. “Really? Well, congratulations,” she said. “That’s not a small role. It’s going to take an actor with a pretty wide range to pull off Nathan. I speak from experience.”

“I’m up to the challenge.”

Kelly smiled, more certain than ever. “He can do it,” she said simply.

Her attention lingered on Suzanne for a moment longer before being pulled away by someone calling her name, and Riley took the opening without hesitation.

“Excuse me,” he said, already stepping back from the conversation. “I’m going to grab another drink.”

He moved through the crowd toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, and nearly ran into Natalie as she turned the corner. They both stopped in their tracks.

Then Riley’s mouth curved slightly. “Nat, hi,” he said. “How are you?”

Natalie looked up at him, composed but not overly friendly. “I’m fine.”

There was a brief pause, the music from the main room thudding faintly through the walls behind them.

“Who are you here with?” Riley asked.

“Steve,” she said. “But he’s working.”

Riley nodded.. “Well, I’d be happy to keep you company. We could talk.”

Natalie didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think so.”

Riley’s expression didn’t change much, but something in it tightened just slightly. “Why not?” he asked. “You have to talk to me sometime. We are still married, you know.” 

“Nothing’s changed, Riley,” she said, her voice unyielding. “You slept with all those women. There’s no going back from that. Not for me.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “But—”

“As a matter of fact,” Natalie went on, cutting him off before he could find his footing again, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. It’s time to make it official. I’m filing for divorce.”

The words struck him with a finality that seemed to cut through even the distant pulse of the music. For a moment, everything around them felt muted, like the rest of the club had fallen away.

“Is that really what you want?” Riley asked, the bitterness creeping into his voice before he could stop it.

Natalie hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—her eyes shifting away before she forced herself to meet his again. “Yes,” she said. “You hurt me, Riley. The fact that you could let those women touch you—”

Something snapped. The restraint he’d been holding onto gave way all at once, anger rising fast and hot. “You slept with Steve before you even knew about any of that,” he shot back, his voice sharp with disbelief and fury. “You’re a fucking hypocrit, Natalie. And you’re not just a hypopcrit—you’re a slut.” 

The words hung there, ugly and irreversible.

Natalie flinched, more from the force behind them than the content, but Riley was already done. He turned on his heel and pushed back into the crowd, desperate to be as far away from her as possible.

The noise swallowed him immediately as he cut across the floor, weaving through bodies without really seeing them. By the time he reached the bar across from a set of red leather booths, the anger hadn’t faded—if anything, it had sharpened.

“Whiskey,” he barked at the bartender, barely waiting for acknowledgment.

As he braced his hands against the counter, trying to steady himself, he became aware of someone beside him turning slightly.

“Riley, right?” Phoebe said. “We met a few weeks ago at Kelly’s place. I’m Phoebe.”  

Riley turned toward her. “Yeah,” he said and managed a faint smile. “Kelly’s sister, right?” 

She nodded. “Hey, congrats on your new role. Sounds like everyone’s really excited about it.”

“Thanks,” Riley said, lifting the glass the bartender had just set down. He didn’t linger—just knocked it back in one quick motion, setting it down with a dull thud against the bar.

Phoebe studied him, her expression softening slightly. “You okay?”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Not really,” he admitted. “I’m probably not great company right now.”

“Sorry,” she said.

Before he could respond, the music shifted, a new track rolling in over the speakers. Phoebe’s face lit up almost instantly as the opening beat hit.

“Oh my god, I love this song,” she said, turning toward the dance floor as Madonna’s voice cut through—I feel so free…

She looked back at him, already moving. “Have you heard this?”

Riley gave a faint shake of his head. “Phoebe, I don’t think—”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand before he could finish. “Madge commands it.”

He resisted for half a second, then let himself be pulled, a reluctant smile starting to break through as she dragged him toward the crowded dance floor.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Alright.”

By the time they reached the dance floor, the edge had dulled just enough for him to let go of it. They found a spot next to Stormy and Jane, who were already moving to the music, Jane laughing as Stormy spun her lightly under his arm.

She made it halfway through the turn before her expression shifted. “Okay—” she said, catching her breath as she reached for him. “Dancing is a bad idea in your third trimester.”

Stormy immediately steadied her, his hand moving to her back. “Yeah, we’re calling it,” he said, half amused, half concerned.

As he guided her off the floor, he passed Riley and gave him a quick pat on the back. “Careful out here,” he said with a faint grin, nodding toward Phoebe before continuing on.

They reached a nearby table, and Jane eased into the chair, exhaling as she adjusted her position. “I’m fine,” she insisted, already reading the look on Stormy’s face.

“I know,” he said. “I’m getting you some water.”

He turned and headed back through the crowd, weaving between bodies while scanning for the bar

“Stormy.”

The voice stopped him. He turned to find Carlo Bravetti standing just off the edge of the main floor.

“Enjoying yourself, I hope,” Carlo said.

Stormy didn’t answer right away. His eyes moved past Carlo, instinctively searching for Jane, still seated where he’d left her, before returning to him. “I was actually just—” he started.

Carlo stepped slightly closer, closing the space enough to make it clear this wasn’t optional. “I’m actually glad you’re here,” he said, his tone calm and assured. “I wanted to see if you’d given any more thought to our conversation. Your trial is coming up in about six weeks if I’m not mistaken.”

“I told you before, I don’t need your help.”

Carlo nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “Of course. No one ever thinks they do. However, the district attorney assigned to your case is… thorough. Very motivated. They’re going to come at you hard.”

Stormy didn’t respond.

“I would hate to see you throw your future away over one mistake,” Carlo went on, his voice lowering just slightly. “Especially given your circumstances. A wife. A child on the way.”

Stormy’s eyes hardened. “My family’s not part of this conversation.”

But Carlo was persistent. “You must know the risks of going into that courtroom blindly,” he said quietly. “I’m just asking for you to hear me out.”

Stormy shook his head. “The answer’s still no.”

Before Carlo could reply, another voice cut in.

“Carlo.”

James stepped into the space beside Stormy, his presence shifting the dynamic instantly. His expression was polite, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.

Carlo turned, the faintest smile returning. “James. I’m glad you and your family accepted the invitation.”

James gave a nod of his head. “It’s quite the event.”

“I thought it was time for all of us to put the past aside and move forward.”

“Does that include Destiny?” James asked. “I recall her being the most vocal of anyone against the Blackthornes during the trial.”

Carlo sighed. “My former wife was definitely a force to be reckoned with. She’s back in New York. I’m actually surprised she hasn’t made it out to see Nicodemo since his release.”

“Well, here’s hoping she doesn’t,” James said and raised his glass. 

Carlo gave a slight chuckle. “Touche,” he said. “Well, enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

Then he stepped back, leaving them without another word as he disappeared into the crowd.

James watched him go for a second before turning back to Stormy. “What did he want?”

Stormy shrugged it off, already looking past the moment. “Nothing I’m interested in,” he said.

James studied him for a beat, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen, I’m going to make a round. I’ll catch up with you in a few.”

Stormy nodded, already turning back toward where Jane was seated as James moved off toward the VIP section. He moved through the crowd at an easy pace, nodding to familiar faces, exchanging brief greetings, but his attention was already elsewhere. He spotted Miranda near the edge of the room, just beyond the main flow of the party, standing alone with a drink in her hand she hadn’t touched. He slowed as he approached, reading her before he said anything.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Miranda looked up, her composure still in place, but just a shade thinner than usual. “Hi, Daddy.”

James stepped closer, studying her with quiet concern. “Not exactly enjoying yourself?”

She let out a breath, her eyes drifting for a moment before returning to him. “Oh, it’s been great,” she said, the sarcasm soft but unmistakable. “Ran into two clients tonight who made it very clear they’re looking for new representation. That’s on top of Siobahn already walking out the door.” She gave a small, humorless smile. “At this rate, I’m not sure how much of an agency I’m going to have left.”

James frowned. “Because of the videos of the trial?”

Her expression turned rigid. “Every time that footage resurfaces, every time someone starts questioning what we saw… it chips away at me. At the agency. Clients don’t want to be tied to that kind of uncertainty.”

James exhaled slowly. “That’s a lot to carry.”

Miranda gave a faint shrug. “It comes with the territory.”

He pulled her into an embrace, firm and grounding. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “You’re a Blackthorne. You’ve got the fight built into you whether you want it or not.”

Miranda let out a breath against his shoulder as she listened to his words.

“You’ve taken hits before,” he went on. “Bigger than this. And every time, you got back up and made them regret it.”

She pulled back slightly, looking at him, searching his face for certainty she wasn’t sure she still had.

“You’re not done,” he said. “Not even close.”

Miranda nodded faintly, but as her gaze dropped to her wrist—to the Panthère diamond cuff bracelet Eddie had given her for her birthday—her fingers brushed against it absently.

James watched her for another moment before Suzanne passed just behind them, slipping through the crowd with purpose, her eyes scanning the room.

“Suzanne,” James called, catching her gently by the arm as she moved by.

She turned, surprised for a split second before her expression softened. “James, hi.”

He leaned in and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Nice seeing you again,” he said. “Listen, come have a drink with us.”

She gave a distracted smile, her gaze already drifting past him. “I’m actually looking for Mickey.”

James followed her glance, then nodded. “Alright. Don’t work too hard finding him.”

Suzanne smiled politely, then slipped away, weaving back into the crowd, her pace quickening just slightly as she searched. She scanned faces, turned once, then again, the layout of the club suddenly less clear than it had been moments ago. The music shifted, the lights pulsed, and before she realized it, she’d moved away from the main floor entirely.

She slowed, frowning, looking around as she found herself in a hallway flooded with fluorescent overhead lights. A back of the house service corridor, she realized.

Then she heard voices, followed by a dull, rhythmic thud, a grunt, and the unmistakable impact of something hitting flesh. Suzanne froze. She held her breath as she turned her head toward the sound, instinct telling her to leave, but curiosity pulling her the other way. Slowly, she moved closer, keeping herself pressed to the wall, staying just out of sight. The voices grew clearer, though still indistinct

She reached the edge of an open doorway that appeared to lead to a liquor storage room. Inside was Mickey, with Bruno and Dennis flanking him. Between them, a man doubled over, barely able to stand. Suzanne’s stomach dropped.

Bruno drove a fist into the man’s stomach, the impact sending him further toward the floor as a choked sound escaped his throat. Dennis followed with a punch to the face, snapping the man’s head back, blood already marking his lip.

Suzanne’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling any sound before it could escape. Her heart slammed against her chest, her entire body going cold as the reality of what she was seeing settled in. Mickey didn’t touch the man. He just watched, almost like a conductor in an orchestra, which somehow made it worse.

She didn’t wait for more. She turned and ran, her heels echoing sharply against the floor as she fled back down the hallway, back toward the noise, the lights, the crowd—anything that felt like safety.

By the time she burst back into the club, her breathing was uneven, her pulse racing, the music crashing over her as if nothing had happened at all. But everything had changed.

She forced herself to walk, even as her pulse raced and her breathing refused to settle. Faces passed in a blur, everything feeling just slightly off, like she’d stepped back into a world that didn’t know what she had just seen.

“Suzanne.”

She turned. Franklin Merrick stood there with his son, Jason.

Franklin’s expression warmed when she faced him, his voice gruff but welcoming. “There you are. I was hoping we’d run into you.”

Suzanne blinked, pulling herself back together quickly, her composure snapping into place out of instinct. “Franklin,” she said, managing a small smile. “Hello, Jason.”

Jason nodded politely. “Good to see you.”

Franklin studied her for a beat, then smiled. “So tell me—are you ready to start acting again?”

The question caught her off guard, barely registering amidst the chaos in her mind. “No, I think retirement has been a little too comfortable for me.” 

“Well, if you ever change your mind, we’d love to have you stop by Silverdale Telepictures sometime. There’s a project we’re developing that I think you’d be perfect for, and I always did love having you on set.” 

Jason nodded in agreement. “It’s early, but it’s strong. Character-driven.”

Suzanne held their gaze, nodding faintly as if she were fully present in the conversation, even as part of her mind was still back in that hallway. “Yeah, I—I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” she said as politely as possible.

Franklin smiled. “Good. Really nice seeing you again.” He gave her arm a light, reassuring touch before stepping back, already moving on to the next conversation. 

They hadn’t gone far before Kelly and Riley came into view by the bar. 

“Kelly,” Franklin said warmly as they approached.

“Franklin,” Kelly replied with a practiced smile. “Jason.”

Jason exchanged a quick nod with Riley, who looked at them uncomfortably.

“Hello Riley,” Franklin said, extending a hand. “Good to see you.”

Riley took it. “You too.”

There was a brief pause, just long enough for the subtext to settle.

“I hope there are no hard feelings,” Franklin added smoothly. “About Marigold Lane. The board of directors is very… family-values oriented.”

Riley held his gaze, the faintest edge still there beneath his composure. “I understand.”

Kelly stepped in easily, her tone brightening the moment. “Well, it worked out,” she said. “Riley just landed the lead in Sunset Studios’ Nathan Blackthorne biopic.”

Franklin’s brows lifted slightly. “Ah,” he said. “That sounds more like your speed.”

Riley didn’t respond right away, the backhand in it clear enough.

Steve slid in beside them like he owned the space, all swagger and self-satisfaction, his eyes dragging over Riley’s suit with exaggerated approval. “Get a load of you.” He gave him a quick jab in the arm. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

Riley barely reacted. “Steve.”

Steve smirked, tugging lightly at his own jacket. “Armani,” he said, like it was a punchline, gesturing between them. “Figured I’d match the room.”

Riley’s expression didn’t change. “Good for you.”

Steve let out a short laugh, undeterred. “Look at us, though,” he went on, glancing between them. “Not that long ago we were out there parking cars at the country club, taking tips from guys who wouldn’t even look us in the eye. And now…” He spread his arms slightly, taking in the club. “You’re making it big in acting, I’m running front of house at this place. Not a bad deal, right?”

Riley didn’t bite, but Steve wasn’t finished.

“And hey,” he added, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel pointed, “funny how things work out. Me and Natalie—didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

Before Riley could respond, Nico emerged through the crowd and approached Steve. “Do me a favor and find security,” Nico said. “There’s a drunk actress dancing on top of the bar.”

Steve let out an amused breath. “Never a dull moment.”

He gave Riley one last look, half grin, half challenge. “We’ll catch up,” he said, before turning and disappearing back into the crowd, already shifting into work mode.

Nico peeled away from the group without a word, his focus already shifting to the next moving piece of the night. He barely registered the faces he passed—until one of them stopped him cold.

Miranda.

For the second time that night, they met almost head-on.

She reacted first, her eyes not sure where to land, already angling to move around him without acknowledging the moment. Nico stepped to the side just enough to block her.

“It’s been a long time,” Nico said, his voice too friendly.

Miranda didn’t answer.

His eyes moved over her, taking her in fully now, something darker flickering beneath the surface before settling into a faint smile. “You’re not that little girl anymore,” he added. “You’re a beautiful young woman.” A beat. “You take after your mother.”

Miranda’s composure didn’t break, but something sharpened instantly behind her eyes. “Leave her out of this,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

Nico held her gaze, the slightest grin on his face as if enjoying the moment.

“Hey.”  Eddie’s voice cut in as he stepped up beside her, placing himself between them without hesitation. “Back off.”

For a moment, it was just the three of them, the tension coiling tight enough to snap.

Nico’s shoulder brushed Eddie’s as he shifted, just enough to provoke. Eddie reacted immediately, shoving him back a step, not hard but not subtle either.

“Watch it, man,” Eddie said. 

A few heads turned. The movement caught the attention of guests within earshot. Among them, Alex and Jordan.  Alex’s head snapped in that direction, Jordan following her sightline.

Miranda stepped back, her eyes catching her mother’s for the briefest second—something unspoken passing between them—before she turned and moved quickly into the crowd, disappearing before the moment could grow into something bigger.

“What was that about?” Jordan asked, turning to Alex.

“What do you think it was about?” she snapped. “It’s not exactly easy seeing him just… walking around like nothing ever happened.”

Jordan studied her for a second, choosing not to push back on the tone. “Alright,” he said dismissively.  “I’m going to get another drink.”

He stepped away before she could respond, moving toward the bar as the night resumed its rhythm around them. By the time he reached it, the moment had already blurred into the background noise of the club. He waited briefly, then turned slightly as Mickey stepped in beside him.

Jordan studied him for a second, recognition flickering, then settling. “Didn’t we meet a while back?” he said. “At Brett’s office?”

Mickey’s expression didn’t change much. “I believe so,” he replied, his tone noncommittal. “Mr. Rydell.”

Jordan frowned slightly. “Right,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m blanking on your name.”

“Mickey Donovan,” he said.

Jordan gave a slight frown. “Huh. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the name I remember.”

Mickey gave the faintest hint of a smile, already stepping back. “You must be mistaken,” he said lightly. “Either way—good to see you.”

Before Jordan could respond, Mickey was already moving, scanning faces until he found Brett near the far side of the bar, half-turned away from the room, drink in hand but clearly somewhere else. Mickey closed the distance quickly, placing a firm hand on his arm and steering him without ceremony toward a quieter corner just off the main floor.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Brett didn’t resist, but his expression hardened as they stepped out of the immediate noise. “What now?”

Mickey didn’t waste time. “Have you spoken to Jordan Rydell?”

“Not tonight—why?”

“Don’t get cute,” Mickey snapped. “You know what I mean. Have you spoken to him about reinstating your approval authorizations at the studio?”

Brett exhaled. “I told you—I’m working on it.”

“That’s not good enough,” Mickey replied, his tone sharpening. “You need to make him.”

Brett laughed. “You don’t just ‘make’ Jordan do anything. He’s locked this down. I push too hard, it gets worse.”

Mickey stepped closer just enough to make it uncomfortable. “Then find a way that doesn’t make it worse.”

Brett held his ground. “I’m trying.”

Mickey studied him for a beat, then said quietly, “You don’t understand the timing here. We have a lot of product moving very soon. That money needs somewhere to go to get clean. If it doesn’t—”

Brett didn’t like that. “What does that mean?”

Mickey’s expression didn’t shift. “It means you need to get Jordan Rydell to reconsider,” he said. “Or we’ll take matters into our own hands.” 

Brett let out a slow breath, the pressure settling in again. “I said I’m working on it.”

“Work faster,” Mickey replied, already turning away.

As Brett watched him go, something clicked. Mickey hadn’t been this urgent before. It was almost as if he were panicking, and that was something Brett had never seen in him until now. Mickey didn’t have options. He needed him.

A faint smile formed as Brett looked out over the crowd, the pressure easing for the first time all night. If he couldn’t get Jordan to reconsider, then it was Mickey who had a problem. Not him.

And just like that, Brett could finally see the way out.

The realization still settling in, he turned and moved through the crowd. The noise of the club followed him all the way to the exit before the doors opened and the night air hit him.

Out front, under the glow of the streetlights, Sharon stood near the valet stand, waiting.

She saw him immediately, and tensed. “Brett, don’t,” she said softly as he approached.

He ignored it, stopping just short of her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. “Your husband is Carlo Bravetti.”

Conflicted, Sharon tried to maintain her cool. “Because I was trying to keep you safe,” she said. “I told you he was powerful.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with us,” Brett replied.

“It has everything to do with us,” she said quietly. “He’s powerful and dangerous. If he ever found out about us—”

Headlights cut across them as her car pulled up to the curb.

Sharon’s attention moved toward it, the moment already closing. She looked back at Brett, something unresolved lingering in her expression. “This was a mistake,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Then she turned and got into the car.

Brett stood there, watching it pull away, the night suddenly feeling a lot less simple than it had an hour ago.

Behind him, the club doors opened again and Suzanne rushed out. She didn’t see him at first. 

Brett stepped toward her instinctively. “Suzanne—hey, what’s going on?”

She didn’t stop. “Not now,” she said, her voice shaky as she moved past him.

Brett turned to follow. “Suzanne—”

James stepped out onto the sidewalk, his eyes already tracking Suzanne as she moved away. “Was that Suzanne?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Brett said. “She seems upset. I was just going to—”

“I’ll take care of it,” James cut in.

Before Brett could respond, James was already moving. He caught up to her just past the glow of the entrance, near the rideshare pickup where cars idled and headlights washed over the curb in slow intervals. 

“Suzanne,” James said gently as he reached her.

She turned at the sound of his voice, and that was all it took. The moment she saw him, everything she’d been holding in broke loose. She shook her head, trying to speak, but words failed as tears spilled over.

“Hey—hey,” James said softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a broken breath, her voice trembling. “Everyone was right,” she said, barely getting the words out.

James frowned slightly. “About what?”

“About Mickey,” she choked. “He’s—” She shook her head again, struggling to say it. “He’s exactly what they said he was. Worse.”

“What happened?”

“I saw him,” she said, the words tumbling out now. “In the back… with those men. They were beating someone—just… taking turns like it was nothing. And he was just standing there. Watching.”

Her voice broke again, and she covered her mouth, horrified even saying it out loud.

“I feel so stupid,” she whispered. “For not believing any of you.”

James reached for her, his voice firm but gentle. “Hey. You’re not stupid.”

She looked at him, eyes red, shaken. “I was falling in love with him,” she admitted, the truth landing heavy between them.

James pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her with quiet strength, grounding her as she cried against him. “You didn’t know,” he said softly. “You wanted to see the best in him. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Suzanne clung to him, letting herself be held, the noise of the street fading beneath the weight of the moment.