Past always reappears.

Pain, hurt, sorrow, grief. All are analogous to love, yet no one desires them. They're uncalled, hated, as if they're not part of human emotions. They are the hope for destruction, the rise of the evil, and the end of goodwill.

Paris thought her misery would only end with her death. Julian would chase her to the end of the world if possible. He needed to diminish her just as it had become necessary for Paris to survive. Her debate only concluded if she could prevail against Julian, then only she'd be able to serve justice to the one who didn't make it.

The practicality of reality only advised her to not dwell too much upon the dead and focus much on her own wellbeing if she wished for favorable results. Their deaths were not upon her that she shouldn't blame herself. It started with the wrath of one person that shook the core of fragile ethics.

Whether it was Robert or Julian, their fight against each other brought down many between them.

New York lights felt the same, bright and sempiternal.

Paris admired them whenever her eyes would flicker to them. It was the city of her dreams that she had accomplished so far, but now they seemed too surreal. She knew her place by heart, knowing all the places she could hide within. She had friends too keen to fight for her and a former lover too willing to die for her. None that she'd risk, though.

After the loss of Jordan and Kehan, Paris would rather die than risk anyone else's life.

Why didn't Julian and Ruby kill me instead of murdering them? It was all because of her that they could've smoothly finished it, but they killed two men who had no connection to their crimes instead.

It almost seemed like a sacrifice, but it was not. Jordan and Kehan didn't even know they were required to sacrifice something to help Paris. They didn't sign up for that. Paris would forever harbor the burden for their deaths.

More than two days were enough to decide her following action against Julian. She left the hospital without discharging formalities and landed in New York City by the first ride she could get. Charles and Avery were a great help, as usual, in retrieving her car.

Julian would come for her here as her anxiety had anticipated, but she definitely was not ready.

Skimming through the city, she stopped at nothing occasional and not at the familiar places until one site collided her way. The sun was yet to set, and she observed the four-story building that had become a past-mystery of her life.

'Cubin's Night Club'

They sell the worst Margarita, then why did Paris come here? If only she could remember...

She couldn't remember her life from December to March. What impulses she took into account that she couldn't remember. She heard the voicemails from the month of November and inferred that December was her month of caprice decisions. She was probably recuperating her heartbreak by exploring liquor. Since then, she has never once touched alcohol. It almost took her life. The idea of death did not thrill her anymore, as much as it did seven months ago.

Seven in the evening, and the Club was in the business. She watched frequent people going in and out before she joined the queue. People would judge her injured appearance and could attract unwanted questions, but the cap made her hideous, out of suspicions.

Without pick hours, the dance floor was almost empty with the early hours drinks gulped down by people on their dates, group, or people draining down their sorrows in the corner. Clueless Paris wanders for a few minutes before settling at the counter, ordering only refreshments.

What's the point of drinking anyway? My life's already drunk.

The insurmountable problems with Julian seemed infinite, tiring her out just by mere thoughts. She was sure about her next move but realizing that she planned to only run away, her willpower dithered. She couldn't fight him earlier, then how was she supposed to fight him now? Even confronting him was an outrageous move. Maybe hiding was a better option, but how long she'd hide?

Julian had become inevitable for her, invincible for her.

She uncaps herself, rolls back her shoulder, and glances around the nearly empty Night Club. She finally orders a drink.

"Hey!" Someone hushes by her side, sending Paris flinching as a reflex. The person was almost on Paris, tilting her on the stool as a response. A strong stink of gush reached her senses before the person's face could become more accessible. Paris almost gagged before nearly throwing hands on the person.

The woman was trying to examine her more closely. The primitive action of the elderly woman instantly irritated Paris.

"Move away, ma'am." She tried as politely as possible before reducing from the stool and facing the discourteous woman.

The woman was holding a broomstick with wide dark eyes scanning Paris from head to toe with no consideration of awkwardness. Wrinkles fenced her appearance with grey hair sticking out of her uniform cap, standing only a few inches shorter than Paris.

"You didn't die?"

"Excuse me?" With a clenched jaw, Paris basically went to look for the manager.

"I know you." The woman examines her face again, "You almost died that night." Paris froze. "You're alive." The woman smiles, grateful to see Paris alive.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Her voice shakes, believing every word of the woman. "How do you know me?"

"I saw you once, and I remember you forever." The woman expresses a complacent look to Paris. But Paris couldn't bother with her smugness as her mind could only comprehend her words.

"You mean you saw me here? When?"

"The last time you came. My name's Andriana Stevens, by the way." Andriana acknowledges Paris's lost expressions and thinks about the odds of her benefits from the situation. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you here only."

She kept her words. Paris watched her sweeping the floor as slowly as she could for half an hour until she grew annoyed and turned to alcohol. Andriana stood in front of Paris exactly past one minute of the new hour.

"So...you were saying?" Paris dodged the small talks. She was not trying to build any trustworthy relationship with the sweeper. She had no time to waste or play around anymore.

"What's the rush?" She watches Andriana noticing her empty glasses of liquor before she gleefully says, "I heard the Margarita is the best here. My wages don't allow me to waste money on that."

'Bribe Me.' Paris read her body language.

"You heard the lady," Paris says over the music to the young bartender. His eyes darted between the sweeper and Paris.

"My shift's over." Andriana sounded firm and annoyed with her statement. It was almost a challenge to the boy who gulps before them at Andriana's glare at him.

To amused Paris, "How did you do that?" Andriana only shrugs. "Okay...so?" Paris politely urges her to say once she's served her drink.

Andriana gulps a mouthful of the drink before cringing hard and dropping it on the counter, "That shit ain't worth the money."

Someone learned the hard way. Paris thinks before visibly smirking.

"Whatever. That ain't my money."

"Let's come to the point, shall we?"

"I would like to try fuzzy Vodka." Paris glares, shutting Andriana up.

"Just...talk, Okay? You can have whatever you want later, please." It neutralizes the sweeper by Paris's genuine concerns. It was enough waste of time.

"Fine." Andriana agrees, "I saw you that time when you came here. I have a strong memory." Paris rolls her eyes at Andriana's boosting again about her transcendent memory. "I mean, very few people like you ever come to this place."

"Sorry, what? People like me?"

"I...don't mean any offense." Andriana looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I am not homophobic."

After a moment of silence, "What did I do?" Paris asks with chary.

"I mean, you were drunk, and it's understandable." With a pointed look from Paris, she continues, "You were all over the girl you met here. She was beautiful. I didn't think if she was interested."

"Oh, god!" Paris exclaims before pulling out her phone, "Are you talking about her?" Andriana instantly nods at the image of Monica.

"She's so beautiful, right?"

"Right." Paris agrees flatly. "A guy was with me?"

"As long as I remember, you were alone."

"What about him?"

"I remember him too. He was in a hurry. I remember him much better than you girls."

"How so?"

"That night...is kind of special. You came here alone. It wasn't anything special, but you came here already wasted, and you didn't order any drinks. As I said, it was nothing special, but you were the only person here who looked after that girl. She was crying since she came here, and you were the only one consoling her among the partying crowd."

"How do you know so much?"

"I was working late that night. I see vulgarity every day. But that day was different. A stranger was consolidating a stranger...not on the streets."

Silence settles between them for a few moments.

"What-What about the guy?"

"He came much later. Can I order something, please? I like to order him around." Paris nods, sharing the look with Andriana at the boyish bartender.

"What was his first reaction?"

"Oh, I remember this very clearly. He's a good friend of the owner. He was here for the girl. Who's he, by the way?"

"Julian Perreault."

"Never heard about him before. Is he famous?"

"What did he do next?"

"Oh, boy. I can't tell you next because I don't know what happened next."

Paris sighs, feeling defeat.

"But there's someone who can tell," Andriana smirks.

Paris already not liking the next.

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