Chapter 41

Guinevere’s POV

The pounding rhythm of loud music reverberated through the air as we walked into the bar, the vibrant energy of the place hitting us like a wave. Neon lights bathed the room in hues of red and blue, casting playful shadows on the walls as the crowd danced and mingled. The scent of alcohol and sweat mingled in the air, and the sound of laughter and chatter added to the lively atmosphere.

I led Reagan to a corner table, sliding into a seat and gesturing for him to join me. He sat down, his expression a mixture of reluctance and mild annoyance. His arms were crossed, and he surveyed the scene with a raised brow, clearly unimpressed.

“Well,” I said, leaning back in my chair with a playful grin. “What do you think?”

Reagan sighed, his brows knitting together as he glanced around the bar. His posture remained stiff, his body language practically screaming discomfort. “I would have preferred to be in my bed, fast asleep,” he admitted, his voice low, “rather than being surround