Share
MidReal Story
The Mafia Boss's Secret Baby
Scenario:Ashley 43 years old females sits at the bar alone. When she notices me talking to Cassie
Create my version of this story
Cassie
female. She is a server at a local club. She is confident,enigmatic,and bold. Cassie has striking green eyes and a phoenix tattoo on her back. She is intrigued by Jaxon's bold demeanor and adventurous spirit. Her interest in BDSM resonates with Jaxon,creating a connection between them. Although she guards her privacy well,Cassie's willingness to engage with Jaxon suggests an underlying desire for meaningful connection amidst her busy life.
I watch as a woman with striking green eyes sits at the bar alone.
She’s about my height, maybe a little shorter, with long dark hair and a small tattoo on her cheek.
I can’t quite make out what the design is, but it’s definitely a tattoo.
There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place where I’ve seen her before.
When the bartender asks what she wants, she orders a beer and starts tapping away on her phone.
Is she summoning an Uber already?
She hasn’t been here ten minutes.
Fuck it, maybe she’s one of those health-conscious people who only drinks soda.
I have no idea.
Cassie serves me another beer, and I wait for the woman to look up so I can ask her question.
But she doesn’t, and when Cassie comes back over to me again, I ask her anyway.
"Does that woman know you?"
Cassie follows my gaze and nods.
"Yeah, we met at the diner last week. She was having lunch with her friend."
"Oh? Cool. Does she come here often?"
"Nope, never. Not sure why she’s here tonight. Maybe she needed a night out."
"Maybe."
Cassie serves a few more people and comes back over to me again.
When the woman finally looks up from her phone, our eyes meet and hold for just a second.
Then she quickly looks away, flushing pink cheeks.
I watch her body language as she sneaks another glance in my direction.
Her shoulders tense when I catch her looking, but she holds my gaze a little longer this time.
She adjusts her position on the barstool, angling herself slightly toward me while pretending to check her phone again.
The subtle invitation in her posture makes me smile.
I turn to respond to Cassie’s question, but she’s already moved down the bar to serve someone else.
The woman’s fingers drum against her beer bottle, her eyes darting between her phone and my reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
I decide to take a chance and approach her.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
She hesitates, then replies, "You might. I think you knew my sister."
I lean against the bar, studying her features more closely.
The green eyes, the facial structure—it’s all starting to click into place.
She reminds me of someone I met a few months back.
A woman I met at Club Noir.
My stomach tightens as I remember that night.
The intense chemistry between us, the passionate encounter, and then my typical ghosting act afterward.
I don’t usually ghost women, but there was something about her that made me feel like I needed to get away.
"What’s your sister’s name?"
I ask, gripping my glass a little tighter.
"Rachel," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
My blood runs cold.
Rachel Green—the same woman whose texts I’ve been ignoring for weeks.
I shift uncomfortably on my barstool, the weight of recognition settling heavy between us.
Ashley’s sister Rachel—my mind flashes back to that night at Club Noir and the aftermath that left a sour taste in my mouth.
The memory of her texts, each one filled with a mix of confusion and hurt, gnaws at me.
I feel like an ass for ghosting her, but I didn’t know how to explain myself.
The truth is, I don’t do relationships or commitment.
I’m not the kind of guy to settle down.
But something about Rachel drew me in, and now I’m facing the consequences of my actions.
Ashley watches me intently, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as if trying to read my thoughts.
The music seems too loud, the bar too crowded.
I need space to think, to explain myself.
"Listen," I say, leaning closer so she can hear me over the noise, "I know I messed up with Rachel. Maybe we should go somewhere quieter to talk about this."
I grab my keys, the cool metal against my sweaty palm a small comfort.
Ashley nods, her movements tense and deliberate.
She slides off the barstool, her eyes never leaving mine.
We weave our way through the crowd, the music pulsating around us.
I lead her to a corner booth, away from prying ears.
The dim lighting casts shadows on her face as she pulls out her phone.
She scrolls through something, then turns the screen toward me.
It’s a photo of a leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with a single name: Rachel.
I feel my throat tighten.
"Where did you find this?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ashley sets the phone down, her eyes meeting mine.
"I helped Rachel move apartments last week. She left this behind."
She pauses, taking a deep breath.
"I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I needed to understand what happened between you two."
She reaches into her bag and pulls out the journal itself, placing it on the table between us. My hands shake as I open it, flipping through the pages filled with Rachel’s handwriting.
The words blur together as I try to process what I’m reading.
It’s our story—every detail from that night at Club Noir to the aftermath of my ghosting.
The way she describes our encounter is intimate and raw, like she’s reliving every moment as she writes about it.
My heart races as I read her thoughts about me—how much she wanted me, how confused she was when I disappeared from her life.
I close the journal abruptly, feeling like an intruder in her private world.
Ashley watches me intently, her expression a mix of sadness and understanding.
"She became obsessed with you," she says softly.
"She couldn’t stop thinking about what went wrong."
I push my chair back, grabbing my purse to leave.
"Wait," Ashley says, reaching out to stop me.
"There's something else you need to know."
Her voice trembles slightly as she continues, "Rachel's been missing for two days."
Ashley's grip on my arm tightens as she pulls out her phone again.
She opens a text message thread and shows me the last message Rachel sent her two days ago.
The words on the screen make my chest constrict: "I can't take the pain anymore."
Ashley's voice cracks as she explains how Rachel had fallen into a deep depression after I disappeared from her life.
She barely ate, barely left her apartment, and eventually stopped showing up at work last week.
Ashley had gone to check on her yesterday, but when she arrived at Rachel's apartment, it was empty.
Her phone, wallet, and keys were left on the kitchen counter next to an unmarked envelope.
"I found this," Ashley says, handing me the envelope.
Inside is a single sheet of paper with a note written in Rachel's handwriting: "I'm sorry for everything. I can't keep living like this."
I feel a wave of guilt wash over me as I read the words.
I grab my jacket, knowing I need to do something.
"We have to check all of Rachel's usual spots," I say to Ashley.
"Do you think she might have gone to Club Noir?" Ashley asks, her voice tinged with desperation.
"It's possible," I reply, trying to keep my own panic in check.
Ashley nods, determination replacing the fear in her eyes. "Then that's where we'll start."
Ashley's sudden movement catches me off guard as she leans in, her lips brushing against my cheek in a gentle kiss.
Her warm breath lingers on my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
I pull back slightly, studying her face under the dim bar lights.
Her green eyes, identical to Rachel's, meet mine with a mix of worry and something else I can't quite decipher.
The leather journal sits heavy between us on the table, its pages filled with Rachel's pain and confusion.
My fingers drum against the worn cover as I process Ashley's gesture.
Is it a desperate attempt to connect with me, or a genuine display of gratitude?
The bar's dim lighting casts shadows across her features as she reaches for her purse.
"Let me grab my coat," she says, standing.
"Club Noir's not far."
While Ashley gathers her things, my gaze drifts to a man two seats down from us.
He's dressed in a dark blazer, his features partially obscured by the shadows.
As he leans back in his chair, his eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a sudden jolt of recognition.
I can't place him, but there's something familiar about his presence.
Before I can look away, he stands and approaches our table.
"Excuse me," he says, his voice low and smooth.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
His eyes flicker to the journal before meeting mine again.
"I saw Rachel at Club Noir last weekend."
Something about his tone makes me uneasy, but Ashley immediately perks up.
"Really? Did you talk to her?"
The man shakes his head.
"No, but I know the club well. I could show you around if you'd like."
He pulls out a set of car keys from his pocket and places them on the table.
"I know some shortcuts that might get us there faster."
As he stands, I notice his hands trembling slightly, and the way he keeps glancing at Ashley's purse.
I step between him and Ashley, studying his face in the dim bar light.
His features are familiar, but I can't quite place where I've seen him before.
Then it hits me - I've seen him outside Club Noir before, sitting in his parked car and watching the patrons come and go.
I lean closer, my voice low.
"How do you know Rachel?"
He stammers for a moment before answering.
"I saw her dance at Club Noir. She's a beautiful girl."
As he speaks, his eyes flicker to the journal on the table again, and I notice his fingers twitching as if he wants to reach out and touch it.
"Can you tell me exactly when you saw her there?" "Last Saturday night," he replies quickly, but I catch the hesitation in his voice.
I press on, sensing that he's not telling the truth.
"Did you see her leave with anyone?"
He shakes his head again, this time more forcefully.
"No, I didn't see her leave at all. I left early."
I study his face, trying to read his expression.
Something isn't adding up.
The man takes a step back, bumping into one of the chairs behind him.
Ashley reaches out and grabs the journal protectively, pulling it closer to her chest.
I take a step forward, blocking the man's retreat.
I lean close to Ashley, keeping my voice low.
"Look at his hands," I whisper.
"He's fidgeting with his car keys."
As I speak, I catch a whiff of his cologne.
It's a familiar scent - the same one that lingered in Rachel's apartment when we helped search it.
I take a step closer, my eyes locked on his right hand.
There's a scratch on the back of it, just above the knuckles.
It's a fresh wound, still red and raw.
And then it hits me - I've seen that same scratch before.
On someone leaving Club Noir the night Rachel disappeared.
Ashley's fingers intertwine with mine, her grip tightening as she realizes what I've discovered.
"No," she whispers back, her voice barely audible over the music.
I position myself between them, blocking the man's path to the exit.
His eyes dart to the door, and then back to me. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice shaking slightly.
"I just want to help find Rachel," I reply calmly, but my heart is racing.
The man takes another step back, bumping into an empty chair behind him.
He stumbles slightly, and as he does, something falls from his jacket pocket onto the floor.
It's a small piece of paper, folded into a neat square.
I bend down to pick it up, recognizing the handwriting immediately.
I unfold the paper with trembling fingers, Ashley peering over my shoulder.
It's a note, written in Rachel's distinctive cursive.
"Meet me at Club Noir's back alley last Friday at midnight. -R"
The man lunges for the paper, but I hold it out of reach.
I take a step back, moving toward the bar where Cassie is watching us intently.
"Give it back," he demands, his voice rising above the music.
I hold my ground, my eyes locked on his.
"How did you get this?"
He takes another step forward, and I can see the panic in his eyes.
"Rachel gave it to me," he stammers.
"I was supposed to meet her that night."
But something doesn't add up.
If Rachel had given him the note, why did she still have it in her journal?
And why did the handwriting look so fresh? "I don't believe you," I say calmly, taking another step back.
"You're lying."
The man's face contorts in anger, and for a moment, I think he's going to lunge at me again.
But then he turns and runs for the door.
Ashley grabs my arm, her eyes wide with fear.
"What do we do?"
I don't answer.
Instead, I pull out my phone and dial 911.
As I wait for someone to pick up, I watch the man run down the street and jump into his car.
I quickly memorize his license plate number before he speeds away into the night.
When someone finally answers the phone, I explain what just happened.
They tell me to stay on the line and wait for an officer to arrive. As we wait, Ashley clutches Rachel's journal tightly in her hands.
Her face is pale, and I can tell she's trying not to cry.
"I can't believe this," she whispers.
"We actually found a lead."
I put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"We're going to find Rachel," I say softly.
"I know," she replies, her voice trembling.
"But what if that man hurt her?"
I don't answer.
Instead, I pull her closer and hold her tightly as we wait for the police to arrive.
When the officers finally show up, they take our statements and ask us a few questions.
They also take the note and Rachel's journal as evidence.
As we're leaving, Ashley turns to me with a look of determination on her face.
"We need to keep looking for Rachel," she says firmly.
"I know," I reply, nodding in agreement.
"We will."
As we walk out of the bar, I can feel Ashley's hand trembling in mine.
We're both shaken by what just happened, but we're determined to find Rachel no matter what it takes.
We stop at a small café down the street and sit at the bar.
Ashley pulls out Rachel's journal again, flipping through the pages with trembling fingers. As she turns the page, a folded piece of paper slips out and lands on the counter with a soft thud.
Ashley picks it up carefully, unfolding it with shaking hands.
It's a hand-drawn map of Club Noir and the surrounding area.
There are several locations circled in red, including an address that I recognize from my night with Rachel.
But there's another location that catches my eye - a warehouse district on the outskirts of town.
Ashley notices it too, her eyes widening as she points to the circled location.