After The Divorce, She Became The Nation’s Sweetheart

Natasha’s POV

The music was too loud. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The pounding bass pulsing through the nightclub drowned my thoughts. On the other hand, the flashing lights and the bodies pressed against each other on the dance floor made everything unbearable.

I lifted my glass and took another sip of the whiskey I didn’t even like. At least it made me feel something.

Everyone looked expensive, except me. I’d thrown on a red slip dress—the one that ended mid-thigh with a bare, revealing back. It clung to my curves like a second skin—careless and unplanned, paired with silver heels. My hair was pulled into a loose, messy bun, strands falling around my face.

“Natasha, take it easy,” my friend Ananya shouted over the music, leaning closer so I could hear. She had practically dragged me out here to clear my head.

I almost laughed at the words. Take it easy? Nothing has been easy since my boyfriend, Lucas, died.

It had been two months since I received the phone call that broke my heart.

“He didn’t make it,” the words still replayed in my head more often than I admitted.

He had gotten into a fatal accident that claimed his life.

I downed the rest of the drink.

“Oh, trust me. I am calm,” I said softly.

Ananya gave me a look that clearly said she didn’t believe me.

“You’ve been miserable for weeks now. You should be on the dance floor having fun, not drowning yourself in alcohol.”

“And who said I want to have fun? I clearly didn’t want to come here in the first place,” I said.

Ananya sighed. “You’ve been locked up in your house grieving. I just wanted to get you out for one night.”

I stared at the lights over the dance floor. People laughed, danced. The entire place buzzed with life, and yet, I felt completely disconnected from it.

My fingers tightened around the empty glass.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.

“Yes—”

“No,” Ananya and I said at the same time.

“That’s enough. You will have no more," Ananya said sternly.

“Fine!” I got up, moved unsteadily to the dance floor. I let my hips sway a little, my eyes half-closed—moving to the rhythm of the music.

A hand suddenly gripped my waist. “Hey beautiful. You shouldn’t be dancing alone.”

The man standing behind me smelled like expensive cologne, mixed with alcohol.

My eyes snapped open. Heat flared to my chest, sharp.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” I turned sharply, moving away from him.

The man chuckled, taking a step closer.

“Relax, sweetheart—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snapped at him.

“Ooh, feisty this one is. I like that,” he said. “Just one dance won’t hurt. Besides, you’re here dressed like that and—”

“Any problem?”

A shadow fell over us.

The drunk man stopped mid-sentence, annoyed.

“It’s none of your business, man,” the drunk man said.

I turned, and damn! The stranger I saw was tall and composed. He wore a black button-down shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled once to reveal strong forearms and a tiny tattoo. Dark hair that swept back from his face, sharp jawline, and piercing grey eyes that watched me with unsettling focus.

“Fuck off,” the drunk man said as he pulled me back against him.

“I said let go—“

A sharp sound cracked through the music.

The man’s head snapped backward as the blow landed on his face. His grip on my waist loosened immediately, and he stumbled back—clutching his nose.

I clamped my hands over my mouth, staring in disbelief.

“What the fuck, man! You broke my nose.” the drunk man snapped, his voice thick with anger as he looked ready to attack.

But something about the stranger’s expression made the drunk man suddenly reconsider.

“Crazy bastard,” he muttered under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

I lifted my chin, my pulse still racing. “I didn’t need you to rescue me. I could’ve handled myself.”

The stranger’s mouth curved as he pulled out a napkin, wiping the blood on his knuckles. “Didn’t say you did.”

I studied him. Another rich asshole playing hero. I’d met dozens like him. Men who thought money made them fascinating. “Let me guess… you swoop in, expect me to bat my lashes and melt because the handsome rich man decided to play hero? Yeah, that’s not happening.”

He tilted his head, studying me right back. The corner of his mouth was curved into a devious smile. “Well, it’s a good thing you find me handsome.”

“Tell me,” he continued. “Do you stare at men you’re attracted to like that, or am I getting a special kind of treatment?”

What an absolute—

“Asshole,” I said softly.

“She’s tough,” he said, still smiling.

I saw Ananya from a distance. She was clearly trying to find me in the midst of the crowd.

“Next time,” I continued. “Learn how to mind the business that pays you.”

I pushed through the crowds without looking back. My heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.

I could feel his gaze on me the entire way out—hot, unwavering, tracking every step I took, like he was memorizing the way I moved. And somehow, I knew he was still smiling.