4

Lisa's pov

I blinked. “I just got whipped. I might still have pieces of my soul lying on the floor back there.”

“You still have your legs.”

“Barely.”

“You have a heartbeat.”

“Barely.”

“You’re still breathing.”

I groaned. “Also barely.”

She bent down, smacking my thigh lightly. “Then you’re still alive. And as long as you’re breathing, we’re going to remind that piece of Alpha scum what he missed out on so club here we come.” she screamed on top of her voice, throwing her hands up.

“Are you even listening to me at all?” I asked, standing to my feet while she blocked her ears dramatically.

I glared at her. “So the club is where I go to celebrate getting rejected and whipped like a badly raised pet?”

“No. It’s where you go to wear the tightest dress ever stitched by a drunk goddess, shake your ass to songs you don’t know, and remind yourself that you're Lisa. Not some pity project.”

I folded my arms. “I have nothing to wear.”

“I’ve got options.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You better not hand me that red one.”

She grinned wide. “Oh, I’m absolutely handing you the red one.”

“Fiona.” I screamed, covering my tits while she burst out laughing.

“Lisa.” she screamed back my name throwing the gown to me.

We stared each other down, the tension thick, dramatic music almost playing in the background.

Thirty minutes later…

I stood in front of her cracked mirror, trying not to die of shame.

The red dress was… not a dress. It was a thread pretending to be cloth. My boobs looked like they were going to launch out at any moment, my thighs were screaming for freedom, and the back? Non-existent.

“If you bend over, they’ll call an ambulance,” Fiona commented, giggling behind me.

“Who even made this? Lingerie demons?” I asked, trying to cover myself up.

“You look hot.” she commented while I shook my head in disagreement.

“I look like a thirst trap.” I muttered.

“That’s the point.” she said, pushing me out of the way.

I rolled my eyes and tied my hair up in a high ponytail. “I hate you.”

“You’ll thank me when heads turn.”

“I just hope none of those heads belong to Bryan.”

“Then you’ll have the honor of watching regret ruin him from the inside.”

The club was loud, sweaty, and buzzing with pheromones. It smelled like booze, bad decisions, and wolf musk. Just my kind of hell.

We squeezed through the crowd, found a booth near the DJ’s platform, and ordered shots we couldn’t pronounce.

“Drink it!” Fiona yelled over the music, pushing the glass to my lips.

I sniffed it. “Smells like someone tried to bottle regret.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lisa. Shut up. Drink.”

I tilted my head back and swallowed. The burn nearly peeled my soul from my body.

“Again!” she screamed, pouring another.

Two shots later, my head was lighter. My body is warmer. The pain? Slightly fuzzier.

Fiona dragged me to the dance floor. The music thumped so hard, I swear my heartbeat started syncing with the bass.

She twirled. I moved. Then we laughed. Hard.

Some guy grabbed Fiona’s waist. She winked at me and allowed him to twirl her.

I stood there for a moment, breathing in the wildness, trying to let go.

“Can I have this dance?” someone asked behind me, snaking his hand around my waist.

I turned slowly to see a perfect semi Greek god standing before me in the flesh. I blinked my long lashes rapidly.

Not only does he smell so good but damn he has a perfect face card.

“Are you real?” I asked slowly, checking his face out when I heard the voice I least expected to ring in my ears at least not this night.

“Who let in a low born like you in here?” The person asked in a low growl.

Bryan.

In a black shirt, sleeves rolled, hair slicked back, and eyes that made me want to punch and kiss him at the same time.

“Fuck the mate bond” I cursed inwardly snapping out of my fantasy immediately.

“What's wrong man?” I heard the other guy who asked for dance asked, trying to get Bryan away but the little senseless brat wouldn't just bulge as he stepped closer to me.

“Has the cat got your tongue?” He asked, pulling my hair so hard.

I winced in pain trying to free myself from his hold when Fiona appeared behind me like a guardian demon.

“Back off, Prince Cheater. This isn’t your moment.” She yelled, pushing him away from me.

Bryan’s jaw clenched. “This is between me and—” before he could finish his statement, I stepped forward kicking him hard on the groin.

“Bastard” I said furiously, my chest heaving up and down.

“How dare you…” he raged on, stepping forward to hit me but someone held his hand mid-air.

“Shouldn't you act like a gentleman when being treated like one?” the man asked, throwing Bryan's hand off which made him lose his stance.

Bryan stumbled back a step, fury burning in his eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he barked, trying to recover from the sudden kick and the even more humiliating hand slap-down.

The man didn’t answer immediately.

He just stood there, still as a shadow. His entire face was covered in a sleek, dark mask that hugged his jaw like it belonged there. His voice was smooth—refined but with the undertone of power you don’t question. That type of voice that commands rooms, not with volume, but with presence.

“I asked you a question!” Bryan yelled again, lunging forward like an untrained mutt who forgot his leash.

The masked man barely moved. One hand shot out, caught Bryan by the collar mid-leap, and spun him sideways like a rag doll. In one move, Bryan’s back smacked the floor with a loud, disrespectful thud.

Gasps filled the air. The music didn’t stop, but the energy shifted.

Bryan scrambled up like a wet dog, teeth bared, fists clenched, breathing like someone had stolen his last piece of pride. “You’ll regret this.”

The masked man tilted his head slightly, calm, calculated, and collected.

“Only weak men fight women,” he said with an eerie softness, “and only fools fight when they’ve already lost.”

Fiona clapped dramatically from behind me. “Oop! Talk to him, Daddy Shadow!”