One

“May I join you?”

A baritone whisper brushed my ear, jolting me amid the nightclub’s pulsing music. I spun around and found Dario, the senior once notorious as a playboy during our college days. Two years had passed, yet nothing about him had changed. Revolting.

“You’ve grown even more enchanting… and sexy, Ana,” he praised softly.

Compliments like that have followed me for years. But instead of feeling flattered, I only felt disgusted. With how I look now, people treat me differently. I’m offered friendships, blind dates, even casual hookups. The world has gone mad. This was actually my first time in a place like this. Not because I’m trying to act virtuous, but because I have a dark past that’s made me draw strict boundaries, especially socially. Thankfully, I have four friends who are genuinely good to me.

My name is Tatiana Horrison Maradona. Five years ago, I was the victim of cruel bullying. My parents moved me to another country almost immediately. The trauma never really left. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which forced me to avoid the people and places connected to that event. Even now, I still go to therapy, though not as frequently as in the first year. I also still rely on sedatives to calm the anxiety whenever those painful memories try to return.

In this new place, I rebuilt myself. My appearance changed, and I started going by a new name. Tatiana became Ana, all to conceal my identity and protect myself from reliving the same nightmare.

“I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted,” I said, trying to walk away. But he caught my wrist.

“Can’t you stay with me just a little longer?” he asked, holding me back. I shook my head and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong.

“No one gets to say no to me, Ana,” he muttered as he pulled me against his chest.

“And I still say no,” I snapped, kicking his shin and slamming my heel down on his foot.

“Sorry,” I added, entirely unapologetic as I walked away, leaving him groaning in pain.

“Psycho,” I muttered, heading to the bar. I saw my friend Cecil, completely unconscious, slumped halfway across the counter. I looked around for my other friends. Only Grace was visible. She waved, and a few minutes later she stood beside me, slightly out of breath.

“I’m leaving after this,” she said before sipping her wine.

“Are you okay with handling her on your own?” she asked, looking at Cecil.

“Go ahead. I’ll have my assistant handle it.”

“You’re always this sweet. I’ll call you later.” She kissed both my cheeks and reached for her clutch.

“Oh wait, I almost forgot,” she turned back. “Cecil’s cousin called. He asked me to inform him if she ended up drunk and unconscious. So, if a handsome guy with a great body shows up asking for her, just hand her over. You don’t have to trouble your assistant.”

“That sounds more troublesome to me. I’ll just call Holly.”

“Ana, come on. I already told him Cecil is in your care.”

I muttered under my breath and blinked at her words. But she didn’t care and kept tapping on her phone. “He’s just her cousin. Harmless. I’ve met him a few times and had decent conversations.”

She then showed me her phone. It was a photo of me, taken without my permission, sent to Cecil’s cousin. The photo only showed my outfit, not my face. Then Grace leaned in and whispered, “He’s very attractive.”

I pulled away from her mischievous grin.

“Go. I’ll wait for him,” I said with a sharper tone. Grace just laughed at my annoyance.

“All right, all right, I’m leaving.” She walked away, still laughing at me.

“Damn it. What’s his name?” I muttered. I scanned the room again, but Grace was gone. How could I forget to ask about Cecil’s cousin’s name? I quickly reached for my phone to call her.

I sighed in frustration when she didn’t respond. I stared at my screen over and over, but there were no messages or missed calls. I forgot one crucial detail. When Grace is with her boyfriend, even an earthquake wouldn’t distract her.

“Grace…” I mumbled, irritated. What if the person coming for Cecil wasn’t her cousin at all? What if it was an ex-boyfriend she always described as a jerk who couldn’t accept her breakup? I never really knew much about Cecil’s love life. Among all four of us, she was always the most private about it.

I started typing a message to my assistant. But before I could even process the delivery confirmation, a tall, well-built man appeared in front of me. I tilted my head to meet his eyes.

I blinked several times, then swallowed hard. Every muscle in my body stiffened. I stood frozen in front of the man I could never forget. Hugo Maximiliano Cassilas. The man responsible for the most traumatic bullying I endured five years ago. He stood right in front of me, dragging me back into the shadows of that time.

My heartbeat raced. I instinctively pulled my trembling hands behind me. My vision blurred. I was grateful for the dim lighting, hiding my now pale face.

“Thank you for watching over Cecil. I’m sorry if I made you wait too long.”

Cecil? He was the cousin Grace was talking about? What kind of cruel twist of fate is this?

I forced a stiff smile. As his muscular arm reached for Cecil, I managed to summon the energy to stop his hand.

“I’m sorry, but I have to look after my friend. She’s involved with someone incredibly disrespectful. I don’t know the man, and I know nothing about Cecil’s family either. So, would you mind showing me something that can confirm who you are?” I asked, avoiding eye contact. It wasn’t easy.

Hugo chuckled at my words. His dark eyes remained fixed on me. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit and took out his phone.

“Would this be enough?” he asked, showing a photo of his extended family. Cecil and Hugo stood clearly in it with other relatives. It was convincing.

“You may take her,” I said, stepping aside. But instead of moving toward Cecil, Hugo walked straight toward me, closing the distance.

“Don’t you recognize me?” he asked, forcing me to lift my head and meet his gaze.