Trouble And A Savior.

Inside, Lucy threw her arms into the air, eyes closed, letting the world fall away. She didn’t notice the ripple through the crowd as whispers began to spread, or how the bouncers at the door stiffened when they saw who had arrived.

Freedom burned bright inside her chest.

But the shadows were already closing in.

The Velvet Room pulsed with life, but beneath the music, a darker rhythm was weaving its way through the night.

Lucy, still caught in her whirlwind of freedom, didn’t notice when the crowd subtly shifted. Strangers moved aside, conversations dropped into uneasy murmurs. The temperature in the club seemed to dip as four men in tailored black suits slipped in through the main doors. Their expressions were sharp, predatory, eyes locked on one target, Lucy.

At first, Kira noticed the strange movements. She froze mid-sip, her gaze flicking toward the approaching men. “Lucy,” she hissed, gripping her friend’s wrist. “We need to leave. Now.”

But Lucy, flushed with adrenaline and rebellion, only laughed. “Relax, Kira. You’re too paranoid. It’s just a club.”

Maya waved dismissively, already pulling Selene back into the dance. But Kira’s grip tightened, her knuckles white. “I’m serious, Lu. Those men, I don’t think they’re here to party.”

By the time Lucy turned, it was too late. One of them, a tall man with a scar carved down his cheek, was already striding through the crowd toward her. He moved with confidence, his eyes never leaving hers. The thrum of the bass did nothing to disguise the menace in his steps.

Lucy’s breath caught. Something in the air shifted, thick and heavy.

Before she could react, the man reached her, his hand snapping around her arm like an iron shackle. “You’re coming with us,” he growled, his voice low but final.

The music still played, but Lucy’s world seemed to fall silent. Panic flared in her chest as she struggled, her friends shouting in protest. Maya swung her drink at him, glass shattering against his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch.

Then a hand shot out of nowhere, gripping the man’s wrist so tightly the crack of bone was audible even above the music.

Lucy gasped as the stranger stepped between her and her captor. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in black with a hood shadowing his features, the mysterious man radiated danger, not the chaotic kind of men dragging her, but the quiet, suffocating kind that made the air feel thinner.

“You should let go,” his voice was deep, calm, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

Scarred Face snarled and tried to twist free but in a blur, the hooded man slammed his fist into the attacker’s ribs, then his jaw, sending him crashing into a nearby table. Glass and liquor rained onto the floor. The crowd screamed and scattered, creating a circle of chaos around the fight.

The other three enemies immediately reached for their weapons, their eyes flashing with murderous intent. But before they could strike, one of them froze. His face drained of color as his eyes locked on the hooded man. Recognition flared in his gaze, recognition, and fear.

He grabbed his partner’s arm, whispering urgently to them, “No. Stop. Do you know who that is?”

The others faltered, confusion flashing briefly before the weight of his words sank in. Fear gripped them like chains. Their hands, once ready to strike, slowly fell back to their sides.

The hooded man straightened, his presence filling the room like a storm. He didn’t need to speak as his silence and presence was heavier than steel. His eyes, though hidden beneath shadow, seemed to pierce through the men.

Without another word, the enemies exchanged tense glances, then backed away. The scarred one, groaning and clutching his ribs, was hauled to his feet by his companions. Not a single one dared to meet the hooded man’s gaze again.

And then, like ghosts, they vanished into the night, leaving nothing but broken glass and trembling silence behind.

Now people still watching didn’t seem to understand what had just happened or who even the mysterious guy was except the goons who had just fled.

Lucy stood frozen, her arm still tingling where the first man had grabbed her. Her friends clung close, wide-eyed, unsure whether to run or thank the stranger.

Slowly, the hooded man turned to her. For the first time, she saw his face clearly under the strobe of the club lights, sharp, well chiseled, his eyes dark but burning with something unreadable.

“Are you okay,” he said, his tone low and steady, carrying a weight that made Lucy’s chest tighten.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Although she was still a bit drunk, she was still curious about who her savior was? Why did the enemies of her family who seemed to fear nothing just a minute ago retreat at just the sight of him?

And why, despite the danger that still trembled in the air, did Lucy’s heart race not only with fear but with something else entirely?