Tick tock Aziza

I downed the second glass immediately, the bubbles burning down my throat, but I didn’t mind. It was a welcome distraction from everything happening around me. My head was hot, my side throbbed badly, but here I was, playing pretend.

I exhaled heavily, scanning the crowd for my dear husband. As expected, he was nowhere to be found. I wasn’t a fool—the moment he and Emile exchanged pleasantries, I knew he would be with her for the rest of the night. It wasn’t a secret what they had together; their names had often graced the front of magazines and tabloids.

The waiter passed again, and I grabbed another glass, sipping it tentatively. Look at me, turning into an alcoholic.

I turned—and nearly collided with someone. A man.

"Careful," he said, steadying my arm before I spilled my drink.

I looked up. He was tall, dark-haired, with a presence that felt almost dangerous. His suit fit too well, and his eyes held something unreadable—amusement? Curiosity?

"Thanks," I muttered lowly, stepping back.

He didn’t let go immediately.

"You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here," he observed.

I let out a humorless laugh. "I wonder what gave me away."

"Well, I for one would know," he said smoothly. Then, after a pause, "Walk with me."

I hesitated. I really shouldn’t.

"Shouldn’t?" he repeated, rolling the word over his tongue like a joke. "That doesn’t mean you won’t… Now, walk with me."

He said it like he wasn’t giving me room to argue. And honestly, what was I doing here anyway?

I stood, smoothing out my dress as I let him lead me past the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, slipping through the double doors that led to the terrace. The sound of stuffy laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses faded behind us.

The man leaned against the stone railing, looking at me with a gaze that felt too knowing.

"You don’t belong here."

I let out a dry laugh, taking a sip of my nearly finished champagne. "Trust me, I know."

He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Yet you still stay."

I turned, staring at the city. "You speak as if leaving is as simple as slipping through a door."

"Isn’t it?"

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "You don’t understand."

"Then help me understand."

I looked at him then really looked at him. There was something about the way he held himself. He was too confident, too self-assured. He wasn’t just any regular guy attending a gala. No, he was something else entirely. Someone who knew things. Someone who had seen things too.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly.

He smiled a little. "Someone who can offer you a choice."

"A choice?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur.

"Walk back, sit at that table, and keep pretending to be a good little wife… or," he trailed off, watching me slowly.

"Or what?" I swallowed.

His smile deepened. "Or you come with me, and we make sure you never have to sit at that table again."

My breath caught.

Was this some kind of twisted, cruel joke? Or was this a test that Wilbet had put me through? And what would he do if I failed?

But Wilbet wasn’t here.

And this man whoever he was wasn’t smiling like someone who made empty promises.

I quickly took the last gulp of champagne, feeling the warmth in my veins, giving myself a distraction. I didn’t have a reply yet.

"Tick tock, Aziza," he murmured.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass.

He knew my name.

Slowly, I turned to look at him, my heart hammering in my chest. He was watching me, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes, like he was waiting for my reaction.

"How do you know who I am?"

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "I make it my business to know interesting people."

Something about the way he said interesting made my stomach clench—like he had been watching. Waiting.

I quickly regained my composure, straightening my shoulders. "Well, I’m not interested."

His gaze flicked to my wrist, where a faded old bruise still lingered. His expression was unreadable.

"I disagree," he said simply.

A chill ran through me. I was suddenly reminded of how close we were, how public this was. Wilbet could be anywhere. For goodness' sake, what was I thinking?

"I should go."

"Go back to who? Him?" His voice was calm, almost taunting. "To a man who ignores you and disrespects you by blatantly flirting with another woman in your presence? That’s who you want to go back to?"

I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to stay composed. "Wilbet is my husband. That is my place."

"Is it?"

Something about his tone made me feel like I had given the wrong answer. And I hated that he made me question it even for a second.

"I don’t know what you think this is, but whatever you’re implying, I’m not interested," I said, squaring my shoulders.

His smile widened. He stepped closer so close I could catch a whiff of his cologne, something dark and expensive.

"I haven’t implied anything," he said smoothly. "Yet."

The air between us pulsed, and I swallowed, hating the way my pulse quickened. Hating that I wanted to look at him longer than I should.

I shook my head. This man spells trouble. And that was the last thing I needed right now.

Stepping away, I said quietly, "Have a lovely evening."

I didn’t wait for a response. I walked back into the ballroom, ignoring the way my heart pounded in my ears.

Even inside, I could feel his gaze on me, urging me to look back at him. But I refused to give this stranger that satisfaction.

I craned my neck, searching for Wilbet, and just as I expected he was with Emile. They seemed to be having quite the conversation, her hand resting lightly on his chest.

Did she know how abusive he was? Did she know how ill-tempered he could be? Was he ever that way with her, or was it just me?

I smiled ruefully.

He probably wasn’t that way with her. If he was, she wouldn’t be holding him like that.

I turned back toward the terrace.

He was still there.

Leaning against the door this time, a thin cigarette between his lips. He exhaled, the smoke curling in the air. Then he smiled again and walked away.

Like he was never there.

I turned toward my table. Good. He was gone.

Men like that only caused trouble.

And yet, deep down, I knew—this wasn’t the last