The Encounter

“What do you want, Douglas?” Samantha snapped, yanking her arm free.

She was at her limit. The blow-up in the kitchen had drained her patience, and she had zero interest in dealing with him, especially not now.

“We don’t talk anymore, Samantha. I just wanted to check if you’re okay. You look amazing, and the way you handled yourself back there? That’s the Samantha I always wanted to see,” Douglas said, his tone a mix of nostalgia and goading.

Samantha’s mouth fell open, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. Was that seriously what he wanted from her to stay together? The question burned in her head. Moments ago, she could’ve been hurt in that kitchen, but instead of worrying about her safety, he was praising her for losing it.

She opened her mouth to shut him down hard, but froze when a woman’s voice cut in from the hallway.

“Everything alright over here?” the woman asked, standing with her arms crossed.

“No problem at all. I’m already on my way out. Good night to both of you,” Samantha said icily, slipping on her jacket and brushing past the woman.

After Samantha left, Douglas’s girlfriend kept pressing him.

“Now, are you going to tell me what you two were doing out here together?” Cybele demanded, her voice thick with jealousy.

“Don’t blow this out of proportion, Cybele. You’re acting like we were doing something wrong,” Douglas shot back, trying to stay cool.

“And weren’t you? She’s your ex, Douglas. You vanished from my side and I find you here with her. What am I supposed to think?” she pushed, clearly pissed.

“Exactly—she’s my ex. You’re my girlfriend now. Pedro and Ivan were having issues, that’s all. We’re all friends, we were just trying to help, nothing more,” Douglas explained, forcing his voice to sound convincing.

He stepped closer to Cybele and gave her a soft kiss.

“You don’t need to do this, babe. I’m into you and nobody else,” he said gently, trying to smooth things over.

He pulled her into a hug, and together they walked toward the garden, where the party was still in full swing. Douglas knew he had to stay on his best behavior for the rest of the night. Cibele seemed calmer, but he could tell she wasn’t letting the incident slide that easily.

Back in the kitchen, Pedro and Ivan were still going at it.

“You see the ridiculous scene you made in front of our friends?” Ivan accused, his voice dripping with contempt.

“I catch you practically kissing someone else in the kitchen at my own birthday party, and you call that a scene?” Pedro shot back, his voice cracking, on the verge of tears.

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I wasn’t practically kissing anyone. Besides, I’ve been upfront about who I am, and you accepted it. Don’t start complaining now,” Ivan fired back, turning to grab the cake.

“Let’s just sing happy birthday and get this over with. For me, this party’s done. As usual, you managed to ruin it,” Ivan said, once again dumping the blame on Pedro.

Ivan stormed out of the kitchen with the cake, and Pedro quickly pulled himself together. He followed, flashing the same old smile, forced, fake, the kind he used to mask the hurt and pretend everything was fine.

Meanwhile, Samantha headed straight for Pedro’s car the second she left the house. She knew exactly where it was parked; he’d driven her to the party. Fuming, she slid in and pounded the steering wheel over and over, trying to vent the rage and betrayal. She wanted to punch Douglas and Ivan right in the face, two assholes who, not surprisingly, were thick as thieves.

As she drove, Samantha kept wondering what the hell was going through Douglas’s head. He’d cheated on her with Cybele, claiming in his big speech that *she* was the kind of woman he needed. So why was he trying to get close again? The questions hammered away, but with no answers right then, she forced herself to focus on the road. One slip-up and she could crash, or worse, hit someone.

She made herself lock in on the traffic, but a blur of police cruisers and an ambulance screaming past grabbed her attention. Her stomach dropped, her mind jumping to the worst.

Back at Sabrina’s apartment, after Adam’s escape, Oliver barked orders to his crew:

“Take her to the usual spot—the one where we patch up the wounded,” he commanded, voice like steel.

“Oliver, aren’t you coming with me?” Sabrina asked, clutching her wound, her voice faint with pain.

“Didn’t you hear? I’ve got to go after Adam. He’s hit and can’t have gotten far. Plus, the cops will be here any minute,” he snapped, already turning.

He jerked his chin at his men to move, then bolted out of the apartment. He hit the stairs fast and spilled onto the street, scanning for Adam. Wounded like that, he couldn’t have gone far. Oliver prowled a few alleys, but no sign of his rival. Frustration clawed at him.

“Shit! Lucky bastard!” he snarled. “Let’s see how long your luck holds.”

He waved his crew off. Sirens were already wailing in the distance—their window was closed.

Meanwhile, Samantha drove closer to the spot where the cruisers had stopped. Cautious, she cut a turn to steer clear of the chaos. She had no idea what had gone down and didn’t want any part of it. She pulled up at a red light, waiting for it to change. The streets in that neighborhood were dead quiet in the middle of the night (probably because it was so late).

Just as the light was about to turn, a loud **bang** on the passenger-side window made her jump. She whipped her head around and saw a man with a gun, blood smeared on his hands. Terror froze her solid; she had no clue what to do.