### Chapter 2 **Dahlia** For hours, my feet have carried me through the city, each step a defiant refusal to return to that apartment—**our** apartment, or rather, **his**. The mere thought of seeing his face sends a shiver through me, stirring memories I desperately wish to bury. No, I won't allow myself to go there, not now. Instead, I plunge headfirst into survival mode, recalling all the true crime shows I’ve binged in the past. I’ve taken out the maximum amount of cash allowed, which gives me a semblance of independence, but every hotel I pass still requires a card for assurance—a card Bradley would inevitably trace back to our joint account. I have no interest in being found right now, even though the truth is he probably wouldn’t bother looking for me anyway. If I could just curl up in bed with a bucket of ice cream, wearing my favorite pajamas while lost in the world of K-dramas, I would. I long for the sweet escape that melts the unbearable pain gnawing at my chest. How did I let it come to this? The shame of it all swells within me—an overwhelming sense of self-betrayal. After a seemingly endless stroll through the streets, I find myself yearning for just one day without this emotional weight. A single day to forget, and tomorrow I can face the consequences. Just when I think the universe could not be more against me, thunder rumbles overhead, and within moments, rain pours down in heavy sheets, drenching me to the bone. I seek refuge as a door swings open nearby, releasing the warm glow of music and laughter. It’s a lounge located within a glistening new hotel, replete with marble floors and overpriced bottles of water. I dash toward the entrance, fully aware of my disheveled appearance, looking decidedly like a drowned rat. Embarrassment looms ahead like a dark cloud, threatening to rain down on me once again. The bouncer stands at the entrance, clad in a suit that's more intimidating than elegant. He steps back to offer shelter under the awning, but my heart races as his gaze drifts down, assessing me with cold detachment. In a futile attempt to conceal myself, I wrap my arms protectively around my middle. His eyebrows pinch together as his mouth flattens in a disapproving line. Just as I brace for rejection, preparing for dismissal, his gaze unexpectedly lands on my face. His expression softens, lines of concern emerging amidst the stoicism. I can feel the flush of embarrassment creep into my cheeks as reality settles in—I am a mess. Turning to leave, a surge of humiliation stirs inside me, but just then, the door swings wider. He motions towards the entrance with a slight nod. I freeze, questioning my sanity. “Are…are you sure?” His voice holds a softness that contrasts with the no-nonsense demeanor he exudes. “I’ll be way less sure if you don’t move. You look like you need a drink. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be out there. Hell, I should be stuffing you in a cab and sending you somewhere safe.” His words cut through my thoughts, and I wince; I have nowhere else to go. “Inside,” he commands. “Before I change my mind.” I slip past him, but his arm shoots out with the precision of an iron bar across my path. “Don’t talk to anyone,” he warns, the weight of his authority reverberating in my gut. I nod obediently, forcing a smile that feels foreign. “I owe you one,” I manage weakly. “You remind me of my sister,” he says, providing no further explanation, leaving me with mounting curiosity as I step inside. The atmosphere is drenched in shadows, with plush leather chairs lining polished wooden tables—elegant, exclusive, and all-around intimidating. Businessmen recline in tailored suits, cigars clouding the air around them, while exquisite women whisper secrets in their ears. It’s glaringly obvious that I don’t fit in. Time stands still as I hesitate, an invitation to the bar from the bartender breaking my trance. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he observes, his youthful features softened by a genuine compassion missing from the bouncer. With a warm smile, he gestures to an empty barstool. “What can I get you?” The panic of turning around and fleeing strikes me, but I refuse to let embarrassment claim another victory. I take my seat, resting my arms on my lap, fingers nervously intertwining. When he asks for my drink preference, I stumble through my thoughts, desperately seeking a choice that won’t mark me as naive. “How about this? If you trust me, I’ll craft something special just for you. Just tell me: sweet or not?” “Sweet, please,” I respond, grateful for his willingness to guide me. “I got you,” he assures, turning to reveal his flair for drink preparation, bottles gliding in his hands as if choreographed. The glass he presents me is tall and effervescent, filled with a lavender concoction. I take a cautious sip, and a wave of delight washes over me; the crisp bubbles mingle with a subtle sweetness that dances delightfully on my tongue. “Good, right?” he winks. “Really good,” I admit, unable to restrain myself from indulging further. With a smile, he holds out another glass, the first hint of alcohol hidden beneath its delicious facade. Is this what I came for? To find solace, even if temporary, in something that teeters on indulgence? He warns, “I’ll get you another…but don’t go too hard.” Despite his several years’ youth, he possesses an air of maturity that stings with hints of my own helplessness. “I promise to pace myself,” I reassure, even though I can feel the weight of my words. As he wanders off to help another patron, my thoughts drift back to Bradley. It’s a bitter reality—how have I allowed myself to be so overshadowed, giving everything while he offered me nothing in return? Flowers and sweet, empty words masked a truth I was too blind to see. I drain my second drink, and the bartender slides me a third without me asking. He must sense the rising fog of my emotions; he doesn’t pause to chat, leaving me in a haze. That’s when the unwelcome presence of a man slips into the empty stool beside me. An instinctual unease flickers in the back of my mind, the creepiness in his approach causing me to brace myself for confrontation. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he leans in too close, the sourness of his breath clawing at my senses. My body inches from the edge of my stool before he grips my shoulder, a steel vice trapping me in place. Desperation has me scanning for the bartender, but he’s preoccupied with other patrons, leaving me at the mercy of this lowlife. “I’m just stopping in. Actually, I should…” My words get lost as he digs his fingers into my skin, leaving a jarring imprint. “Come on, don’t be like that. We all know why someone like you would come somewhere like this.” His smile shrinks into a sneer. “I’ve got the bank account you’re looking for.” My stomach churns with disgust. “I’m not looking for anyone.” His interest only seems to deepen. “Ahh, playing hard to get. You don’t have to put on those games with me. I already like what I see, so we can skip all that.” “Really, I…” My protests are swallowed as his grip tightens, wrenching me uncomfortably closer, the stench of desperation wafting off him like an oppressive fog. Then, something shifts, a sensation of presence behind me envelops me like a shield of warmth. “She’s with me,” a deep, steady voice interrupts, sending shockwaves through the air. An arm rests on the bar beside me, asserting dominance over my assaulter. I can hardly breathe, transfixed by the sight of thick veins that travel up this new figure’s forearm, disappearing into a crisp white shirt. My pulse quickens, the atmosphere crackling with tension. “What the hell?” The wannabe predator stumbles back, his bravado evaporating in seconds. “I… I didn’t know.” “Apologize to the right person,” the stranger states, authority coated in measured menace. The man stammers, his face pale and trembling. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know.” His eyes flit back to me, realization dawning that I am the one he violated with his presence. “I’m… I’m sorry. Please forgive my mistake.” A rush of exhilaration dances within me, fueled by a realization of the power he holds. The sighs and whispers in the air shift; the crowd seems smaller now, a vulnerability highlighted before me. “What if I don’t want to forgive you?” The words slip out—different, braver, and I almost don’t recognize the voice. His posture shrinks, followed by desperate pleas, “I won’t do it again. Just please let me go.” “What do you think?” the voice behind me rumbles, subtle yet commanding. “Should we let him go?” A surge of adrenaline courses through me. “I guess we wouldn’t want him smelling up the place.” The man behind me releases a relaxed chuckle against my spine. “You heard her. Get out.” The cowardly man scrambles away without a backward glance. Tension lingers in the air, thick as molasses, but my protector remains, a steadfast presence holding the uncertainty at bay. I turn, and my breath hitches in my throat. **Holy. Freaking. Shit.** Piercing gray eyes, rimmed in an intense black, sweep me up. A chiseled jaw and dark hair meticulously swept back; he emanates a magnetic allure, one that both thrills and terrifies. An unfamiliar heat swirls within me, clenching low in my stomach as I struggle for finesse, my breath catching in my throat. “Um…thank you,” I manage, each word a whispered reverence. His gaze never wavers, burrowing into mine, igniting my heartbeat to an exhilarating rhythm as he focuses solely on me, burning away everything else in the room. “He’s lucky I let him walk away.” A beat hangs in the air, quiet yet charged. “It won’t happen again.” With those final words, an unspoken promise lingers in the distance, propelling my heart to race ever faster as the night unfolds ahead of us, full of unseen possibilities.