The bass slammed through the club like a war drum, violent, relentless, and too loud to think.
The strobe lights flashed with seizure-inducing cruelty, and Kaya's head pounded with every beat. Sweat clung to her skin, the air thick with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and spilled liquor.
She gripped her glass like a weapon, fingers white around the rim. The vodka scorched her throat, but it was better than nothing.
Better than going home to bills taped on the wall. Better than seeing her mother's hollow face, cheeks sunken, voice reduced to a whisper by the cancer eating her alive.
Her little sister had called again tonight. Crying. Saying the hospital wanted to stop treatment. Saying they had no more time."Please, Kaya. Please do something."
But there was nothing left to sell. No one left to beg.
So here she was, drinking poison in a room full of strangers, trying to outrun the life closing in on her.
She didn't see the man until his hand clamped around her wrist.
"Dance with me," he slurred, eyes glassy, breath reeking of whiskey and sweat. His grip was too tight, possessive.
Kaya recoiled, yanking her arm away. "Don't touch me. You piece of filth."
He smiled, slow and sleazy. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. Just a bit of fun."
She moved to push past him, but he blocked her path, stepping in close, too close. Panic pricked beneath her skin.
"I said no," she snapped, shoving his chest, but he didn't budge.
Seeing that he wasn't moving, she just turned and shoved through the crowd, heart thudding wildly as she headed for the exit. She could hear him behind her, laughing, following.
She burst through the doors and into the night, lungs sucking in the cold air like salvation.
But he was still coming.
She spun around, fury boiling up, and slapped him across the face. Hard.
"Stay away from me!"
His face twisted with rage. "You worthless woman!"
He lunged at her, and she flinched, preparing for impact.
A fist caught him mid-step. Fast. Brutal. The man dropped like dead weight, groaning and spitting blood onto the concrete.
Kaya stumbled back in shock, eyes locking on the man standing over him.
He was tall, easily over six feet, with the kind of presence that didn't need volume to be loud. His midnight-black suit was flawless, tailored so precisely it looked like it had been sewn onto him.
Not a wrinkle, not a scuff.
Nothing.
Not even a bead of sweat, despite the chaos he'd just interrupted. His dark shirt was buttoned to the collar, no tie, and yet he looked more commanding than any man in uniform.
His knuckles were bloodied from the punch, but he didn't even glance at them. Just cool detachment as he stared down at the man crumpled at his feet, like he wasn't even human. Like he was filth that had dared to breathe the same air.
His hair was black, short at the sides, swept back at the top with a subtle shine, not a strand out of place. Sharp jaw. High cheekbones. Lips that looked like they hadn't smiled in years. And those eyes, obsidian dark, steady and unreadable, the kind that didn't waver when things got ugly. The kind of eyes that had seen worse and probably caused it.
He looked expensive. Dangerous.
And right now, every part of him said the same thing: he didn't save her out of kindness. He just didn't tolerate mess.
Then he looked at her.
Cold, unreadable eyes. Not kind. Not even curious.
Assessing.
"Are you done humiliating yourself?" he spat.
Kaya flinched. "Excuse me?"
"You're drunk. Cornered. And so desperate you don't even know how vulnerable you look."
She stared at him. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"No," he said. "But you needed someone to end that little scene before it got worse."
He stepped closer, and Kaya noticed something. The man radiated control, the kind that didn't come from charm, but from knowing he could ruin your entire life with one sentence.
"I'm Leon Feng," he said flatly. "You should remember that."
She blinked, the name vaguely familiar. "What, like the billionaire? Yeah, and I'm the long lost daughter of a royal family."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Leon studied her, slowly, like he was trying to decide whether she was worth his time or just another stray in a city full of them.
"You're clearly running from something," he said, voice as smooth as it was cutting. "And judging by your shoes, your nails, and that desperate look in your eye… you've hit rock bottom."
Her cheeks burned. "You don't know anything about me."
"I don't need to," he replied. "People like you are predictable. One bad night away from offering themselves to the highest bidder."
She took a step back. "Are you always this much of an asshole?"
He arched a brow, unimpressed. "Only when I'm right."
The silence between them stretched, taut and tense. Kaya should've walked away. She should've run.
But something about him rooted her in place.
"Why did you help me?" she asked finally.
Leon's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I didn't. I just didn't want to watch something so pathetic unfold."
Kaya's mouth opened, but no words came. Her chest ached with fury and humiliation.
"Go home," he said, turning to leave. "Before someone else finishes what that drunk bastard started."
"Wait."
He stopped.
She swallowed. Her voice cracked. "What do you want from me?"
Leon turned his head slightly, enough for her to see the edge of his jaw, sharp as a blade. "I don't want anything from you," he said. "But you? You look like you're about to want something from me."
Then he walked away.
And as Kaya watched him leave, she felt something more terrifying than fear.
Temptation.