Night draped itself across the city like a thick velvet curtain, its pulse echoing through the narrow streets where neon lights blinked in erratic patterns. The rain that had threatened all evening finally began to drizzle, leaving behind a faint scent of damp asphalt and cigarette smoke. At the far end of the block, the Crimson Corner Bar glowed with its signature red lights — a place where the lost and broken came to forget, or at least pretend to.
Elena pushed open the glass door, the low hum of music wrapping around her instantly. The air smelled of strong liquor, cheap perfume, and exhaustion. She took a seat at the far corner her usual spot away from the laughter and the murmured flirtations that filled the air. Her long fingers curled around the glass the bartender slid toward her, the amber liquid catching the dim light like a promise she didn't believe in anymore.
She took a sip. Then another. The burn spread through her chest, familiar and oddly comforting.
She came here often , not because she liked the place, but because it felt honest. Crimson Corner didn't pretend to be elegant or kind. It was a mirror of her mood — loud, chaotic, and filled with people who smiled through their pain. The walls were dark, lined with scratched paint and posters of old bands. The tables were crowded, the laughter too sharp, and yet she sat there as if the world owed her a quiet corner to bleed her thoughts.
Her mind drifted to Gabrielle , her boss, her daily storm.
He was infuriatingly arrogant, the kind of man who could silence a room with a single glance. Everything about him screamed control his voice, his posture, his demands. He had turned her life upside down ever since she started working for him. Every meeting, every argument, every accidental brush of their hands had left her heart stumbling and her mind torn between anger and something far more dangerous.
And tonight, she wanted to drown that feeling.
"What does he even think of himself?" she mumbled to no one in particular, her words slurring softly. "Always acting like he owns the world… like he owns me."
The bartender glanced at her but said nothing. He had seen her type too many times — beautiful, sad, and trying too hard to forget something important.
At a nearby table, two men sat watching her. Their laughter had quieted the moment she entered. One wore a leather jacket, the other a wrinkled shirt and the kind of grin that made her skin crawl. They whispered to each other, their eyes darting back to Elena every few seconds.
"Look at that," the man in leather muttered. "She's been drinking alone for nearly an hour."
"Pretty thing like her shouldn't be alone," his friend replied, his tone dripping with suggestion. "Maybe she needs company."
Elena didn't notice at first. Her focus was on the condensation running down her glass, the droplets sliding over her fingers. Her thoughts were far away back at the office, remembering Gabrielle's sharp eyes when he scolded her, the way his voice softened for half a second before turning cold again. It was maddening how someone could make her hate and crave him in the same breath.
"Hey, sweetheart," one of the men said, pulling up a chair beside her. His breath reeked of whiskey. "You look lonely tonight."
Elena blinked, her brows knitting. "I'm fine," she said, her voice low but firm.
"Come on," the other one added, sitting opposite her. "You shouldn't drink alone. Let us keep you company."
"I said I'm fine," she repeated, turning her head away. But her words seemed to amuse them.
They laughed a sound too loud, too confident and one of them reached for her glass.
"Relax, pretty thing. We just wanna talk."
Elena's grip tightened. She wasn't completely sober, but her instincts remained sharp. "Give it back," she said, her tone shifting. There was steel in her voice now, though her heartbeat had begun to race.
"Oh, feisty," the man said mockingly, leaning closer. "I like that."
The crowd around them stayed silent. It was how Crimson Corner worked no one interfered, no one cared. Trouble was part of the entertainment here. A few eyes glanced their way, but the music never stopped.
Elena tried to stand, but the man in leather blocked her path. "Where are you going, babe? We just got started."
Her pulse hammered. The world spun slightly, the alcohol making everything feel heavier. "Move," she hissed, trying to step back.
He didn't. His hand came up too close, too familiar — and she flinched. "Don't touch me!"
The shout cut through the bar, but it was swallowed quickly by the music.
The bartender froze but said nothing. The other customers looked away, pretending not to notice.
One of the men grabbed her wrist. "You shouldn't shout, sweetheart. We're being nice."
That was the last straw.
Before she could even react, a sudden, crackling sound of impact echoed through the room. The man's body flew sideways, crashing into a table. Glass shattered. For a second, no one moved.
The other man turned in shock just in time to take a solid punch to the jaw. The blow came fast, precise, and full of fury. He hit the ground with a groan. The music stopped. The crowd finally stirred, whispers rippling through the smoke-filled air.
Elena stood frozen, her chest heaving, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Her wrist throbbed where the man had grabbed her, and her eyes blinked against the haze of confusion and fear.
Someone stood between her and the fallen men tall, broad-shouldered, his breath steady despite the chaos. His dark shirt clung to his frame, his presence commanding enough to silence the entire bar. The red lights above painted him in a glow that looked both dangerous and divine.
He didn't say a word.
The two men on the ground scrambled to their feet, their faces bloodied. They spat curses but didn't dare advance. The look in his eyes warned them enough , a look that said one more move, and they'd regret being born.
The bartender finally moved, muttering apologies as he dragged the men out. The bar's noise returned, but softer this time cautious, almost reverent.
Elena swayed on her feet, the adrenaline fading too fast. Her heart still raced, her vision blurred. She opened her mouth to speak, to say thank you, to ask how, but the words never came.
The world tilted sharply. The lights above her blurred into streaks of red and gold.
She tried to steady herself on the counter, but her fingers slipped. The last thing she saw was the shadowed figure turning toward her and then darkness swallowed her whole.
Elena fainted.