Chapter 1 - Receipt

Under the grey light of the moon, an Audi R8 prowls into the gas station like a huntsman on the hunt. The engine's purr fades into the stillness of the night as Derek eases the car to a stop beside the fuel pumps.

He steps out of the car, his black jacket breathing against his frame. The scent of gasoline suspends thick in the air as he unscrews the cap of the fuel tank. The nozzle slides smoothly into place, and he presses the trigger, the soft gurgle of petrol filling the silence.

As the tank is filling, his eyes are wandering to the convenience store on the edge of the station. He replaces the nozzle and closes the tank, the metallic click clicking faintly in the night.

He reaches out in the car, grabs his wallet and goes to the store, its neon light flickering against the black canvas of the night. He opens the glass door, the fluorescent lights cast a pale glow, illuminating the neatly arranged aisles and the lone figure of a suited 23-year-old young man of noiseless strength and solid resolve. The store appears quite empty, other than a young cashier stationed behind the counter, occupied herself with flipping through a GQ magazine, her attention drifting in the quiet calm of the night. He walks over to the counter after grabbing his items. As he approaches the counter, he momentarily looks over to the cashier's name tag, where a glaring typo rendered her name as "Ana." With a pleasant grin, he greets her.

"Hi there, Ana!" he exclaims, his voice carrying a hint of distraction.

Her smile remains steady, though a subtle twitch betrays her amusement. "Actually, it's, umm, Aria," she corrects gently, her tone warm and patient.

He's chuckles while gesturing to her chest, "Oh? Yeah but your name tag right there says Ana."

Aria's laughter bubbles forth, a melodic sound amidst the aisles of goods. "Yeah, we've had a bit of a mix-up with the name tags. I have been asking my boss to change that up for a week now. My name is Aria."

His slight embarrassment seems to dissipate as he joins in her laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Oh my bad then, Aria. My name is definitely Derek, by the way"

Efficiently, Aria continues to scan Derek's items, her movements smooth and unhurried. She waves off his apology with a dismissive gesture, her beautiful smile widening. "Ah no worries, Derek. My boss is a real piece of crap for having me wear this name tag spelled incorrectly. Your total comes to $19.70."

Top of Form

Derek reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wallet, Aria extends her hand keenly, palm upturned, ready to receive the payment.

However, in a moment of misinterpretation, his attention shifts from his wallet to Aria's outstretched hand. He reaches forward, his hand meeting Aria's in what he assumes is a handshake.

Aria's eyes widen in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realizes the misunderstanding. Caught off guard, she hesitates for a fraction of a second before awkwardly attempting to transition her hand from a handshake position to one ready to receive payment.

Aria manages a nervous laugh, her cheeks now flushed a deeper shade of red. "Oh, uh, thank you! But actually, I was just... um, waiting for the payment."

Realization dawns on Derek's face as he quickly releases Aria's hand. "Oh! I'm sorry, I thought you were offering a handshake. Here's the payment."

Top of Form

He hands her a credit card to make the purchase for the pack of American Spirit cigarette and the bar packs chocolate.

After the purchase, Aria hands Derek the receipt. "Look behind that receipt", she says. He promptly flips the paper.

Derek, curious, flips the paper over. To his surprise, there is a handwritten note: "Is this what I think it is?" he asks.

Aria nods knowingly. "Yes it is what it appears to be, my number. Give me a call, ya? There is an exquisite opera show happening at TPAC's Andrew Jackson Hall. Join me." Aria's voice carries a hint of confidence, her fingers tracing the barcode scanner as she awaits Derek's response. Derek's slightly brows crease in surprise, as he processes her unexpected question.

He hesitates, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "Whoa. What makes you think I WOULD enjoy opera? And I do not mean to be rude at all, but is this what you usually do? Ask your customers out?" he quips.

With a smile, she leaned slightly closer across the counter. "Well, besides the fact that you strike me as a man of refined tastes," she begins, her voice low and conspiratorial, "when you pulled up to pump gas over there, it was hard not to notice Beethoven playing. Not many people in Nashville drive around at 11 pm on a Thursday with classical music blasting"

He chuckles, impressed by her observation. "Okay, first of all, that was not even that loud but fair point," he admitted. "But what if it was just a random playlist?"

She shrugs playfully. "Could be. Or maybe you've got a secret passion for the dramatic. Ever been to the opera?"

"No, I haven't had the pleasure of attending an opera before," he admits with a smile, intrigued by her persistence. "But you still haven't clarified the randomness of your sudden invitation, ma'am."

"Well, sir, I happened to win two tickets last week, and I simply cannot let such a rare and invaluable opportunity go to waste," she explains, her voice carrying excitement. "Join me"

"First of all, a ticket is definitely valuable, and secondly I do appreciate the gesture and the enthusiasm," he replied thoughtfully. "But honestly..."

"...uh, uh, I'm afraid I won't take 'no' for an answer, Mr Derek" she interjects with a playful shimmer in her eye. "Make some time Saturday night."

He smiles in surrender, tucking the receipt slip into his inner jacket pocket with a knowing smile. "Well then, I suppose I have no choice but to yield to your enchanting insistence, Miss Aria. It is a date then"

Suddenly, a sound of screeching tires and slamming doors is heard from the parking spot. Three men approach the store, with their leader carrying a pistol[specify]. Both Derek and Aria tense up instinctively, their senses on high alert as the atmosphere in the store shift abruptly.

"Nobody move! This is a robbery!" one of the robbers, a hulk of a man whose bandana seems permanently lodged on his forehead like a misplaced sweatband, takes a tentative step forward and yells, his voice tied up with aggression as he brandishes a knife, demanding compliance from Aria and Derek.

Aria's hands are trembling as she reaches for the cash register, her eyes wide with fear. But before she complies, Derek slowly steps forward, positioning himself protectively in front of her. "Easy there, gentlemen," Derek speaks calmly. "Before we do anything we might regret here, let's talk about it for a second. I mean all this is so unpleasant and dramatic!". The robbers' aggression falters momentarily, taken aback by Derek's composed demeanor. But their leader with the gun, and a greasy comb-over threatened by a receding hairline, Robin advances menacingly.

"Do not think to be a hero, tough guy" the leader sneers, his tone dripping with contempt. "Get out the way. Get on your knees. And shut up before I shoot you on your throat."

Derek tilts his head slightly, as if pondering a particularly complex puzzle. "Okay, that's gotta be rehearsed. Did you rehearse that line man?" Derek asks, his voice lacing with a hint of mock concern. "Because it's quite a mouthful. Shooting me on my throat? That is so specific dude. Is this some kind of new target practice?"

The other robbers exchange uncertain glances, unsure how to react to Derek's unexpected mockery. Robin, scowls, his boldness momentarily punctured by Derek's nonchalant response. "You think this is a joke?" Robin SNAPS, his voice strained with irritation. "I'm serious. Get down before I—"

"Before you what?" Derek interrupts, his tone now openly teasing. "Right, shoot my throat off? God, that sounds ugly from just imagining it? You are so dark man, for even suggesting that, I cannot stress that enough." Derek's eyes with suppressed amusement, his calm character infuriating Robin and his goons further.

Robin's face flushes with pure frustration while he points the gun at him. "You think you're clever, huh?" he growled. "I'll show you."

But before Robin makes another threatening move, Derek's phone rings. He casually pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen. "Oh, would you look at that," Derek remarks, feigning surprise. "It's my aunt calling. She can be a bother, hold on a second."

The robbers exchange bewildered looks as Derek casually answers the call. "Hello, aunt Mona? Yes, I'm in a bit of a situation here. No, not too serious. Just a couple of folks who seem to have misplaced their manners." Derek's calm conversation with his aunt continues, punctuated by occasional glances and smirks directed at the increasingly frustrated Robin.

By this point, Robin's patience has worn thin. He waves his gun against Derek's head. "Enough of this nonsense!" he shouts.

Derek chuckles, ending his call with a cheerful, "Alright, auntie. I'll call you back later. Take care now." He pockets his phone and turned his attention back to the confused robbers.

"Sorry you were saying?" Derek asks, his smile unfaltering.

Robin's face contorts with rage. "I've had it with you!" he says.

And just as Robin clicks his gun prepared to fire, Derek suddenly held up a finger. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on just one second" Derek says, his expression turning serious. "Not sure why you are now aiming for my head instead of my throat, but can I interest you in a brief meditation session? It might help with those anger issues I sense in you, man"

The robbers stare at Derek, dumbfounded. Robin's eyes bulges, the veins in his forehead throbbing visibly. It is clear that Derek's unorthodox response has left the leader and his men frustrated. He then aims his gun at Aria, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Derek's instincts kick into overdrive as he leaps into action!

He slides and kicks Robin on his kneecap.

Robin's shot goes wide slightly missing Aria as he stumbles to the ground, momentarily off balance. Seizing the opportunity, Derek lunges forward. With a powerful punch, he sends the leader reeling backward, the force of the impact rattling the shelves around them, his gun clattering harmlessly across the linoleum floor.

The second robber closes in with a knife, predictable as a toddler reaching a cookie jar. Derek pivots with lightning speed, his movements sinuous. He dodges a swing of the knife, countering with a devastating kick to the gut, resulting in an immediate spill of blood from his mouth. The robber staggers and starts to gasp for air. Derek presses the advantage, and slides in a knee strike to his face, completely rearranging it.

Meanwhile, the third robber circles around, his gaze fixated on Aria, who understandably cowers behind the counter. He advances towards her, his intentions clear. But Derek's senses are keenly attuned to the danger. He intercepts the man, the elbow of his left arm connects with a satisfying thunk against the robber's jaw. The man crumples, a surprised yelp escaping his lips before he's swallowed by the floor.

The store becomes a battleground! Shelves are toppling, packages of Fritos scattering, and debris flying through the air as Derek firmly fights them off.

The last of the robbers, emboldened by this unexpected turn of events, lunges at Derek. Derek meets him with a shoulder roll that would make a rugby player proud, sending him rambling into a display of discount toilet paper.

Derek stands over him, a dark maestro, the symphony of violence finally complete.

Over the counter, Aria isn't screaming. No. Her terror has morphed into something more profound – a chilling fascination. Her wide eyes reflect not just fear, but more or less of respect, a dark thrill at the outrageous power and combat skills on display. This isn't heroism. This is a brutal exhibition of dominance, a predator culling the herd. No, he isn't prey. He's the nightmare the shadows breathe, and tonight, he paints the floor with victory, a chilling tableau for Aria.

Derek starts to flex his hand, a dull ache throbbing in his knuckles – a souvenir from his unprepared brawl that was like watching a particularly well-coordinated dad wrestling with his overenthusiastic children- slightly chaotic, but undeniably effective.

Ignoring the urge to rub his sore hand self-consciously, Derek offers an awkward smile. "Well, that was certainly... unexpected."

"Unexpected?" Her voice, sharper than expected, "You could have gotten hurt! Or worse!" Her eyes, the color of deep emeralds under the harsh light, spark with a mix of anger and something else he can't quite read.

"Hey, I handled it," he begins, but she cut him off again.

"Handled it? You turned a robbery into a fight scene straight out of a freaking action movie!" Her frustration is palpable.

Intrigued, "Look, I couldn't just stand there while those goons harassed this shop."

"And so you danced with the devil like that?" she challenges, her arms crossing defensively. "Who are you?"

"We offered one another introductions like 15 minutes ago Aria," he says playfully. "I just have a low tolerance for jerks, especially ones trying mess with my Saturday night date"

"But seriously," she persists, her curiosity getting the better of her, "how did you learn to fight like that?"

Derek chuckles. "Let's just say less-than-ideal situations have schooled me in self-defense." His gaze darts around the room, cataloguing the unconscious men sprawled like discarded bowling pins.

"Aria," he begins, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "cops are probably en route, and 'heroic citizen' doesn't exactly match my skillset.", he says playfully "Gotta vanish those CCTV recordings before the fuzz arrives."

Without hesitation, Aria steers Derek towards a dimly lit back door. "Control room's this way," she said, her voice again a conspiratorial whisper. The air crackles with unspoken words, a secret shared between two strangers bound by a night of adrenaline and unexpected violence.

Inside, the room buzzed with the monotonous hum of machinery. Derek, surprisingly skillful, navigates the complex menus, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Each deleted frame feels like a brushstroke erasing his presence, leaving him cloaked in a blanket of anonymity.

Finally, with a satisfied click, the deed is done. Derek turns, a wry smile playing on his lips.

He leans against a console, his gaze fixed on her. "There," he declares, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The ghosts of tonight have been banished."

Aria now ushers him outside the store. "That was..." Aria starts, her wide eyes, once filled with terror, now held a flicker of something new - a spark of curiosity that danced along the edges of fear. "Truly impressive."

"Impressive?" he says, his voice a low rumble "Perhaps. But the truly impressive part? You didn't scream once."

His words holding a surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the brutal scene that had just unfolded. The coldness that is washing over her isn't fear anymore, but a strange recognition. She has seen something terrifying, yes, but also something undeniably captivating. This isn't just a hero; it is something more complex.

A slow smile, mirroring his own, spreads across Aria's face. The fear is gone, replaced by a spark of something dangerous, a morbid fascination with the man she'd just encountered. But it isn't just fear, there is a hint of something else – an expanding attraction.

"No," she breathed, her voice raspy with a thrill, "I didn't scream."

The silence stretches. Derek reaches out, his hand hardened but gentle, and brushes an orange stray strand of hair from her cheek. A touch so gentle.

"I do not even know who you are, Derek." she undertones.

He steps closer, his dark eyes holding hers captive. "Well, considering that we've just met, pretty common thing not to know wouldn't you say? Hey, I don't know you either. " he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly growl, "But I still have that receipt with me," he continues, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "I will call you, and we will get a chance to get to know one another at the opera then"

The pressure on his arm eases, as he strides towards his car. Aria stands frozen, a web of emotions swirling in her gut. The primitive power, the surprising tenderness, the way he'd become a human shield – it's intoxicating, unlike anything she's ever known.

He reaches the car, hand hovering over the handle. Then, a beat of hesitation- he throws a peek back at Aria, still rooted to the spot, a wide-eyed statue.

A genuine smile, slow and easy, stretches across his face. A complete contrast to the raw intensity that had just crackled between them. It's disarming.

Heat creeps up Aria's neck, blossoming into a blush. Inhaling a fortifying breath, she takes a step forward, then another. Each click of her heels against the pavement echoes with newfound confidence.

As she bridges the distance, she rises on her tiptoes silently, her fingers brushing his shoulder like a butterfly landing. Without a word, she leans in, the press of her lips against his cheek a whisper of a kiss.

Pulling back, she looks straight into his brown eyes, her voice low and tranquil. "Thank you-" she breathes, her eyes reflecting the gratitude and something more – a spark of shared intrigue. "You better still have that receipt in your pocket", she says good-humouredly.

Derek opens the car door and slips into the driver's seat. As he starts the engine, Aria leans down to peer through the window.

"Take care, Derek," she says tenderly.

"You too Aria, have a good night.", he replies, delicately.

Aria steps back as Derek drives away from the gas station, disappearing into the night. She watches his car fade into the distance, as she waits for the authority to arrive and apprehend the now out-cold offenders.

Derek's Audi sashays through the quiet streets of the upscale Nashville neighbourhood. Eventually, he turns onto a winding driveway that leads to a mansion, which stands as a proof to luxury, its grandeur evident in the elegant architecture. Tall columns flank the entrance, and large windows adorned with ornate curtains hint at the magnificence within. Despite its impressive facade, the mansion emits an air of quiet solitude, revealing at the fact that Derek lives alone. He eases the aged Audi to a stop beneath the porte-cochere, the engine sighing its final breaths. He steps out, expecting the usual solitude – a companion he's grown accustomed to in this cavernous mansion for three months now. He feels the usual pang of loneliness amidst the grandeur that surrounds him. The silence of the mansion seems to amplify the emptiness within, serving as a stark reminder of his solitary existence.

Inside, the foyer greets him with marble floors and a sweeping spiraling staircase that leads to the upper levels of the house. The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the space in warm light, casting long shadows along the walls. Derek steps across the threshold, letting the door click softly behind him. His fingers brush his pocket, seeking the crumpled receipt, glancing over it briefly before placing it on a nearby shelf. With a sigh, he retrieves a cigarette and lights it, and takes a long drag, a hazy shroud obscuring his features.

In the background, the smooth melodies of jazz music fill the air, lending a sense of tranquility to the elegant surroundings. Derek takes a moment to savor the music, allowing its soothing rhythm to wash over him as he exhales a plume of smoke.

With his cigarette between his fingers, Derek makes his way to the spacious living room, where the flickering flames of the fireplace cast a warm glow across the room. The scent of burning wood mingles with the rich aroma of his cigar, creating a comforting ambiance that envelops him like a familiar embrace.

The world unfurls like a calming needlepoint outside Derek's window. The day's demands loosen their grip as tranquility seeps into his weary soul. Up the stairs he glides, drawn by the silent symphony the night has begun to play.

Stepping onto the balcony, Derek is met by a velvet kiss of cool air. Stars sprawl across the inky canvas, a constellation of scattered diamonds. A sense of peace washes over him as he sinks into a chair. His gaze dips into the darkness, a bottomless well reflecting the twinkle above.

Eyes fluttering shut, Derek leans back, allowing the day's tensions to melt like snowflakes on a warm cheek. The world around him hums a lullaby. Crickets chirp their gentle serenade, punctuated by the mournful call of an owl. A phantom breeze rustles the leaves, whispering secrets in the stillness. His mind becomes a tranquil pond, mirroring the glittering tapestry above. The last ember of his cigarette winks out, mirroring the fading anxieties that drift away like smoke on the breeze. A contented sigh escapes his lips, and with it, the worries of the day dissolve into the cool embrace of sleep.