C-3

"Why do you need my help?" the scarred man asked in a low, measured tone, his dark eyes fixed on Ada.

Ada's throat tightened as she forced herself to speak. "My brother is in there," she replied, her voice wavering but determined, "and I need to get him out. He's drunk, and he called me to bring him home." For a split second, her words seemed too unbelievable even to her own ears.

The handsome stranger—whose striking features and silent authority had caught her attention before—arched his brows in silent query. He glanced toward the club's entrance, as if weighing the situation. Ada's pulse quickened, and she felt an overwhelming urge to retreat, to vanish into the shadows, but her worry for her brother overrode every instinct. The stranger's lips curled into a small, ambiguous smirk that then faded into silence.

"Hmm," he murmured, the sound laced with an inscrutable meaning.

Before Ada could gather her thoughts, he strode forward, his broad shoulders parting the crowd as he passed her by. Stunned and feeling insignificant—as if she were nothing more than a drenched, lost rat—Ada hesitated only a moment before calling out, "Don't you want to go in again?"

The man paused, not bothering to glance back, as though challenging her to follow. Shocked but resolute, Ada rushed to his side, trailing obediently behind him. Though she stood tall by most standards, in his imposing presence she felt smaller, diminished.

At the entrance, where a few men bowed in deference as if he were a deity, Ada couldn't help but murmur, "Thank you so much, you're so kind." Her words were laced with both gratitude and a desperate need for rescue.

Inside, the club throbbed with booming music and dazzling disco lights. Every detail screamed wealth; even the pulsating beat of the speakers seemed to echo with the chime of coins. Ada's eyes darted around in disbelief as she fumbled with her phone, repeatedly dialing her brother's number—only to be met with silence. A frustrated groan escaped her lips. It was bad enough that she was at risk of losing her next gig, yet now she found herself marooned in a luxurious world where she felt every bit the oddity.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ada plunged into the swirling sea of elegantly dressed patrons, determined to find her brother. Her heart pounded as she weaved through clusters of people when a firm tap on her shoulder halted her search. Turning, she came face-to-face with a burly man, reminiscent of the bouncers guarding the club's entrance.

"Are you looking for a certain Stephen?" he boomed over the deafening music.

Ada's eyebrows rose in astonishment at his precise query, and she nodded, relief mingling with anxiety. The man motioned her to follow, and without a word of protest, she trailed behind him through the crowded corridors until they reached a heavy, private door. The sight of the exclusive entrance made Ada wonder how her brother—Stephen—had managed to afford a private room in such a high-end establishment.

The man pushed the door open with a silent nod before disappearing down the hall, leaving Ada trembling as she stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, its atmosphere heavy with menace. There, on a worn black couch, sat Stephen, surrounded by a rough-looking group of men.

"Ada—hey, thanks for coming," Stephen slurred, barely able to keep his gaze straight. His voice was thick with intoxication.

Ada's stomach churned as she took in the sight: her brother's face was battered, his eye swollen and his lips clearly bruised. A terrible déjà vu washed over her—this was a recurring nightmare. Despite the pain gnawing at her, she forced herself to speak in a measured tone. "What's happening, Stephen? You said you needed my help."

The men's eyes, cold and calculating, shifted toward her as if she were an unexpected prize. A particularly menacing man seated opposite Stephen sneered. "Tell your sister why she's here, Stephen."

Stephen's eyes darted around the room as he fumbled for words. "I... I owe them a lot of money, Ada. A whole lot." His admission came out as a barely coherent whisper, sending a chill through Ada's veins.

Her heart sank as memories of endless bailouts and broken promises crashed over her. Stephen's reckless gambling and spiraling debts had always left her picking up the pieces—and now, the cost was astronomical. Her grip on the strap of her worn bag tightened as she realized that the money she had painstakingly saved was now at risk of being swept away.

"How much?" Ada managed to ask, her voice quivering as the men's leering stares felt like physical blows.

Stephen's slurred response was barely audible. "Ten thousand dollars."

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. Ada's eyes widened in disbelief as she stammered, "Stephen, how—how did you manage that?"

A grim laugh erupted from the tattooed man sitting opposite, his body marked with scars and ink that spoke of a violent past. "Your big brother bites off more than he can chew," he sneered, leaning forward so close that Ada could see every sneer on his face. In one swift, brutal motion, he grabbed Stephen's jaw, eliciting an agonized cry from her brother that echoed in the small room.

The tattooed man's gaze then shifted to Ada, his eyes dark and unyielding. "Big brother here loves to play, but he's terrible at gambling. I even let off five hundred dollars for the sake of... benevolence!" His tone was mocking, and his burst of laughter filled the room with a sinister echo.

Ada's blood ran cold as she tried to steady herself. "I—I don't have that kind of money," she pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't even know where I could get it."

"Now, don't be a bore," the man taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your brother said you have the money—or rather, that you'll be capable of raising it, right, Stephen?" He turned, his grip on Stephen tightening ominously, and Ada felt a rising panic as her brother shrank further into his chair, eyes fixed on nothing.

Ada's mind raced as she fought back tears and despair. How could Stephen, knowing full well the toll his habits had taken on her, call her here expecting her to shoulder his debt? "Stephen, why would you put me in this spot?" she whispered, voice cracking with both anger and hurt.

Stephen's gaze fell to the floor, shame written across his face as he mumbled, "I—I had no choice, Ada. They… they said if you don't pay, they'll find other ways to collect it."

The tattooed man's grin grew wicked. "Well, we all agreed that if you can't produce the money, then..." He let the sentence hang in the air as his cohorts exchanged mocking glances and sneers. The sound of their derisive laughter made Ada's heart feel as if it were being squeezed in a vise.

Desperation overtook her as she took a trembling breath. "I have this with me," she said, her hand clenching tighter around her bag. "I'll raise the rest—I promise, just let me go." Her voice was a fragile mixture of defiance and pleading.

Without warning, one of the men snatched the bag from her hand and emptied its meager contents onto the floor. The scattered bundle of cash lay pitiful and insignificant compared to the staggering debt they demanded. The group burst into raucous laughter.

"Alright, princess," one of them jeered, "this is a joke. That won't cut it."

"Stephen, please!" Ada cried out, her voice cracking as she turned her pleading eyes toward her brother. But he remained silent, unable—or unwilling—to stand up for her.

A sudden, brutal slap shattered the air, sending Ada's head whipping to the side. The tattooed man's hand still gripped her chin roughly as he spat out, "Princess, playtime is over." His other hand roamed inappropriately, and Ada's stomach lurched as she closed her eyes, whispering a desperate, silent prayer: Oh Lord, keep my soul safe.

In that harrowing moment, betrayal cut deeper than any physical blow. Ada's mind reeled as she grappled with the realization that not only had Stephen plunged her into this nightmare, but he had also abandoned the sister who had saved him time and again. The weight of every sacrifice she had made bore down on her with unbearable force.

The tattooed man's voice returned, cold and menacing. "If you don't come up with the money, then we'll find other ways to make you comply." His words were final, leaving no room for negotiation, and the room grew stifling with the threat of violence.

As Ada's eyes searched the circle of men, a flicker of something—perhaps pity, perhaps regret—briefly softened the hardened features of one of the thugs. But that fleeting moment was snuffed out by the overwhelming cruelty around her.

Stephen's voice broke through the oppressive silence, weak and filled with self-pity. "Ada, if you don't resist, it won't hurt... It's just going to take a moment. There's no way we can pay off this debt otherwise—they're going to kill me." His words dripped with cowardice and despair, a stark contrast to the brother she once knew.

"Stephen, enough!" Ada shouted, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. Tears streaked down her face as she stepped forward, her tone rising with desperate intensity. "How many times have I rescued you? How many promises have you broken? I won't be your scapegoat any longer!"

Before she could press her plea further, the scarred man's hand struck her again—a resounding slap that reverberated through the room. "Silence!" he roared. "You're nothing but a distraction to your pathetic brother!"

Ada's vision blurred with tears and rage as she cried out, "Stephen, do something! Don't let them do this to you—please!" But her brother remained frozen in silence, guilt and shame weighing him down.

A bitter, mocking laugh escaped the tattooed man as he leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. "Well, princess, it seems you've got a choice: pay up or suffer the consequences." His words, combined with the cruel chuckles of his men, filled the room with a sense of impending doom.

Summoning what little strength she had left, Ada's voice trembled as she declared, "I will get the rest, Stephen. I won't let you ruin my life any longer." Her words, though shaky, were laced with a determination born of pain and betrayal.

The tattooed man's cold eyes glittered with malicious amusement as he replied, "We'll see, princess. Time will tell if you can rise to the challenge." His tone left no doubt that failure was not an option.

A guard suddenly burst into the room, slamming the heavy door shut. "Enough! This is your final warning!" he barked, though his voice wavered slightly under the oppressive tension.

Ada's gaze flickered between the guard and the men, desperation etched on her face. "Please," she pleaded, "let me take Stephen home. I just want to help him." Her voice was raw, edged with the agony of betrayal and the overwhelming need to protect her family.

The guard hesitated, his eyes flicking from Ada to the silent form of Stephen. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, "We'll see about that."

One of the men stepped forward, his tone mocking as he said, "Looks like the fighter's run out of luck tonight, princess." The remark stung like acid, but Ada's response was a quiet, determined murmur: "I'm not giving up. Not ever."

In the midst of the cruel laughter and oppressive silence, Stephen's eyes finally lifted, filled with a sorrowful resignation. "Ada... I'm sorry," he managed in a broken whisper.

Her reply was a pained snarl, "Save your apologies, Stephen. They mean nothing." The room fell silent again, the only sound the relentless throb of distant music and the ragged breathing of its captives.

The tattooed man, his face twisted in a cruel smile, leaned forward one final time. "So, princess, what will it be? Will you pay up, or will you keep defying us?" His words were a final challenge, echoing in the dim, oppressive light.

Ada's eyes burned with tears and unyielding resolve as she locked her gaze on him. "Stephen, if you're listening—this isn't the end. It's time to fight for ourselves." Her voice, though trembling, carried the weight of a promise—a promise that she would no longer be the sacrificial lamb for his mistakes.

A soft, almost imperceptible voice answered from the darkness. "I... I promise, Ada," Stephen whispered, the words barely audible over the cacophony of derision.

For a long moment, the room was consumed by the fragile hope of that promise—a hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this nightmare. Amid the cruelty and betrayal, Ada's defiant declaration hung in the air, a final plea and a promise of retribution.

Then, with a final sneer, the tattooed man spat, "Now, princess, your move."