chapter 1

(Susan's POV)

The glass felt cold in my hands, condensation slipping down my fingers as I set it down on the bar counter. The Margarita was quieter than usual tonight, the air was thick with the scent of whiskey and old wood. It was The low hum of conversation blended with the clinking of glasses, a rhythm I had grown accustomed to over the years of working at the margarita.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:42 PM.

Greg hadn't come back yet.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he came back in a good mood, I could probably escape to bed before he started getting angry. If he came back in a bad mood, well... I knew what that meant.

My fingers brushed the faint bruise on my wrist as I adjusted my apron, forcing myself to focus on work. I had perfected the art of blending in, of becoming nothing more than a fixture behind the bar. Pour drinks, wipe the counter, nod when the customers spoke, laugh when they made jokes. Repeat.

I didn't have the luxury of distraction.

And yet, when the door swung open and a stranger stepped inside, something about him made my hands falter.

He was tall—broad-shouldered, dressed in a simple black shirt and dark jeans. His face was sharp, his jawline strong, and his dark eyes swept over the bar with a quiet intensity before they landed on me.

I felt his gaze linger.

A chill ran down my spine.

Not from fear, but from something else. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

He moved toward the bar, each step deliberate, before taking a seat in front of me.

"Whiskey," he said. "No ice."

His voice was smooth, deep. The kind that made you pause and listen.

I nodded, and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. As I poured the amber liquid into the glass, I could feel his eyes on me, studying me.

When I slid the drink toward him, our fingers brushed. Although It was a fleeting touch, I felt it all the same, a strong deep connection as though two spirits aligned .

"You work here every night?" he asked.

His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something curious.

"Yes," I answered simply.

"Must be exhausting."

I shrugged. "It pays the bills."

His gaze flickered to my wrist, where the faint bruises were barely visible beneath my sleeve.

"Rough job?" he murmured.

I froze.

For a split second, I considered lying. Telling him it was from carrying crates of beer or bumping into something in the stockroom.

But I had been lying for years. To myself. To everyone.

So I forced a smile and said the only thing I could.

"Accidents happen."

His jaw tightened, just slightly. "Right."

I turned away quickly, pretending to wipe down the counter, hoping he would let it go.

But he didn't.

For the rest of the night, I could feel his presence. He stayed longer than most, sipping his whiskey slowly, his eyes drifting back to me ever so often.

And every time I looked up, he was still watching.

***

The night dragged on. The regulars filtered out one by one, leaving only the usual drunks clinging to their last drinks.

I let out a breath and checked the time. 12:57 AM.

Greg would be back soon.

I glanced at the stranger—his glass was empty, but he hadn't moved.

"You want another?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

He tapped the rim of his glass lightly. "Sure."

As I poured, he leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable.

"What's your name?"

I hesitated. There was no reason not to tell him.

But something about him made me cautious.

"Susan," I finally said.

He tilted his head, as if testing how my name felt in his mind.

"Susan," he repeated.

The way he said it made my stomach twist.

"I'm Dermont," he said.

Dermont. It suited him. Strong. Unyielding.

I nodded but didn't respond.

Because there was something dangerous about this conversation. About the way he looked at me, like he saw through the walls I had spent years building.

And I couldn't afford to let anyone in.

***

By the time I closed up, Greg still wasn't back.

The stranger—Dermont—was the last to leave.

As I locked the door behind him, I felt a strange sense of unease. Not because I was afraid.

But because for the first time in years, someone had noticed.

Someone had seen through my false mask of comfort,bravery and certainty.

And I didn't know what to do with that.