Chapter 2

I turned to behold the figure behind me, a man whose presence seemed almost mythic—like a Greek god descended to Earth. His expression was stern, exuding a quiet but lethal intensity, as though he could dismantle anyone foolish enough to cross him. His aura radiated dominance, fear, and respect, mingled with something I couldn’t quite grasp.

His tousled brown hair gave him a disheveled allure, as though he had just emerged from some intoxicating encounter. Handsome didn’t quite capture him—he was striking. His athletic build was undeniable, the fabric of his polo shirt and tailored pants clinging to him as though they’d been custom-designed for his frame.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his deep voice pulling me back to reality. His brow furrowed slightly, his full, firm lips drawn into a concerned line. His dark, midnight eyes regarded me with surprising care, and I found myself momentarily mesmerized.

The young lady at the door interrupted, bringing me back to the present. “Sir, she wants to use the restroom without purchasing a drink. I explained that it’s against policy.”

I felt my bladder threatening to betray me, the urgency becoming unbearable.

“Let her use the restroom,” he instructed, his tone calm yet commanding. Without another glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me dumbfounded. Who was this man, issuing orders as though he owned the place?

“You may go, ma’am,” the lady said, stepping aside.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I bolted toward the restroom, relishing the relief that followed. After washing my hands and gathering myself, I stepped out, thanking the attendant with a smile. Yet my eyes scanned the crowded bar, searching for the mysterious stranger. Where had he gone? The room was alive with revelers—dancing, drinking, laughing—but he was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, I made my way to the bar and ordered a few shots. My heart was heavy, the weight of my earlier heartbreak pressing down on me. My third shot was in hand when I heard it again—his voice.

“Rough day?” he asked, drawing my gaze to him. This time, under the soft lighting of the bar, I saw him clearly. He wasn’t just handsome—he was devastatingly beautiful, a creature so captivating it seemed unfair that he even existed.

His toned arms and sculpted frame made it impossible to focus on anything else. Heat surged through me, and I clenched my thighs instinctively, trying to suppress the sinful thoughts racing through my mind.

Clearing my throat, I managed to respond. “Thanks for earlier. I thought I’d burst if I didn’t find a restroom.” I offered a smile, but he didn’t return it, his expression unreadable. Did I look odd to him?

“It’s fine,” he replied curtly. “Glad I could help.” He sat down beside me and ordered a whiskey, neat, before turning his attention to his phone.

I bit my lip, feeling a flicker of self-doubt. Was I unattractive? Or was this only in romance novels where the guy asks for your number? Perhaps I had lost my charm.

“So, was it a bad day?” His voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts, startling me so much that I spilled my drink onto my dress. Mortified, I froze as he stared at me.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice softer now. He gestured for the bartender to bring a tissue and handed it to me. “Here.”

Our fingers brushed briefly, and a spark jolted through me—a spark so intense I momentarily forgot where I was. From his expression, he felt it too; his eyes darkened, and he bit his lower lip almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you,” I murmured, dabbing at the spilled drink, which had unfortunately stained my cleavage. As I cleaned myself, I could feel his gaze on me—steady, unrelenting, almost as though I were a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Our eyes locked, and he didn’t look away. His gaze swept over me with deliberate slowness, sending a shiver up my spine. Who was this man, and why did he look at me as though I were some rare, fascinating creature?

I downed my final shot and stood, suddenly desperate to escape the intensity of his presence. But as I moved, my legs betrayed me, and I stumbled—falling into his arms. Our faces were mere inches apart, and he held me firmly, his grip protective yet unyielding.

“Where do you live? Let me take you home,” he said, his voice low and resonant, the vibrations seeming to echo through me.

Flustered, I tried to stand upright, but once again, my legs faltered, and this time I collided with him, our foreheads bumping painfully.

I winced in embarrassment as he rubbed his forehead, one arm still steadying me by the waist. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, reaching out to touch his face instinctively. My fingers brushed against his skin, warm and smooth, and his eyes darkened further, a new intensity flickering within them—desire.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “My car’s right outside.” He exchanged a few words with the bartender, then slipped one of my arms over his shoulder and steadied me as we left the bar.

This was surely a day to remember.