A Night..

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Chapter Five: A Night Not Meant to Happen

The city pulsed with noise and neon, but Luna didn't hear any of it.

She walked aimlessly, head down, arms folded tight against the cold. She didn't know where she was going—she just knew she couldn't stay in that house one more second.

Her cheek still ached from the slap.

Her pride hurt worse.

She hadn't even cried. The tears had dried up months ago. But tonight… tonight, something inside her cracked.

She passed a bar on the corner of Fifth and Holloway. The music spilled out in waves, and for once, she didn't keep walking.

Luna wasn't the kind of girl who went into places like this.

She wasn't the kind of girl who drank alone.

She wasn't the kind of girl who flirted with strangers.

But tonight, she wanted to forget.

Just for a little while.

She stepped inside.

It was dimly lit, warm, crowded. Laughter rose above the hum of voices. She slid onto a barstool and ordered the cheapest drink she could pronounce.

The first sip burned. The second numbed. By the third, the ache in her chest began to blur.

Then… he walked in.

Damian.

Not in a suit. Not with a crowd. Alone.

His presence was unmistakable. Like a storm had entered the room and the air knew it. He hadn't seen her yet—his gaze was on the back table, on some conversation he clearly didn't want to have.

But fate didn't care.

Fate threw him a glance. Her glance.

Their eyes met.

And just like that… the world stopped.

She turned away quickly, heart hammering. No, no, not now, not like this…

But it was too late.

Footsteps approached behind her. Slow. Deliberate.

"Rough night?" came his low, unreadable voice.

Luna didn't answer. Couldn't.

"Do you always drink alone," he added, "or is tonight special?"

She turned slowly, meeting his eyes. "I could ask you the same."

Damian studied her—really looked. No makeup. Faint bruise on her cheek. Pain hidden behind stubborn defiance.

"I needed to clear my head," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "I needed… one night to not feel like trash."

He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted.

"Then let's make sure you don't," he said quietly.

-

They sat together at a quiet table in the back. Luna still wasn't sure how it happened. One minute, she was drinking alone. The next, Damian had ordered her something better and said nothing while she spoke.

Not about the slap. Not about the attic. But about the weight she carried every day.

And he just… listened.

Then his phone buzzed.

Damian frowned at the name. "I need to take this."

He stood, his touch grazing her shoulder briefly—just enough to make her skin burn—and disappeared into the hallway toward the restrooms.

Luna sipped her drink slowly, letting the moment breathe.

That's when they approached.

Two men. Drunk. Loud. The kind of swagger that reeked of arrogance and cheap cologne.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them slurred, sliding into Damian's empty seat. "You look lonely."

"I'm not," Luna said, shifting back. "Please leave."

The other man leaned on the table, eyes dark and unfriendly. "You don't look like you belong here. You sure you're not looking for a good time?"

"She said no," came a new voice.

Damian.

He stood behind them like a shadow made of thunder. His phone was still in his hand, forgotten. His eyes locked on the hand the first man had placed on Luna's arm.

"I'll say it once," Damian said coldly. "Take your hands off her."

The men turned, laughing—until they saw his face.

Then everything changed.

"Whoa, relax, man—"

Too late.

Damian's hand shot forward and grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it with a force that made him yelp. The other man stood, but froze when Damian's eyes flickered—just for a moment—golden.

Not normal. Not human.

"Get. Out," Damian growled, voice low, nearly inhuman.

They didn't argue. Both men backed away, muttering curses under their breath as they fled.

Damian turned to Luna. His jaw was clenched, knuckles white, nostrils flared.

"You okay?" he asked, voice calmer now. Controlled.

Luna nodded, eyes wide. "They didn't hurt me."

He didn't sit down right away. Just stood there, staring at the door like he was trying to calm the beast inside him.

"I should've never left you alone," he said at last, almost to himself.

"You're not responsible for me."

His gaze returned to her. "Aren't I?"

The tension between them thickened. His protectiveness. Her confusion. The way the air crackled with something more than attraction.

Something ancient.

Something neither of them wanted to name.

---

Damian finally sat again, eyes still scanning the room, making sure the two men were gone.

Luna watched him quietly, her heart still racing—but not from fear. It was something else. Something she didn't know how to name.

"You're… not what I expected," she said softly.

Damian looked at her, one brow slightly raised.

"At work," she continued. "Everyone's scared of you. The managers flinch when you speak. Your name alone makes people stiffen."

He didn't respond right away. He leaned back in the booth, shadowed by the soft, golden light above them.

"And you?" he asked. "Are you scared of me?"

Luna paused.

"I was," she admitted. "But tonight… I don't know."

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "Most people don't get to see me outside that world."

"So why the act?"

Damian's eyes grew distant for a moment. He turned the glass in his hand slowly. "The world doesn't respect kindness. Especially not in people like me."

"People like you?"

He didn't answer that. Not directly.

Instead, he looked at her with a strange softness. "You've been hurt."

Luna's lips parted, surprised. "What makes you say that?"

"I see it in your eyes," he murmured. "You carry yourself like someone who's been stepped on too many times… but refuses to stay down."

Her throat tightened. No one had ever said that to her. No one had ever noticed.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered, blinking fast. "Like you know me."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't even know my name."

He leaned forward, voice low. "Then tell me."

"Luna."

He smiled faintly. "Of course it is."

Luna frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It suits you," Damian said, leaning back again. "Mysterious. Distant. Surrounded by darkness, but still glowing."

She looked away, flustered.

"You always talk like that?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Only when I want someone to stay."

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