...

I THOUGHT I was being low-key, but the screen doesn't lie. There is clear evidence. His gaze was darkened and fixed on me because mine was on him.

Does he feel the same? He also failed to hide it. I feel threatened by the sheer force of this attraction.

I can't be attracted. Not to a man who is so inked as fuck.

A promise is a promise. I won't break mine for a man like this. It doesn't matter how long I've been numb. And now my body is waking up to wanting a man sexually.

I'm trembling. I'm terrified. But I won't look back.

I look at the screen. He's wearing a black suit with a black-and-white Burberry check scarf, draped perfectly over his shoulders, falling down his tall frame.

Dad turns to check on me as his photo session ends; he's standing off the stage, chatting with Tapish and his bodyguard. What was his name?

Sankalp?

I try to look at Dad, but it's the eyes beside him that I feel.

What's wrong? Why suddenly do I feel so centered that everything around me feels like a shadow? Why is he the only thing in the light?

I look at the tech staff, my voice strict and authoritative. "Delete this one. Now. And select these two."

"Sure, ma'am," the tech mutters, clicking away.

I watch the screen go blank, feeling some relief.

"Sahej, sweetheart, come here if you are done," Dad calls out, his tone soft and affectionate.

I walk toward him, uninterested in the glitz of the party. Everyone around me looks so busy and happy. And I'm bitter.

Among them, they are both standing, holding red wine. "Dad, do you mind if I go join my friends now? If we are done, I'm tired."

With an overwhelming amount of love, he grabs my shoulder and draws me to his side, making me completely stop. I find myself facing the man standing beside him, and I have to crane my neck just to look at his magnanimous height.

"No, we aren't. Your friends can wait—"

"And since you have already met Mr. Tapish Adyanthaya... I'm just so sorry for last night. You know, sometimes she becomes too stubborn. But thank you for taking care of her."

"Dad," I whisper.

I don't want this. I don't want to be introduced.

"Please, don't apologize, Mr. Luthra."

Tapish pulls his hand out of his pocket. "Miss Sahej, nice to meet you once again."

I keep my face a blank slate with my father standing right next to me. "Yes... indeed. Glad you came," I reply, extending my hand to his with a previously faked smile.

The moment his warm hands touch my cold ones, my lips slightly part. I hate that I'm reacting to the pressure of his palm against mine. I can feel the burn deep within my bones.

I hate how my blank slate is suddenly brittle, a thin, glass-like mockery of my self-control that cracks the moment he applies pressure.

He doesn't look at my face at first. His gaze drops, focused entirely on our joined hands, as if he sees something that I fail to.

"I had to," he says, finally lifting his eyes to mine.

His voice has dropped an octave, thick with a private, dark intent that makes the glitz of the party feel so fake and our meeting too real.

His grip tightens slowly, gently, right under my father's nose, refusing to let the butterfly fly away just yet.

Then I see the edge of a tattoo around his neck, covered by his scarf.

I pull my hands back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, but I have to go."

 *** 

ONLY A GROUP of guests are still glued to their seats; everyone else has moved toward the dance floor.

The string quartet is now playing their last song. A soft, dreamy violin that feels almost too tender for this noisy hall.

My table is empty now, with drinks that are barely touched.

It's when I start looking for my friends and find them at the front: Sai twirling with Nil, Pratik swinging Preet, and others, all having a couple's dance.

And me? I'm the last one standing in my own little pocket of silence.

"May I have a dance with you?" Someone asks, and I turn to see Arjun.

Before I know it, I'm on the dance floor, swaying to a slow song. My friends always tease me, suggesting that I might end up marrying Arjun; from the way he looks at me, he already considers me his soon-to-be wife. However, the truth is far from it. I met him at my dad's business success party, and he had shown interest from day one. On the other hand, I was never interested. I could tell he was more into my dad's business and trying to hook up with me, all while putting on that polite smile like he actually cared about me.

Complicating matters, he's also the son of my dad's friend. Since it's my dad's birthday party, I don't want to cause a fuss, so I've agreed to dance with him.

"I didn't know you'd say yes," Arjun breaks the silence. "For what reason?"

"For the dance."

I nod.

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you," I smile. "You look good, too." (No, you don't.)

"So good that you can paint me naked?" he teases.

I chuckle, fake-faced. "Right now, I'm busy."

"Oh, I see, but we can have some fun; for that, we don't need you to paint me."

I feel uncomfortable as his hands begin to move my lower back and linger slightly on my butt cheek. And that's all it took...

"Arjun, stop right there."

"Sorry, what?"

"—I will cut your dick if you move that hand one goddamn inch lower, and I'll make sure of exactly how to fillet it."

My face doesn't stop an inch; I feel his hand lose its grip on my waist, retreating from me, but I hold him in place and keep smiling.

"No, Sweetheart Nanda." I run my hand around his chest sweetly. My dad's watching. If he gets to know what he did, then.

"My dad's watching. He thinks we like each other, but if he gets any idea what you just did, he'll speak directly to your philandering father—who checks into his hotel with girls half his age while pretending to be a faithful partner to your mom."

But a cologne hits me; it's Tapish. His face tightens when he comes in front of me. I can feel the tension in the air, and I'm just wondering who's more cooked. Definitely not me.

Tapish was staring at Arjun's hand near my waist.

"I'd like to dance with you, Miss Sahej Luthra." Tapish's deep voice has a touch of gentleness. I step away, trying to relax in an uncomfortable situation.

I may have been threatening Arjun, but only I know how difficult it is for me to get off course. That's not who I am. I'm a quiet girl.

But a man like him should be treated like that.

My fake smile fades slightly as I find myself under his attentive gaze. Also, I'm silently aware of the emotions between us. My hands slowly leave Arjun's hands on me.

He leaves the dance floor, but I don't care where he goes; my attention is more intent on a man in front of me.

I grow tense when I see him approaching for my hands. My heartbeat. I'm not the same woman anymore who threatened that creep who tried to touch me because he thought he could, all because I once kissed him.

I instantly feel relief flood over me as I accept Tapish's offer, and I don't know why, but even though he's a complete stranger, I'm grateful for his timely arrival.

"Yes," I exhale softly, letting the tension melt away.

As our eyes lock, we find ourselves standing, fixed in a gaze that feels like it holds the entire universe.

As the quartet lunges for that last, famous high note, leaving breath in the air, his palm touches mine.

The friction is as rough as a head scraping against a box, and I can feel the chemical sizzle that starts a fire.

In my stomach, those little butterflies get scared. They start fluttering around, not quite sure how to fly yet. But also terrified of getting burned if they dare to rest.

I instantly grow to hate them. I start to hate the nickname my father gave me. Butterfly.

His other hand has not yet touched my waist but hovers there like a gentleman who knows how not to touch a woman without her consent.

The touch is almost feather-light, still radiating heat around my waist.

"Please tell me where to place my hand."

I look into his deep eyes before I speak, "On my back."

He reaches for my back; that makes us closer than we were. Unknowingly, the closeness has made my fingers run over his biceps. It's solid.

As we begin to move to the rhythm, surprisingly, he keeps a respectful, open distance between us.

He breaks the silence.

"You aren't supposed to drink water like that."

I ask him, feeling perplexed. "What?"

"You've just stifled a sneeze," he observes keenly.

Oh, I must be looking really funny.

"Well, I was thirsty, so yes," I confess.

He breathes softly. "I mean, you're supposed to take small sips, not chug it all at once like you did earlier," he clarifies with an edgy glint in his eyes, and he licks his lips.

I can't help it, and I'm about to laugh at his unexpected observation, realizing that he had been observing me more closely than I had initially thought. It's in that very moment that the realization hits me. Wait, does he know I saw his picture?

And what if he did?

Fuck Sahej!

Where is my studio?

I want to go back.

What an idiot you are!

Minutes go by, and the dance continues, but the burning curiosity within me does not, as it finds its voice, and I decide to ask because I want to know.

"Did you like my recent painting on social media?" I start looking into his eyes. I can see he is surprised. "My PR team handles my account."

"Oh, I see."

His words, though matter-of-fact, carry a heft that stays with me, and for reasons unknown to me, a tug of hurt rests within.

We continue dancing, but the hidden question still goes unanswered.

About his eyes, his colors, his tattoos... I don't know how it's happened, but I find myself inching closer to him. I'm curious about his tattoo. I notice a few letters and an image similar to a compass, but hidden in sinister branches.

Suddenly, it hits me.

A chill trickles down my spine, making me step back.

Yet, I'm still wrapped in his arms like he doesn't want me to go anywhere.

"What's wrong?" He tightens our grip a bit while looking into my eyes with concern.

"Nothing, it just..." I'm at a loss for words. I feel his hands on my back, losing their grip.

"Should I stop?" He's looking directly into my eyes as if searching for something.

"No!"

"It's just that... your tattoo."

"What about my tattoo..." He's about to finish his sentence when the music suddenly stops, and everyone starts clapping.

I'm so lost. I haven't even noticed when the song ended. I snap back to reality, turning my face away from him. I catch a few couples sharing kisses, but my eyes never go back to Tapish. We just stand there as everyone heads back to their seats, and I see my friends shooting me curious looks.

"I can see you found your paintbrush! Who can paint your coochie?" Pratik remarks on the canvas and coochie joke that only the four sitting at the table can hear and understand, adjusting his blazer as he takes a seat. I take a seat next to him; that's my biggest mistake, as they are not going to stop pulling my legs as I reply, "Grow up, Pratik, and stop making everything about my vagina."

He rolls his eyes and uses air quotes to say, "Well, I am interested in your sexual life more than mine."

"Yeah, that's why you can't see she likes you," I say in hushed tones so the two girls across from us don't hear, my nerves fuming under my irritated voice.

"Who?" he asks, pinching the corners of his eyes and tightening his brow. "Well, it's you who can't see the way that guy was looking at you. Who is he?"

"Dad's business partner," I reply, trying to change the topic. But Preet persists. "Hey, what are you two talking about?" Preet interrupts.

"Oh, nothing much. I was just thinking if we happened to have any magic mushrooms around," Pratik jokes.

"Pratik, can you be serious for once?" Preet asks.

"I was just asking her about who that Mr. Rizz is," he replies, pointing towards Tapish.

Everyone looks in his direction.

"Guys," I whisper, "What are you doing? He'll find out." Tapish is sitting close to our table. But Pratik and Preet continue whispering with an "I don't give a fuck" attitude. I feel the tension rising as I feel his gaze on my back, and where he touches me, I can still feel the way his skin was against mine.

"Oh, now we have to know who he is. Are you guys seriously out shopping for a new bed almost every day?" Preet insists.

"No, guys, it's nothing. I just went to give him the invitation card. That's all I did."

"You know, it should be more. He's so spicy, delicious, and yummy. Please let me know if you aren't interested in him. I'll make a move," Preet says.

"Hey, close your tap? Preet, remember rule number 3?" Sai replies.

Well. Rule number 1: No secrets.

Rule number 2: No secrets should go outside, no matter what.

And finally, according to Rule No. 3, we cannot be interested in guys or girls our friends like.

"Oh yes, these rules are the only thing holding me back, otherwise—" Preet says, and we all laugh. The food is served, and we all enjoy it together.

 *** 

The business meeting has commenced. Dad has excused himself from the party; others are having a good time, as it's the first of January, so the party will take a while to end.

And we have nothing to do there. We all have to head down to the lobby of the club. It's a separate space for the clubbing, away from the main hotel, but it's outside.

Now, for like fifteen minutes, sitting on the sofa and scrolling through my phone, and with all this red light around me, I'm already feeling a bit drowsy; plus, the photoshoot was exhausting.

I stand up; I've decided to leave, but someone grabs my wrist out of the blue. I feel a cold sensation on my wrist. I hate cold hands and cold feet.

"The party hasn't ended yet." Pratik's eyes shine with a manic energy.

"Our party is just getting started."

Turning around, I say, "Pratik, I need to go. It's getting late." I put my hands on my hips, giving Pratik a weary look.

"I have work."

Preet fights to keep the laughter in, but the efforts are useless; she lets her head drop onto Sai's lap. Her shoulders are shaking. The sofa's cushions sink under their controlled laughter as they push back.

About what I said before, I'm not lying. The issue is that I know what kind of party he's talking about. And I'm not interested at all.

They're making this neck-slicing gesture as they watch Pratik make fun of me.

I roll my eyes at Pratik's antics, feeling slightly annoyed. "Pratik, you're done."

I chase him as he runs around the sofa, ready to give him a hard time. Pratik catches his breath desperately, trying to keep up with his laughter.

"Sahej, stop! You look gorgeous, and the way you're running, your dress might not survive this sprint."

"Stop! Are you two guys crazy?" Nil says in a high-pitched, annoyed voice. He extends his hand and stands between us like a wall.

"Stop it, Sej, and stay; it's going to be fun." Sai also tries to stop us, calling me by my nickname.

I pause and take a seat opposite them to breathe on the couch. Alright, alright, I'll stay for a bit."

So here is how my friends are. They all badger me until the kingdom comes. Also, deep down, I know it's all in good fun. We have a bond that can withstand any teasing. Our friendship's not normal; it's a bit toxic, but it's also incredibly strong and meaningful. Our childhood memories and dark secrets are what hold us together.

"Perfect! Pratik, play the music, and turn it up." Preet announces to the staff. "I don't want anyone here except us."

"Sure, ma'am." A staff member who served us drinks begins to lead other staff out of the bar.

I protest to my friends, "Wait, what are you guys planning? If Dad finds out, he's going to kill me."

He's still in the hotel.

Pratik assures, "Come on, just put Dad's worries aside for once. Listen, I've arranged something amazing for our party. Trust me, you'll love it. I've spent money on something really special." His eyes sparkle with an adrenaline rush. "See what I got?"

"What the fuck, Pratik?" I rise and go back to where Pratik is sitting. "Where did you get the money? I remember your dad gave you the limit."

He looks defensive, yet there is a certain playfulness. "Sahej, even with my dad's money, remember, I do earn."

Even if Pratik gets offended, he is great at hiding things. He attempts to defuse the situation. But I'm not like him. Because this can't be ignored.

Pratik stands up from his couch and walks to the bar to get new glasses for us.

I look down at the table between our seats. The glass table is messy, overloaded with bags, phones, and fancy cigarette lighters just to light them. And a few things are strewn on the carpet.

My focus is still hazy after pulling my gaze from the clutter to the five glasses now sitting on the table.

Even with Pratik's efforts to calm down the situation, I can't deny that our friendship has always been fraught with difficulties.

"Dude, Sahej, it's one of the finest bottles I got for us; now you have to join us," he says as he starts pouring it into the glasses, and when he does mine, Sai intervenes. "Don't force her; we all know she doesn't drink anymore."
"Yeah, years ago, you were a wild child, and now look at you, Sahej." He adds with a smirk, "I hate this new sober Sahej."

"Pratik, don't." Sai protests on my behalf.

Pratik quickly replies, Fuck that, I don't care."

There are rules in our group that no one has crossed, and one of them was about my ugly past, which we have never touched. But Pratik doesn't care for boundaries. He has dropped the comment about my old drinking habits with the effortlessly malicious tongue of his, then switched to his charm. The transition is so smooth it's made my head spin. As if he hadn't just insulted my entire history, "Wait, Nil, don't drink!" he says, reaching into his jacket while Nil holds the whiskey midair. Pratik pulls something out, his face a mask of normalcy. "Try this instead. Real magic is this."

He reveals a small vial full of a glowing blue liquid. "can make you forget all your problems and fears. Just a few drops, and all your worries will disappear."

With Sai's eyes widening, Nil is stunned, and the room becomes deafeningly quiet.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you insane, Pratik? You said that you had left drugs."

My words are suffocating my voice. I'm surprised he brought it to the party.

Last night, that's why he was reminding everyone ten times so we wouldn't miss it.

"Don't insult Sej. It's called Neon Tears," Pratik protests.

"Seriously."

Is he serious? Neon, whose tears? I huff at the sound.

Now I'm so worried about him. Why is he doing this?

I give him a frustrated shrug and glance around at others, waiting for them to join me. I want them to make Pratik understand. Just because his dad is rich doesn't mean he can act like some spoiled kid. He promised his dad and us that he would stay away from this, but it seems like he's forgotten all about it.

"What's wrong, Sahej? You always act like my dad."

"You promised; don't start with your excuse." My declaration breaks the hush in the room's tense atmosphere.

"It's just one time, I promise." He is still trying to convince me.

"Enough, guys; that's it. I am leaving."

I totally give up, and no one is supporting me.

"Man, we really shouldn't have invited her. She always ruins the whole mood. Fucking irritating," he shouts with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Fuck off, Sahej."

"Don't talk to me like that." His shouting and his behavior are now getting under my nose. "You know what? I can't tolerate you anymore." I explode, gritting my teeth.

"Oh, really? What are you going to do? Run away as you did before or call the cops? Or better? Call your dad." He steps forward, walking towards me, with a mean sneer in his eyes.

"—Sorry, but you can't call your dad; you have a daddy issue." He taunts with a derisive smirk.

The tension in the room grows thicker as I clench my fists, anger boiling over. I can feel the torrents of anger consuming me. It's ready to get loose, but I'm controlling.

"Pratik..." I want to scream, but my voice catches in my throat. "I can't believe you—"

For what he just said.

Pratik walks across the couch, claiming the space beside Preet. He grabs her hand and turns toward us, his face turning hard.

His gaze meets mine like he's drawing a mental line where it's the two of them against the rest of us.

"You guys are all just backstabbers, spineless bastards. I wish you guys never came back from London; Preet and I were so happy."

I am shocked because I knew it; damn it, he is still hurt, hurt for so many reasons because of what happened.

My senses are on guard as the creak of the club's entrance stops us in the middle of our conversation and unexpectedly grabs our attention. In the dark red-lit room, a new person walks in, followed by a few, stepping in from the shadows. The details of the faces are unclear.

"What's going on? Who let them in? No one's permitted inside."

I keep my voice calm in the confusion, but my heart is being pulled by nervousness, and a twisting, burning sensation starts in my stomach from creeping footsteps in the pin stop silent.

"Hey, look; there's an exclusive party happening here. The city's richest kids are having a good time." The person in the lead says sardonically, steps into the light, and looks directly at us.

"Welcome to Jashnpur, a city full of annoying and privileged kids."

"Who the hell are you?

"Security!"

My attention is drawn to the man in the front, who appears to be the head of the brothers behind him. He catches my eye because he is wearing a sheer black shirt paired with jewelry. And a velvet cobalt blue that doesn't fit him well and appears to have been borrowed or rented. His three friends behind him are all members of the turtlenecks & leather jackets club.

"Oh, look, Princess Luthra comes back from Disney."

The man's mocking tone hangs in the air, already making me want to punch him in the face.

I may be an introverted and anxious girl, but I know how to control these types of men.

"Who the hell are you?" I say.

Unfazed, the leader of the group casually turns his head, pointing out someone behind me.

"Pratik, my brother," he declares with an attitude as if he were familiar with him. "Why don't you tell your buddies your secrets about why I'm here?" He drops onto the velvet sofa, his legs splaying into a vulgar manspread that cuts through my vision of the thick smoke in the room.

One last mocking drag of his cigarette, and without breaking eye contact with me, he grinds with his heel, crushing the spark on the rug.

I want to throw him out of the club.

Pratik says, "Sahej, back off." He yanks me back and stands in front of me, covering me with his height.

I know that he might sometimes talk to me rudely, like he does with everyone in our group, but when the time comes, he is super protective of us.

"I know them," Pratik says, and he is also stupid.

"And why the hell you know him?" My voice breaks with curiosity and frustration, but Pratik has completely ignored me.

"Here, take this and enjoy." He hands him a bottle of white wine and cash.

"I only have this much...Now you can leave. I'll contact you." Pratik walks close to where he's still sitting.

The guy fake-laughs.

Who is he?

"Should I be grateful, or do you think I'm a beggar? Well, I need more cash. How do you know that this quantity will lead me to have an orgasm?"

"What money is he talking about, Pratik?" I demand.

What the hell is going on? First the invitations, now this.

His response is totally dismissive and impatient. You could practically hear the eye roll in the room.

Laughter erupts among his group as he asks, "How can I just leave?"

"Pratik, what's happening? What money are they talking about?" Sai's concerned voice triggers a micro-panic in me. I step out from behind Pratik's back, at last unhiding myself.

"Bro, I told you I don't have the money right now," Pratik replies right away.

"Come on, never mind; if not from you, then from her; I'm sure she has money."

The group burst into laughter again.

"Monty, stay away from her."

Pratik's voice is pure warning, but Monty's response is a glitch in the white noise of the background.

He abruptly brandishes a weapon, and the room shatters. Pratik, Nil, Preet, and Sai all break into gasps and screams, but Nil's voice is the one that maxes out everyone else.

Monty's closing steps and his toxic smile put my stepback on high alert.

"Princess, don't move. Otherwise, we'll have to chase you."

"Listen—take this," I say, my fingers trembling as I take off my gold watch.

But as I offer the watch, Monty's group lets out another mocking laugh. The sound simply never stops echoing our misery.

"Do you really think a watch can spare his life?" A guy says.

"Fucker, it's Patek." Monty slowly closes the gap, and the laughter dies. "How much does it cost?" He has done a slow scan of me, of my skin, stopping on my watch. "It doesn't matter; I'm sure he doesn't own you this much."

"I am so sorry, sweetheart, to break your heart. If I try to sell a fifty-lakh asset in Jashnpur without the right names, I get police behind me. But—"

He stares, his eyes darkening to a dirty color, looking at my necklace.

"How about that beautiful neckpiece? I know someone who can help me with that. Give me, and I'll leave him."

"What?" I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice cracks, failing to hold the power those words actually need.

Monty chuckles, unmoved by my warning. "Can't you hear me, bitch? Give me that?" he sneers, pointing the gun at me.

"I can't give you this; listen, I have cards; I'll give you pins. You can take them."

I don't like the growing knot in my stomach, but I stand my ground to protect myself if needed.

My hands deftly hold my neck, clutching the diamond pendant.

"Sadly, your dad isn't here," he adds.

"Monty, stay away from her; I'll fucking kill you—" Pratik's words hang in the scarlet blackness of the room as Monty points the gun at Pratik.

I practically feel the beat of my fear-stricken heart. My chest shrinks from the strength I've been holding.

I don't beg, but I can't give up either. "Listen, Monty, let's calm down."

His hold on the gun gets aggressive and turns from me towards my friends. My heartbeat stops, and my mind blurs with fear.

"Wait." I remove my mom's necklace and give it to him, which he snatches from my hand aggressively.

"See, it was so easy." He looks me in the eyes and then to Pratik. "Next time, when you guys buy something, don't be an asshole and delay our payment."

He turns around to leave.

The door opens, and suits flood in; disturbingly still in the center stands Tapish Adyanthaya.

His shadow kisses my feet.

He's just watching me, ignoring the gun that Monty pointed at him like a minor inconvenience, his focus pinned purely on me.

That lack of fear makes Monty's bravado look pathetic.

"Well, look who's here, Mr. Tapish Adyanthaya. Until now, I didn't believe in manifestation, but after seeing you here... now I'm thinking of giving it a try."

Monty's eyes are fixed on Tapish's smug expression.

"Give her back and leave now."

"Why?" he asks after a long pause.

"Do you want her? If you've come all this way, she must be special. How can this information slip from me?

He turns to face his members, pressing the gun's barrel against my temple, even more against a visible nerve on my temple. The metal is cold against my skin. His grip on the gun tightens with anger, and my body seizes up.

I gulp hard, but my throat feels dry with fear, feeling trapped within his tight hold and terrifying proximity. He holds onto me even more, swaying me back and forth like a pendulum.

The disgust I feel is overwhelming.

I struggle to keep my distance from his pelvis as I push my hips away from him a little, knowing that if, intentionally or unintentionally, any contact happens, it will only further damage my already shattered soul.

Slowly, his fingers travel the chain of the necklace to my collarbone, mapping my skin.

A gunshot, its sound fading, and a tense silence take over.

Slowly, I open my eyes.

Tapish advances, his eyes veiled in darkness. Calmly, he repeats his command. "I won't ask you again. Leave her now."

"Oh, look at you. You are always angry, but this time it's lethal. I love it."

"I'll give you whatever you want. Just leave her, okay?" Tapish says.

I feel a rush of chill, not just because I am at gunpoint but because of the anger and calm chill I can see in his eyes.

"Interesting, but not on your terms. First, give me my position back. I want that sexy bulletproof car you drive and, most importantly, that arrogance you have. I want that, so kneel before me and say to leave her, and I'll release her." Monty says, his voice glinting with a smirk and feeling victorious while pointing out his conditions.

"Monty—you don't know what you have asked for."

When Monty pulls his head closer to mine, I stop breathing. "And you don't know what I can do to her if you won't—so tell your men to drop their guns and hand them to my men." I feel sick and tightly shut my eyes.

After a short while, I witness Tapish kneeling on the ground, pulling his car key from his coat pocket, and giving it to Monty as he demands.

Tapish also orders his men to hand over the gun to Monty's loyalists.

The car key falls at my feet. "You too, princess, kneel and—"

Monty has his gun forced to my shoulders. "Will you please give me the keys?"

"Monty, don't you dare—" Tapish says. 

His words are heavy, like he can rip Monty apart...but he isn't.

I do as I'm told without looking at the tattoo guy kneeling in front of me. I stop to grab the key, but before I can stand, Monty stops me with his gun. "Now turn around, princess—"

I do. I just want this to finish.

"Good girl—" Monty says, taking the key from me, but he hasn't told me to stand. Instead, with the gun he's holding, he traces the barrel over my lips, smudging my lipstick, then swiping the lip color with his finger to lick it into his mouth while looking at the man behind me.

I don't know why, but he has some personal rivalry with Tapish."Sorry, sweetheart. Don't add me to your trauma list; I'm so sure you have one. You are a woman after all. But I have no intention of hurting you. Do you see that tall man over there? His position is too pristine to be touched, but I love to see that his arrogance is stripping away."

And immediately he holds me up by my arm to make me stand against him once again.

As soon as I'm released, Monty pushes me forward slightly, indicating that I should move forward. "Walk to the exit."

We start taking steps towards the exit. But the moment my eyes meet Tapish as I pass him, I feel bad seeing him kneel; a knot grows in my throat, a crushing ache that forces me to take deep breaths.

The pain behind my eyes gets worse, and I start feeling numbness, a subtle pushback against the tears looming. At this moment, whatever is going on, all I want to do is go to the studio and paint.

His gaze never drifts from me.

His eyes are fixed in intense concentration. Out of nowhere, I'm behind. Push forward as Monty almost opens the club door. But the floor isn't the first thing I fall on.

. . . . ╰──╮𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪╭──╯ . . . .

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XOXO💚

streetlight389 ❤️‍🩹