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Eve sat behind her desk, fingers gliding over the keyboard with practiced ease as she drafted yet another contract. Around her, the office hummed with the rhythmic energy of late-afternoon productivity—phones ringing, keys clacking, quiet conversations held in hushed tones.
"Almost time to leave," came a cheerful voice beside her.
Eve glanced up to see Lena standing there, arms crossed, her coat already draped over one arm.
"Yeah, just wrapping this up," Eve replied, fingers poised to return to the screen.
But before she could resume, Lena leaned over with sudden mischief and, in a blur of motion, hit the power button on Eve's PC.
"It's the weekend now," she declared triumphantly, grinning as she grabbed Eve's hand and tugged her out of the chair.
"No more work. Drinks. Tonight."
Eve let out a resigned sigh and reached for her bag, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless.
"Alright, alright. So where are we going?" she asked as the elevator doors slid open.
"You'll see," Lena said with a playful wink.
Minutes later, they were bundled into a taxi, laughter bubbling between them as the city lights blurred past. Eventually, the cab pulled up in front of a crowded building. A sleek, black sign gleamed under neon red light: Mystique House. An ornate mask was etched into the corner like a silent promise of mystery.
Eve squinted at the entrance, already regretting her decision.
"You know I don't like crowds," she muttered, eyeing the pulsing throng of people pushing through the doors.
"Relax, girl. It won't kill you to have some fun once in a while," Lena teased, looping her arm through Eve's and dragging her inside.
The moment they stepped through the doors, the world changed.
Heavy lights sliced through the dim atmosphere, strobing in sync with the bass-heavy music that throbbed through the walls and into their bones. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and energy.
Eve's eyes scanned the space and landed on a quiet corner near the bar. She made a beeline for the empty seat and sank into it with relief.
Lena slid in beside her, still talking—though Eve couldn't make out a word through the pounding music.
A waiter passed by, and Lena flagged him down, shouting an order for two drinks.
They sat waiting, and soon enough, conversation resumed—at least from Lena's side. She chatted animatedly, hopping from stories about her family to tales of her chaotic love life, all while making cheeky comments about the people around them.
The drinks arrived. One glass became two, then three.
Lena grew more relaxed with each sip, laughter growing louder, thoughts flowing freer.
Eve tried to stay grounded. Someone had to get them home, after all. But the week had left her drained, and the alcohol warmed her faster than she expected. She drank more than she usually would, the stress slipping off her shoulders with every swallow.
Eventually, she stood—steadier than expected, but still lightheaded.
"Where are you going?" Lena asked, chin resting in her palms, eyes hazy.
"Restroom. I'll be right back. Don't move."
"Yesss ma'am," Lena drawled with a giggle.
Eve made her way through the crowd, a little dazed by the lights and the music. She stopped a waiter near the lounge and asked for directions. He pointed toward a corridor behind the bar.
"Thanks," she said, pushing forward.
Down the narrow hallway, she found a closed door with a brass plaque and didn't hesitate. Her bladder was aching now.
Inside, the restroom was dim but elegant—sconces casting warm gold light, the air scented with floral mist. She rushed into an empty stall, locked the door, and yanked down her skirt in a blur of motion.
Relief washed over her as she sat down. The cold porcelain pressed against her thighs, and she exhaled, slumping back as the warm pressure burst from her body with a . She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the haze settle.
After a few minutes, she exited the stall and stood before the wide mirror.
The reflection staring back at her looked tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles softened only by the warm restroom lights. She turned the faucet and let cold water rush over her hands, the sensation grounding her.
She cupped her hands and splashed her face.
It should have woken her up—but instead, a strange weariness tugged at her. She reached for a napkin and patted her skin dry, inhaling deeply.
She had come to escape exhaustion, but maybe what she really needed wasn't drinks or loud music.
Maybe she just needed rest, Eve thought, blinking the haze from her eyes as she stepped out of the restroom and back into the dim hallway.
Almost instantly, her foot caught—on what, she couldn't tell—and the world tilted. Before she could catch herself, a pair of arms closed around her waist, steadying her.
She gasped, instinctively pulling back.
"Easy there," a smooth voice said.
Eve shook her head and straightened up quickly, shoving the person away with more force than grace. As she looked up, her breath caught.
He was handsome. Uncomfortably so. Clean-shaven with unruly dark hair that framed his face in a deliberate mess. And his eyes—deep black, almost too dark—held her gaze with quiet intensity.
"Sorry about that," she muttered, brushing down her skirt and trying to ignore how disoriented she felt.
"No need, lady," he said with a smile. His voice was warm, but something about it didn't sit right. Like a script read too often.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, reaching casually for her hand.
Eve instinctively pulled it back, taking a step away.
"I'm fine," she replied, more firmly than she felt. "Thanks for your concern."
But even as she spoke, her limbs felt heavier. The air felt thicker. And deep in her gut, she knew—something was off. Something wasn't right.
She just couldn't tell if it was him… or her.
She turned to walk away. She just needed to get back to the bar. To Lena. To noise, to people. Anywhere but this dim hallway.
But before she could take more than two steps, the man's hand clamped around her wrist.
"I think you may need help, miss," he said, stepping in closer.
His voice had changed. Still smooth, but now lower. Purposeful.
Eve froze, her pulse spiking. She yanked her arm instinctively, but the tug wasn't enough. Her muscles felt sluggish, her balance shaky. Like her body wasn't listening the way it should.
"I said I'm fine," she snapped, louder now, hoping someone might hear.
But the hallway behind the restrooms was quiet. The thumping music was just a dull echo now, muffled and distant.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting her cheek. One hand still held her wrist, the other suddenly touched her waist, sliding lower.
"You're trembling," he murmured, voice too close. Too calm. "You need someone to look after you."
His fingers pressed into the fabric of her shirt, the contact making her flinch.
"Let go," she said again, but her voice had lost strength. Her head felt heavy. Her thoughts fuzzed at the edges like static closing in.
Was it the alcohol? She hadn't drunk that much.
The lights overhead seemed dimmer now, like someone had turned the world down.
She blinked rapidly, trying to stay grounded, trying to push the fog out of her brain. But her limbs were waterlogged. Her breathing shallow.
His grip shifted. Fingers moved up along her spine—slow and deliberate. Touching like he owned the right. Like she didn't matter.
She tried again to pull away—her arms sluggish, coordination off.
"You're not well," he said again, whispering this time, like a secret. His mouth almost brushed her ear. "Let me take you somewhere quiet."
That was it.
Her instincts flared, panic overtaking the fog.
Her vision blurred, but her body remembered something deep and primal—fight.
She twisted fast, using all the momentum her weakening legs could manage—and drove her knee straight into his groin.
Crack.
He let out a sharp, strangled sound, half gasp, half curse, and doubled over, releasing her immediately. She stumbled back, panting, her heart slamming into her ribs like it wanted out.
"Don't ever f***ing touch me," she hissed, voice trembling but deadly.
She turned to leave—rage and adrenaline carrying her now—and nearly collided with someone standing at the end of the hallway.
Her body jerked to a halt.
A man. Tall. Dressed in black. Silent.
He hadn't been there a second ago.
She felt like she knew him, she had seen him somewhere as she saw him walking up to her.
"Miss Evelyn" she heard the voice and it instantly clicked.
"Mr victor" She asked half shocked, half in disbelief.