"Miss Eve," Victor said, walking toward the drunk woman.
"Are you alright?" He held out his hand. She raised her own and clung to his arm, nodding in response.
Victor's gaze shifted to the man behind them, who looked ready to speak.The man faltered under Victor's stare but managed to muster his courage.
"Who are you? What are you trying to do?"
Victor adjusted his glasses, offered no reply, and turned away—supporting the woman as they walked off.
The man didn't speak again. More accurately, he couldn't. Two individuals had appeared behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.
Before he could gather his thoughts, he felt a powerful grip on his shoulders and was yanked backward. He flailed his arms and legs, screaming, but no one heard him over the pounding music. The restroom door shut behind him, sealing his high-pitched screams inside — blending perfectly with the rising swell of the beat.
"Where are you taking me, Mr. Victor?" Eve asked as he led her away from the bustling crowd, down a staircase into a lavish hallway lined with polished marble and sleek black walls. The club's music faded behind them.
"I'm taking you to rest, Miss Eve," he replied, glancing at her. "You've clearly had too much to drink."
"But… Lena. My friend. She's still up there," Eve said, suddenly animated.
Victor didn't respond. When she tried to turn back, he pulled her gently but firmly.
"I will go up," he said, staring into her eyes. "After I drop you off at your destination."
He emphasized the last word before leading her further down the hallway. They turned a corner and stopped in front of large, dark double doors.
Victor pushed them open and guided her inside. Eve couldn't focus much, but she could tell the place was huge and luxurious. The sofa he sat her on was soft and comfortable, and a subtle, pleasant fragrance lingered in the air.
Sleep tugged at her, but she pinched her thigh to stay alert.The sharp pain brought her back just enough to glance around.
The room—more like a bedroom—was spacious. A large, grey bed on a raised platform looked far too inviting.
There were other details, but she couldn't concentrate.
After seating her, Victor left, closing the door behind him.
Back in the pulsing haze of the club, he adjusted his glasses and navigated the crowd with ease. He reached the bar, spotted the woman drinking at the table, and approached her.
He stood before her just as she raised her glass. He caught her wrist before she could drink.
She glared at him, suddenly alert.
"Who the hell are you?" she snapped, trying to yank her hand away."Don't bother me. Get the fuck off!" she shouted over the music, pulling harder.
Victor let go. She hadn't expected it and spilled her drink all over herself.
She glared at him again—accusatory this time.
"You said to let go," Victor said, expression neutral.
"Yeah, I did! So what? I also said get the fuck outta my face," she yelled, almost as if conceding defeat.
She stood up abruptly and turned away.
"If you're heading to the restroom," Victor called out, "it's under maintenance."
But she either didn't hear or chose to ignore him, vanishing into the crowd.
Victor watched her retreating figure. She was surprisingly agile for someone that drunk.
He adjusted his glasses again and followed.
He walked fast—shoulders squared, posture sharp. Not even the hem of his suit brushed another soul as he cut through the crowd like a blade. Just as his hand reached out to grab her, he suddenly sidestepped, reacting with surgical precision as a woman collapsed to the floor in front of him.
She looked up at him with syrupy, intoxicated eyes—no trace of shame in her expression, only a cloying sort of hunger. It was as if she relished his avoidance.
Victor's gaze sharpened behind his glasses. He paused for a fraction of a second, scrutinizing her. The dress—or rather, the pathetic excuse for one—clung to her like tissue, translucent under the club lights.
Her breasts, large enough to overshadow her own face, spilled out with each shallow breath, held back only by a threadbare mockery of a shirt.
Perhaps it was that same brazen figure that emboldened her. She began crawling toward him on all fours, undeterred by the bodies and noise around her.
Like a bitch in heat, she slithered between heels and shoes and slid her hand across the polished leather of his shoes, trailing up slowly, deliberately, to the sharp crease of his pant leg.
"Would you care to trample upon me, Master?" she purred, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Her voice was thick with desire, every syllable soaked in submission. Her fingers grazed his ankle, then higher.
Victor's jaw clenched. His attention was split—eyes flicking up just in time to see her, turning the corner toward the restrooms ahead.
He looked down again—cold, impassive—and found the woman staring up at his crotch like a starving beast.
Without hesitation, without ceremony, he kicked her. Hard.
Her body flew back, heels scraping against the marble, and landed with a messy thud. Her breasts fully burst out as she fell, wobbling grotesquely under the club lights. A guttural moan escaped her lips—loud, broken, almost grateful.
Victor didn't even glance back. His stride didn't falter as he continued toward the girl.
The crowd swallowed the chaos behind him.
He rounded the corner.
There she was, standing before the restroom door, staring at the maintenance sign.
"Told you so," he said.
She didn't respond or even turn.He stepped closer and touched her shoulder just as she slowly pivoted around.
Her wine-drenched curls sprayed droplets on his immaculate suit, but he didn't flinch.
Large tears had gathered in her eyes.
"Where did Eve go?" she asked, choking back a sob. "She came to the restroom... I want to go to the restroom…"
Her voice blurred into a slur of sobbing words.
Victor placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Let me take you there," he said, his voice quieter now, less mocking. "Hmm?"
She looked at him with wide, wet eyes, her curls brushing against his suit.
"I'm not drunk, fool… Why would I go anywhere with a stranger?" she declared, hiccuping as tears streaked down her red-rimmed eyes.
"Miss Elana," Victor said, giving her shoulder a firmer shake. "Miss Eve is safe. I took her to rest, and then I came looking for you."
She still looked at him with mistrust, her body swaying.
Victor sighed and pulled a card from his suit pocket. Platinum black, embossed with a golden snake coiled around the letter V.
"I work for the company," he explained.
Only then did she follow.
He led her away from the music, away from the crowd—into the quiet.