I returned home later than usual that evening, my head still heavy with thoughts from the date with Aiden. The street outside our rented house looked the same as always—dim yellow lights, uneven pavement, the familiar smell of dust and cooking oil drifting from nearby homes. I was just reaching for the gate when I heard my mother's voice.
Sharp. Strained.
I froze.
"You have no right to talk like that," she said, her tone controlled but shaking underneath.
A man's voice snapped back, loud and ugly. "Oh, I have every right. This is my house. You people live here because I allow it."
I pushed the gate open and stepped inside.
My mother stood near the doorway, her shoulders stiff. In front of her was the neighbor—the owner of the adjacent house. He was leaning forward slightly, chest puffed out, eyes roaming with a confidence that made my skin crawl. He'd always been like this. Ever since we moved here, he'd treated every tenant like dirt, especially women. Accusations, insults, threats—always disguised as authority.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice already tight.
His eyes snapped to me, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face.
"So this is the daughter," he said. "Always coming home late. I was just telling your mother—people are talking."
My stomach dropped. "Talking about what?"
He laughed, sharp and humorless. "About drugs. About harassment. About how you tenants think you can do anything because you rent."
"That's not true," my mother said firmly. "You've been accusing us for months. Enough."
He stepped closer to her. "Enough is when I say it's enough."
I moved instinctively, placing myself half a step in front of my mother. "Back off."
His gaze dragged over me in a way that made my chest tighten. "Or what?"
Then he said it.
"So what if something happens to you, huh?" His voice lowered, poisonous. "People will say you deserved it. Girls like you—out late, no discipline. Who'll believe you if I say you tempted someone? Who'll believe you if I say you were—"
My ears rang.
My mother grabbed my arm hard. "Stop it!" she shouted. "Don't you dare speak about my daughter like that."
"Oh?" he sneered. "I can say whatever I want. This building is full of trouble because of people like you. Drugging men. Harassing women. And now—" his eyes locked on me again, "—playing victim."
My heart started racing, panic crawling up my spine.
My mother didn't argue anymore. She pulled me backward toward the door. "Inside. Now."
He followed, shouting, "Running won't change anything!"
She shoved me inside the house and slammed the door, locking it with shaking hands.
"Maa—" I started.
"Quiet," she whispered urgently. "Go to the room. Stay there."
I could still hear him outside, banging on the gate, yelling. Another voice joined him. Then another.
My blood ran cold. "He called others."
"I know," my mother said, grabbing her phone. "I'm calling the owner."
She put the phone on speaker. The call rang twice before a tired male voice answered.
"Hello?"
"There's a problem," my mother said quickly. "The neighbor is threatening us. He's outside with other men."
A pause. Then, dismissive. "It's between you people. I don't want to get involved."
"What?" my mother's voice cracked. "He's threatening my daughter."
"I rent the place. That's all. Solve your own issues," he said, and hung up.
My hands started trembling uncontrollably.
Outside, the banging grew louder. Someone kicked the gate.
"This has gone too far," my mother whispered. Her face had gone pale.
It felt deliberate. Like he'd been waiting for this moment—building accusations so he could justify whatever he wanted to do.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Aiden.
I stared at the screen for half a second before answering.
"I need help," I said immediately, my voice breaking. "Please."
His tone changed instantly. "Where are you?"
I gave him the address, words tumbling over each other. "They're here. He brought other men. Please—"
"I'm coming," he said. "Stay inside. Lock everything."
The call ended.
Almost immediately, I heard a sharp screech outside—not our gate, but farther down the road. The sound of a car turning hard.
Hope flickered for a second.
Then—
A loud crash as the gate finally gave way.
My mother grabbed my shoulders. "Under the bed. Now."
"No—" I protested.
"Now!" she hissed.
I ran to the room, my heart slamming so hard it hurt. I barely had time to slide under the bed before footsteps thundered inside the house.
The door burst open.
"Where is she?" the neighbor's voice barked.
"I told you to leave," my mother said, standing her ground in the living room. "Get out of my house."
He laughed. "Your house?"
I could see their feet from under the bed. Shoes. Too many.
"She's hiding her," another man said.
My breath came in short, silent gasps.
The neighbor stepped closer to my mother. "You think you can protect her?"
"I said get out!" my mother shouted.
I heard a sharp movement—like he was about to raise his hand.
Something snapped inside me.
I crawled out from under the bed and grabbed the wooden plank leaning against the wall—leftover from some repair work. Without thinking, I swung.
The plank hit his shoulder with a dull crack.
He staggered back, shouting in pain. "You little—!"
I swung again, harder this time, aiming anywhere I could reach. The men yelled, chaos erupting all at once.
"Get her!"
"She hit him!"
I backed away, swinging wildly as they lunged toward me. One of them tried to grab the plank; I struck his arm. Another rushed forward and I hit his chest. My arms burned, my hands shook, but I didn't stop.
My mother screamed my name.
The neighbor lunged and caught the plank mid-swing. He yanked it hard.
I lost my balance and fell to the floor.
The world tilted.
I heard footsteps rushing in, voices overlapping, angry and excited.
I shut my eyes tight and curled instinctively, turning my back, bracing myself.
Hands reached for me—one grabbing my arm, another my shoulder.
Someone's fingers clamped around my neck, trying to pull me up.
"Maa—!" I gasped.
Another man moved to block my mother as she rushed forward.
Then—
A sharp screech cut through the air.
Two loud bangs followed.
Everything stopped.
The grip on my neck loosened instantly.
Silence crashed down so suddenly my ears rang.
I opened my eyes.
One of the men was on the ground, unmoving, blood darkening his shirt near the shoulder and mouth. Another staggered back, screaming, clutching his arm.
I felt something wet on my face, on my clothes—I didn't know whose blood it was.
The men froze, panic replacing aggression.
The view of the gate was suddenly clear.
And there he was.
Aiden's black SUV stood just outside, engine still running. The window was down.
Aiden leaned out, one arm steady, a gun in his hand.
His eyes weren't frantic.
They were cold.
Deadly calm.