His Green Eyes

Episode 3

ROSALIE's POV

I found myself staring blankly at the clock on the grimy wall, watching as the minute hand chased the hour hand in an endless loop.

My eyes were fixed on that spot, but my mind was elsewhere, racing through a never-ending calculation. Every passing second meant I had to earn more money. I couldn’t afford to waste time. Every second had to count, every moment had to be spent making money, even if it meant working myself to the bone.

In this world, it was just me, Leo, and my grandmother. I didn’t waste time thinking about anyone else, nor did I dwell on the people who had drifted out of my life. To me, life was nothing but numbers—how much I earned per hour, whether I could save anything, how much was left of the endless debts I had to pay.

“Hey, send a beer over here, new girl,” a man called out from the table across the room, his smirk as greasy as the bar itself. His eyes clung to me like a predator, hungry and relentless. But what could I expect from a place like this? A rundown, dirty bar wasn’t exactly the kind of place where people laid napkins on their laps before eating. I had to tolerate the leering drunks, the couples making out in the back hallway, and a hundred other sights that made my skin crawl.

These were just the things I had to deal with.

“At least the pay’s decent, it’s close to home, no transport costs,” I muttered to myself as I poured beer into the glasses, trying to convince myself that this wasn’t so bad. I plastered a smile on my face—one that anyone could see was fake—and carefully arranged the beer glasses on the tray. With a deep breath, I walked over to the table where three lowlifes sat, their eyes already sizing me up.

As I approached, my attention was drawn to someone else—someone watching me from across the room. His gaze wasn’t like the others. I hadn’t noticed him come in, and I had no idea how long he’d been sitting there or why he was here.

The only thing familiar about him was his cold, threatening gaze. I had never seen anyone with eyes so beautiful yet so chilling. No one else could look at me with such icy indifference. I had told him I’d make the payment in two weeks, but it had only been a week.

Had he changed his mind? Maybe he was here to collect the money early.

I quickly tore my gaze away from him and focused on the tray in my hands. By the time I reached the table, I knew I couldn’t avoid the lecherous grin of the man sitting there any longer.

“If we’d known someone as pretty as you worked here, we would’ve started coming around sooner,” he said, laughing. The other men at the table joined in, their laughter just as filthy as his grin. I placed the beers down, ready to turn and walk away when I felt a hand clamp around my waist, yanking me back.

“Don’t go so fast, let’s have a little chat,” he said, following his words with another disgusting chuckle. The harder I tried to pull away, the tighter his grip became. He held me with so much force that I felt trapped, like a prey with no way out—as if I could feel even more trapped than I already did.

“Let me go,” I demanded, my voice sharp as I risked raising it, fully aware I could get fired for this.

“You’ve got a temper, huh? That makes it even better…” he sneered, his words met with another round of laughter from the table.

I lifted my head, and that’s when our eyes locked—his green eyes, intense and burning like flickering embers within a fire. The light seemed to dance within the flecks of green, shifting as if reflecting flames. A few strands of his wavy hair fell across his forehead, adding to the wildness of his appearance.

Before I could process what was happening, his hand moved swiftly, prying the man’s arm from my waist with a force so strong that I nearly stumbled as I was released. Then, without hesitation, he slammed a fist into the face of the man who had been harassing me.

Chaos erupted as the other men at the table scrambled to their feet, but before they could make a move, at least ten more men followed him into the bar, surrounding us in a tight circle. I shouldn’t have been surprised—he was a loan shark, after all. There was no way he’d be walking around alone. His men closed in like predators, their eyes flashing with a threat so palpable that it was clear: anyone who dared touch him wouldn’t leave here alive.

I still didn’t know his name. I didn’t know who he truly was. All I knew about him was the debt I owed and the ruthless job he did.

That was all.

“You’re going to get the he*l out of here,” he spat, his eyes darting toward the man still on the ground. “I don’t want to hear you’ve stepped foot near this bar or anywhere close to this neighborhood again. Take your trash with you.”

“Who the he*l do you think you are, giving me orders, you little sh*t?” the man growled as he struggled to get up, blood trickling from his lips. I stood frozen, my body stiff like a statue, cold fear seeping into my bones, making it impossible to move. My breath came in short, shallow gasps.

One of the man’s friends narrowed his eyes as if trying to place something. And then, as if a light had suddenly clicked on, his entire expression shifted—from confusion to absolute terror. He knew who the green-eyed man was. The realization drained the color from his face.

“Let’s go. Now!” one of the men practically shouted, panic clear in his voice.

“What the he*l is wrong with you?” his friend snapped back, confused.

“That’s Marco… How do you not know him? We need to get out of here. Now!”

And that’s how I learned his name that night. Marco. A name that sent a ripple of terror through men who looked like they could tear the bar apart with their bare hands. The man went stiff for a second, frozen in pure fear, before scrambling to his feet. He and his friends rushed for the exit, practically tripping over each other in their haste to escape. Moments later, everyone in the bar began leaving, one by one, the place emptying as if his mere presence had scared them off like a swarm of flies buzzing away in terror.

Marco.

He must have been a terrifying man—someone whose very name could silence a bar. And yet, here I was, likely about to lose my job because of this frightening man to whom I owed a debt. With a simple gesture of his hand, he signaled for the remaining patrons to leave. The lights above flickered and spun, casting odd, shifting patterns across his face. As they danced over his sharp features, I realized something strange: despite everything, despite the chaos and the fear he caused, I couldn’t feel afraid of him.

The way the lights shimmered across his skin, the way his eyes seemed to change color like rare jewels catching the light, shifting from emerald to deep forest green. I could’ve watched him forever, captivated by the man who had cleared an entire bar with nothing more than his presence.

"I'm sure your name isn't really Marco," I muttered, almost to myself.

The corners of his lips twitched, as if he was on the verge of a mocking smile, but he didn’t fully commit.

"Hmm, is that so? And what is my name, then?" he asked with a mocking tone. I watched him closely, feeling like I’d just accepted a challenge without fully realizing it.

“I think I’d need to know you a bit better to guess,” I replied honestly, because there was something about him—something that didn’t feel like Marco was all there was to him.

“No you don't need to, and you only get three chances,” he said, turning toward the bar and taking a seat on one of the stools. “Now, how about you pour me a whiskey?”

As he settled in, the song playing in the background tugged at my concentration. His presence, so overwhelming and consuming, made it hard to focus on anything else.

I moved behind the bar, grabbing one of the finer whiskeys from the shelf below, pouring it into a crystal glass. Pushing the glass toward him across the marble countertop, I took a deep breath.

“I don’t have many guesses, so I’ll start with a single letter and see where that takes me,” I explained, trying to sound casual. But he didn’t even glance at me—his focus was entirely on the whiskey as he took a large sip. The blankness in his gaze unsettled me. It felt like he wasn’t really here, like he just wanted to finish his drink and disappear, dragging us both out of this strange, uncomfortable moment.

“I’m feeling like it starts with the letter A,” I ventured, unsure if he even heard me. He began idly turning the glass in his hand, his expression indifferent, as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

“Alexander…” I said. He took another sip, still staring at the glass.

“No.”

“Aaron…”

“Nope.”

I was down to my last guess, and my mind kept circling back to one name—one that had lingered in the back of my mind. I didn’t know why, but I said it anyway.

“Aiden…”

The glass in his hand froze mid-spin. He didn’t speak, didn’t immediately react, but the air shifted between us. His brows furrowed slightly, just for a second, before he pulled out some cash from his pocket, slipping it under the glass. He didn’t say a word as he stood and walked out of the bar with hurried steps, leaving me behind in the heavy silence, wondering what I’d just uncovered.