One dance with trouble
1491 Words
Lina quickly pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and reached toward the stain, but the man gently caught her wrist.
Ethan looked down at the wet stain, then up at her. No anger. Just a slow, dangerous smile that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.
“It’s fine,” he said, voice low, rough-edged velvet. He pulled a black handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing casually while his eyes stayed locked on hers.
Lina fumbled for her own tissue. “Let me—”
He caught her wrist gently but firmly. “I said it’s fine.”
She swallowed. Up close, he was
overwhelming—sharp jaw, storm-gray eyes, faint scar on his eyebrow that only made him look more lethal.
The kind of beautiful that felt unfair.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was the only person in the club.
“I was about to ask if anyone wanted to dance.” His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist — once, deliberate. “Since you’re here…”
He extended his other hand. Not asking. Expecting.
Lina blinked. “Huh?”
His smile edged sharper — dangerous now, not playful. “Dance. With me.”
The crowd was already staring, whispering, phones up.
“Oh—um… sure.”
She hesitated—then slipped her hand into his. His grip was warm, sure, possessive.
He pulled her to the floor, one hand settling low on her waist, the other guiding hers to his shoulder.
They moved slow, bodies close enough she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell faint leather and something darker—smoke, maybe, or trouble.
A murmur exploded through the room.
“Are you serious?”
“He picked her?”
“She’s not even that pretty.”
“She definitely did that on purpose.”
“I already hate her.”
Lina kept her eyes glued to the floor as Ethan guided her onto the dance floor.
His hand rested lightly on her waist.
Then she looked up.
Their eyes locked.
His were the most intense she’d ever seen—gray like thunderclouds, edged with something raw and unreadable. Her breath caught. Heart tripped hard.
No wonder the room lost its mind over him. He didn’t just look perfect—he looked like danger wrapped in sin.
“If I may ask,” he murmured, voice barely above the music, lips close to her ear, “what’s your name?”
“Lina,” she murmured.
“Lina…?”
“Adelina Reyes,” she whispered, barely audible.
Ethan’s smile turned private — small, sharp, like a secret he’d already decided to keep.
“I’m—”
“Dude.” One of his friends appeared, leaning in to mutter something urgent in his ear.
Ethan nodded once, jaw tightening. Then he looked back at her.
“Hope our paths cross again, Adelina.”
He lifted her hand, brushed a slow, deliberate kiss across her knuckles — electric, lingering, teeth grazing skin just enough to make her shiver — then released her.
The crowd parted like he commanded it.
He walked away without looking back.
Lina stood there, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared into the crowd.
Her heart was still racing.
“Finally! There you are!”
Emily suddenly appeared beside her, holding two glasses.
“Do you know how long that line was? Fifteen minutes!”
She paused when she saw Lina’s expression.
“Whoa. What happened to you?”
Lina blinked, snapping back to reality.
“Oh—nothing.”
Emily narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Uh huh.”
She handed Lina a drink.
“Come on. Let’s sit before the crowd gets worse.”
But Lina barely heard her.
Because somewhere across the club…
Her eyes drifted back toward the crowd where the stranger had disappeared only seconds ago.
Her heart was still racing.
It was ridiculous.
It had only been a short dance… a few words… nothing more.
And yet something about him lingered.
“Lina.”
Emily tugged at her sleeve.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
Lina blinked, snapping back to reality.
“Yeah… coming.”
But even as she followed Emily through the crowd, one thought kept echoing in the back of her mind.
For someone she had just met…
that stranger had left a dangerously unforgettable impression.
——-
By the time Lina reached home, the magic of the club had faded.
She quietly pushed open the door to her room and slipped inside.
The small space greeted her with familiar comfort—faded floral curtains, a narrow desk stacked with old textbooks, and the single bed pressed against the wall.
She dropped onto it with a heavy sigh.
“At least I made it before curfew,” she murmured.
The club still rang faintly in her ears—pounding bass, flashing lights, bodies packed too close together.
She groaned and flopped back onto the mattress.
“If that’s what clubbing feels like,” Lina muttered to the ceiling, “I never want to do it again.”
But then her lips curved into a slow smile.
Silverstone.
Just thinking about the word warmed her chest.
She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow.
Maybe college would finally be different.
Maybe she’d stop feeling like the poor girl trying too hard to keep up.
Maybe—just maybe—life was finally about to move somewhere better.
Her stomach suddenly growled.
Lina groaned, pressing a hand against it.
“Alright, alright. I hear you.”
She pushed herself off the bed and padded quietly toward the kitchen.
The house was mostly dark, the only light coming from the dim bulb above the sink.
She opened the fridge and pulled out a container of leftover rice and stew. Cool air brushed against her face as she set everything on the counter and began scooping food onto a plate.
Her mind drifted again.
Back to the club.
Back to him.
The stranger she had danced with.
His calm voice.
Those steady, observant eyes.
Heat crept into Lina’s cheeks and she pressed her lips together.
Who was he?
Was he a student at Silverstone too?
She shook her head at herself.
It had only been one dance.
A few minutes, nothing more.
Still…
she wouldn’t mind seeing him again.
Lina had just scooped the last of the rice onto her plate when she heard it.
A faint creak.
The hallway floorboard.
Her hand froze.
Slowly, she turned.
A figure stood in the doorway.
“You’re finally back.”
Lina’s heart jumped into her throat.
Her stepfather.
“Good evening… Dad.” she said automatically.
The word had barely left her mouth before his hand moved.
Smack.
The sound cracked through the kitchen.
Lina’s head snapped sideways, her cheek burning instantly. She staggered and grabbed the counter to steady herself.
“I told you before,” he said coldly.
“Do not call me that.”
Lina swallowed hard, her cheek throbbing.
“Yes… Sir.”
His gaze traveled over her outfit—the crop top, the denim skirt, the strip of exposed skin.
“And where exactly were you,” he asked quietly, “dressed like that?”
Lina instinctively stepped back, lower back hit the edge of the counter.
“I—I went out with Emily, sir.”
His mouth curved into a thin smile.
“Emily.”
He stepped closer.
“Girls who dress like this,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her waist, “usually go looking for trouble.”
His fingers brushed along her arm.
Lina’s stomach twisted, and her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt.
“Sir…”
He leaned in, his breath warm against her neck.
“You’re starting to look too much like him,” he muttered.
Lina’s chest tightened—her father.
Then—
“Daddy?”
The small voice cut through the kitchen.
Her stepfather immediately stepped back.
His expression softened as if someone had flipped a switch.
He turned just as Mia shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Daddy… I’m thirsty,” she mumbled.
“Of course, sweetheart.” His voice was suddenly warm.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, handing it to her with a smile.
“Here you go.”
Mia yawned and clutched the bottle.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
They walked out of the kitchen together.
Their footsteps faded down the hallway.
The house fell silent again.
Lina remained frozen against the counter, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
Slowly, she raised a trembling hand to her cheek.
It still stung.
A single tear slid down. She wiped it quickly.
The plate of food sat untouched on the counter.
She didn’t feel hungry anymore.
And somewhere deep in her chest, a tiny, uneasy spark of dread refused to go out.
- Writer
