Chapter 3: The Slap and the Fog
322 Words
The loud music of the club suddenly became muffled. Lana gasped for air, her legs shaking violently as she crossed the plush rug.
Zekail looked up from his leather sofa, his jaw clenching in immediate irritation. He saw a beautiful girl with messy hair, pale skin, and a simple jacket stumbling blindly into his private territory. Misjudging her completely, Zekail assumed she was just another manipulative, gold-digging club girl who had bribed a guard to get his attention.
A dark, arrogant smirk crossed Zekail's lips. He poured a glass of amber liquor, stood up, and completely invaded her personal space. He stood so close she could feel the intense heat of his body, towering over her like a dark shadow.
"Looking for a way into my world, sweetheart?" Zekail murmured, his deep voice dangerously smooth as he held out the glass, his eyes scanning her face with mocking amusement. "You girls are all the same. Desperate for a glance from the king."
Lana could not breathe. The heavy drug was screaming in her head, making her terribly dizzy. She did not know who this man was, but he was too close. He was crowding her, blocking her only escape route, and suffocating her. Her innocent survival instincts snapped in pure, drug-fueled panic.
With a final burst of frantic energy, Lana swung her hand.
SLAP!
The sharp, stinging sound cut through the quiet lounge like a gunshot. Zekail’s face snapped violently to the side. The arrogant smirk vanished instantly. A thin line of blood appeared on his lip.
The bodyguards in the room froze in absolute shock. The entire room went dead silent. No one had ever touched the Don and lived. But before the guards could pull their weapons, Lana spun on her heel in sheer terror, tore back through the velvet curtains, and vanished into the chaotic, crowded sea of the dance floor, running blindly out into the dark, rainy night.
- Writer
