chapter 2
1112 Words
---
Ivy didn’t sleep.
Not from fear—but from restless frustration. The memory of the alley clung to her skin like smoke, and no matter how many times she told herself it didn’t matter, she couldn’t shake his face from her thoughts. The man in the suit. The one who moved like a shadow and spoke like a sentence you didn’t want to finish.
Leon.
Not that it meant anything.
He was a stranger. Dangerous. A man who saved her, yes—but not out of kindness. She could feel that in her bones. He had power, and men like him didn’t do anything for free.
She stared at the ceiling for hours, then forced herself into the bathroom just after noon. She showered, wrapped her wrist where the bruise had darkened overnight, and pulled on her uniform for the night shift at The Scarlet Room. Same red lettering over her chest, same black jeans that fit too tight.
By the time she made it to the club, the sun had dipped below the buildings and Manhattan’s night had turned sharp and hungry again.
She blended behind the bar like always, her hands quick, her smile absent. Ivy never flirted with the customers. She didn’t play the game. She served drinks and moved on. Simple. Detached.
Until everything in the room changed.
She didn’t see him first. She felt him.
The hairs on her neck stood up, and that same electric tension she remembered from the alley curled in her gut. The music didn’t stop—but somehow, it didn’t matter anymore.
Leon had arrived.
He walked in with the same ruthless calm, a suit darker than the room, eyes scanning everything and nothing. His presence shifted the gravity in the room. Even the club’s regulars kept their eyes low.
Ivy ducked behind the shelf of vodka bottles.
What the hell is he doing here?
Her heartbeat picked up, but not for the reason she feared. It wasn’t excitement. It was discomfort. She didn’t like being watched. And she knew he was watching her.
She tried to disappear back into the rhythm of pouring drinks, but it was like her body had developed an awareness for him. Every breath he took, she felt it. Every glance, she sensed it.
She told herself it didn’t mean anything.
And yet, when her manager shouted, “Gold! Booth 12 wants a scotch. High-end. Go now,” her hands paused.
Booth 12.
She didn’t even need to ask.
He was here for something. She didn’t care what.
Ivy poured the scotch, steadying her hands, and carried it across the room. He was seated in the booth like a king overlooking his court. His eyes found her before she reached him.
She set the drink down without flinching. “Your scotch,” she said flatly.
He didn’t look at the drink. “No smile tonight?”
“I’m not in the mood,” she said, expression unreadable.
“You were shaking last night.”
“I’m not shaking now.”
Leon tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
“And you’ve got an ego.”
That amused him. A flicker of something passed over his face. Interest. Surprise. He’d expected her to swoon. She didn’t. She wasn’t built that way.
He studied her like a puzzle, but Ivy didn’t offer him any pieces.
“You work here often?” he asked.
She crossed her arms. “Is this small talk, or are you trying to dig?”
“Neither,” he said. “I’m just… curious.”
“Well, stop being curious.” She leaned closer, her voice low and calm. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to.”
That wasn’t true, and they both knew it. But Ivy didn’t let people in. Curiosity only led to pain.
Leon’s lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but she turned before he could.
She walked back to the bar, and this time, she didn’t look back.
---
Leon watched her retreat, a strange tightness in his chest.
He didn’t usually feel things like this. Not for strangers. Especially not for women who talked back and told him to stop asking questions.
But she intrigued him.
Not just because she was beautiful—though she was. It was the fire behind her eyes. The way she looked at him like he wasn’t a man to be worshipped, but a threat to be calculated.
She didn’t trust him. And somehow, that made him trust her more.
“Who is she?” he asked quietly.
His second-in-command, Marco, shrugged. “Bartender. Been here a few weeks. Keeps her head down.”
“She wasn’t afraid of me.”
“No,” Marco said with a slight grin. “She looked like she wanted to punch you.”
Leon exhaled slowly. The girl had guts. He liked that more than he should.
---
Later, when a drunk man shoved one of the cocktail waitresses and grabbed Ivy’s arm, she didn’t cry out. She didn’t flinch. But Leon saw it.
He was on his feet before his mind caught up with his body.
Three strides and he was in front of them. The drunk’s hand was still on her when Leon reached out, grabbed his collar, and slammed him into the nearest wall.
The music didn’t even stop.
Leon didn’t yell. He didn’t have to.
“You touch her again,” he said in a calm, deadly voice, “and I’ll break both your hands.”
The man muttered something, but one look into Leon’s eyes was enough. He stumbled out, bleeding pride more than anything else.
Leon turned back to Ivy.
She stared at him, but her eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp.
“I could’ve handled that,” she said.
“I didn’t like him touching you.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
He didn’t answer.
She wiped her arm like she was brushing him off, too. “Don’t show up here thinking you’re some kind of hero. You don’t know me.”
He stepped forward, close enough to feel the ice in her voice. “I want to.”
She blinked once, but there was no flicker of emotion on her face. Just cool defiance.
“Then that’s your problem, not mine.”
And with that, she walked away again.
This time, he watched her go—shoulders straight, head high, heart clearly guarded behind invisible armor.
And for the first time in years, he realized he was chasing something he might not be able to catch.
---
- Writer
