5. Tempting Alley
1520 Words
Emily stared at the high-end fashion wear spread across the couch, the shimmer of designer fabric mocking her silence. It had been days, yet the nauseating feeling in her gut refused to fade. Every time Noah was forced to meet with her, it was one condescending glance after another.
The engagement party was tomorrow, and all Emily could feel was suffocation. Her grandfather had flown out with Kevin, leaving her alone to face the preparations. She didn’t have much to do — just look pretty and show up — but somehow it felt like stepping off a skyscraper.
Madam Catherine had sent over ten dresses, insisting she pick three for the event. Three dresses? Emily thought bitterly. Who needs three dresses to tie themselves to someone who doesn’t even treat them like a person?
She needed to breathe. Leaving the glittering gowns behind, Emily slipped into her room, threw on something casual, and grabbed her phone.
Do you girls want to hang out? she texted Emma and Freya.
Minutes later, both replied with an eager yes. Emily sent the address and headed for the club.
By the time she paid her fare, Emma and Freya were already waiting outside.
“Hey, you look hot!” Freya grinned, running a hand over Emily’s dress.
“Let’s go in and dance!” Emma shouted, grabbing their hands and dragging them through the doors.
The music hit them like a wave. Drink after drink, their laughter grew louder, their sense of reason slipping away. Emily couldn’t stop giggling.
“Guess what, guys?” she slurred, waving her drink. “Noah Valencia is so unbelievably—ugh. He took me out a few days ago to pick out an engagement ring. I went for the smallest piece and he insulted me.”
Emma leaned in, eyes wide. “What did he say?”
“That I’m a gold digger,” Emily snorted. “And that I shouldn’t pretend around him.”
Emma groaned. “Can’t believe that guy’s such a jerk. But hey — at least you get to brag about a hot husband.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t love him,” she said quietly, her smile fading. “And he doesn’t love me.”
Freya stumbled back from the dance floor, breathless and laughing. “That guy’s name is Travis — and he’s so hot.” She tugged at Emily’s arm. “I know you’re engaged to one of the Valencia brothers, but this is your last night before everything changes. Come on! Let’s dance!”
Emily allowed Freya to pull her to the dance floor. Emma joined, and the trio kept jumping and yelling along with the song. For a fleeting moment, Emily felt her problems slipping away bit by bit, until dizziness hit and her stomach churned.
Emma and Freya were lost in their own world and didn’t notice when Emily stumbled away from the dance floor toward the exit. The nauseating feeling rose, and she barely made it outside before rushing to the clearing to throw up.
A pounding headache hit her hard. She leaned against the cold wall, breathing heavily as she tried to steady herself. The fresh air helped, cooling her flushed skin and clearing her mind — but only for a second.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in the alley beside the club. A few dark figures stood under the flickering streetlight — it looked like someone was being cornered.
Her instincts told her to leave. Still, her legs moved on their own, stumbling a few steps closer. Her phone was already in her hand, the emergency line halfway dialed.
Even through the blur of alcohol, she could make out what was happening — three men in suits surrounded an older man. One of them wore a masquerade mask, his gloved hand gripping the elderly man by the neck.
“Who did you sell it to?” the masked man demanded.
The old man struggled but didn’t answer. A punch landed on his face — then another to his stomach.
“You’d better start talking, Mr. Harrington,” the masked one said coldly, lowering himself into a squat. “I’ve got all night to play with you.”
Emily’s pulse spiked. From their conversation, she could tell the man on the ground was being interrogated — not robbed, not mugged, but tortured. Her trembling fingers pressed call.
“Please— I’m reporting an assault outside Morris Club,” she whispered, eyes locked on the scene.
She ended the call and stayed still, hidden behind the wall, praying for the police to arrive soon.
“So you won’t talk, huh?” The masked man landed another brutal punch. The elderly man coughed, curling over, but still didn’t speak.
Emily’s heart hammered in her chest. Her head throbbed from the alcohol, but fear sobered her quickly. If help didn’t come soon, the man might not survive.
She bit her lip, thinking fast. To make herself alert, she pinched her wrist until it hurt. Then, taking a shaky breath, she raised her phone — and turned on the flashlight.
The bright beam cut through the alley, startling the men.
“Let’s go, boss!” one of the suited men shouted, grabbing the masked one. They began to retreat.
But before Emily could exhale in relief, the masked man tore free, spinning back toward the elderly man. He pulled out a gun, the metal glinting cold under the light.
Emily froze. Her breath hitched, fear choking her voice.
“Talk,” the masked man growled, “or die.”
Police sirens blared, and the men scattered in all directions. The masked man sprinted past Emily, disappearing into the blur of lights and noise.
“Stop!” she yelled, stumbling forward. The flashing red lights of the police vehicle drew closer, but the masked man was already getting away.
Without thinking, she chased him back into the club. He slipped through a backdoor, and before she could hesitate, she followed. A gust of wind hit her face as the door flung open to a dimly lit pool area behind the building.
Her eyes darted around — the place was empty except for a faintly glowing light pole near the water. There was no sign of him.
Maybe it was the alcohol making her bold, but she edged closer. Then she saw it — his shadow moving behind the pole. Her pulse quickened. He might still have the gun.
She reached for her phone, ready to call the police again, but before she could dial, the man lunged out of the darkness. His hand struck hers, sending the phone clattering across the floor.
In the next instant, his arm wrapped around the back of her head, the cold barrel of a gun pressing into her jaw.
“Let me go!” she gasped, struggling, but he pressed the weapon harder against her skin.
Her eyes locked on his face — the mask covered most of it, but something about his presence, his scent, his voice— it felt familiar.
“Who are you?” she whispered.a
He said nothing. Instead, he shoved her backward, forcing her toward the pool. Desperation surged through her veins. Acting on instinct, she clawed at his mask, yanking it hard. The fabric tore halfway as momentum carried them both forward — plunging into the cold water with a loud splash.
Emily surfaced first, gasping for breath, her heart hammering wildly. Then she saw his face. Her eyes widened.
“Nicholas…” she breathed, stunned.
He climbed out of the pool, water dripping from his hair, his expression unreadable. “Hello, sister-in-law.”
Emily scrambled out after him, her shock turning into fury. “Are you insane? Carrying a gun? Beating up someone in an alley? You’ve gone too far, even for you, Nicholas Valencia.”
“Gone too far?” he scoffed, wringing water from his sleeve. “The last thing I need is a lecture from you.”
He turned to leave, but she blocked his path. “You almost killed that man.”
“You ruined my plan,” he snapped. “I was this close to getting the information I needed. Weeks — months — of work gone because of your stupid interference.”
“You have a gun, Nicholas,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “You’re worse than everyone says.”
She started past him, but he caught her arm and slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the air out of her.
“Don’t roll those eyes at me, sister-in-law,” he hissed, his face inches from hers. “I almost had the name of the person who sold the explosives that killed my parents. And you blew it.”
Emily froze. Her eyes widened, all anger replaced by shock. “What? Your parents were killed? I… I didn’t know.”
Nicholas leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“You should go home, sister-in-law,” he murmured. “You look tempting.”
- Writer
