CHAPTER 3: UNEXPECTED SAVIOR
1019 Words
Ava's Pov
“Excuse me?” I snapped, my voice slicing through the pounding bass like a whip.
The words flew out sharper than I intended, laced with every ounce of vodka and raw fury still burning from the last two days.
The taller guy’s hand was already sliding lower on my waist, possessive and unwelcome, while his friend pressed in from the other side, their whiskey-soaked laughs low and mocking.
“Come on, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the taller one slurred, his fingers digging into my hip. “You’ve been dancing out here like you’re begging for attention.”
I violently shoved his chest with both hands, hard enough that he stumbled back a step. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
Adrenaline surged through the alcohol haze, making my heart hammer wildly.
I trued twisting away, trying to push through the crowd, but the second guy grabbed my arm, yanking me back against the bar with bruising force.
My chest filled with panic.
I swung my free elbow, connecting with his ribs, and kicked out at the other one’s shin. “I said no!”
They laughed, crowding me harder, their bodies pinning me in place.
The music swallowed my protests as hands roamed where they had no right, they start groping, pulling. I fought like a wild animal, thrashing and cursing, but they were bigger, stronger, and the club was too packed with indifferent bodies swaying to the beat.
No one stepped in.
For a terrifying moment, as one of them leaned in close enough for me to smell the stale alcohol on his breath, I gave up.
My limbs went slack, tears stinging my eyes.
Not today.
Not after Ryan and lila.
Not like this.
Then a deep, commanding voice cut through the chaos.
“Hey! Back the hell off her. Now.”
Two broad-shouldered men pushed through the crowd like they owned the place, their presence radiating authority.
The harassers froze instantly.
One muttered a curse, and just like that, their grips vanished.
They released me and melted back into the throng without another word, disappearing as if they were never even here.
I turned toward my rescuers, gratitude already forming on my lips
“Thank you, I..”
But they were already walking away, heading straight for the velvet-roped VIP section without sparing me a second glance.
Their silhouettes vanished behind the heavy curtains, swallowed by the club’s elite shadows.
Relief flooded me, but it was short-lived.
The room tilted violently. The two vodka sodas I downed earlier was hitting like a freight train now that the adrenaline was crashing.
My legs wobbled, the flashing lights blurring into a nauseating swirl.
I reached for the bar to steady myself, but my hand missed.
The world spun faster, and everything suddenly went black.
I woke up slowly, my head throbbing with a dull ache. Soft sheets cradled my body, they looked expensive, silky ones that definitely weren’t mine.
Blinking against the gentle morning light filtering through heavy curtains, I sat up and looked around.
This wasn’t my cramped apartment. I was in a massive bedroom, elegantly furnished with dark wood furniture, a crystal chandelier hanging overhead, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking what looked like manicured gardens.
The air smelled faintly of fresh linen and subtle cologne.
Panic crept in as memories rushed back, the club, the harassers, the strangers who saved me. How did I get here? I swung my legs over the side of the king-sized bed, noticing I was still in my black dress, though someone had draped a soft throw blanket over me.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Before I could respond, a middle-aged woman in a crisp uniform entered, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast,
There was fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, toast, and steaming coffee.
She set it down on the bedside table along with a neatly folded set of new clothes: a simple but luxurious blouse and pants.
“Good morning, miss,” she said politely, her voice warm but professional. “Sir Damien thought you might be hungry after last night. These clothes are for you as well.”
I stared at the tray, my stomach churning with suspicion rather than hunger.
“I’m not eating that.
And I’m not staying here.
Where am I?
Who brought me?”
The woman offered a small, understanding smile but didn’t push.
“He’ll explain everything. Please make yourself comfortable.”
She left quietly, closing the door behind her.
I paced the room, refusing to touch anything.
My phone was gone,probably still at the club or dead. Minutes later, the woman returned.
“Sir Damien is ready to see you now. He’s in his office.”
Reluctantly, I followed her through winding hallways lined with art pieces that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
As we stepped outside briefly to cross to another wing, I realized this wasn’t just a house, it was a sprawling estate.
Massive and gigantic, with multiple buildings, fountains, and vast lawns stretching as far as I could see.
Who the hell lived like this?
And what does he wants from me?
We entered the main mansion, and she led me to a heavy oak door. “Knock and enter,” she instructed before leaving me alone.
My heart pounded as I rapped my knuckles on the wood and pushed the door open.
The office was enormous, lined with bookshelves and a massive desk.
But what stopped me cold was the man standing by the window.
He was tall, easily over six feet, with a chiselled, athletic build that spoke of disciplined workouts.
He had really attractive broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and even from behind, his presence commanded the room.
A white towel was wrapped low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his tanned skin like he had just stepped out of the shower.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, and in one hand, he held a cigarette, smoke curling lazily toward the open window.
“Hey miss, how was your night?”
I froze.
- Writer
