His obsession with red heels

Out came her foot - just as the cab door shut - the sharp c***k splitting the quiet street air. A sudden tilt, then down went the shoe's back edge, broken clean at the stem. “Perfect,” Luna said quietly, the chill of the evening hitting her face. Out the corner of her eye, a cab vanished down the road - no chance to speak up, just stuck now by that velvet curtain doorway. One shoe snapped at the ankle, crimson piece lying crooked on asphalt. Her balance tipped, weight leaning on flat sole. Bank number blinked low: twelve naira sitting there, nothing more. Darkness fell like a bad omen. The air felt heavy right from the first hour. Bent low, Luna held the slender strap of her shoe. Sideways dangled the heel, as if done with everything. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Behind the massive dark doors, music throbbed like a heartbeat. Along the road, luxury vehicles sat parked, their motors murmuring faintly as suited figures exhaled smoke from cigars costing far more than she paid each month for her apartment. There she stood. Broke. Late. Just a single misstep from landing hard on the ground. Again. “Need help?” A sound low and heavy reached her ears from the back. It wasn’t close at first, yet it filled the space just the same. Spinning around, Luna came face to face with a guy whose looks annoyed her - too perfect, too sharp. He stood there, the kind of man who seemed designed just to make things difficult. He stood tall, his frame filling out a black suit that fit like it was made just for him. Broad shoulders gave him an imposing presence, hard to ignore. Those dark eyes watched everything, cutting through lies before they even formed. Sharp might be too soft a word - more like they could pull secrets from strangers. Dangerous. Quiet by nature. The quiet type. Which was worse. “I’m okay,” she answered right away. Down went his eyes, landing on her snapped shoe. The c***k ran deep through the worn plastic base. “You don’t look fine.” “I said I’m okay.” A small smile tugged at one corner of his lips, as if her annoyance entertained him. Luna had never liked him much. Still, her feelings were clear from the start. A figure dropped down just before she had time to react. Surprise flickered across her face when he lifted the snapped heel, careful in his hands. Definitely rich. Definitely arrogant. He’s just handsome enough to cause trouble. “You can’t go in there like this,” he said calmly. “And why do you care?” Up his gaze went, meeting her stare at last. “Maybe I’m curious.” Heat crept up her spine the moment those words left his mouth. Luna stiffened, shifting her weight as a jolt of unease twisted inside. Not once had someone so confident come near without an angle in mind. Men like that never showed up without a reason. “I work there,” she explained. “So unless you magically carry spare heels around, I’ll survive.” A shadow rolled next to their feet. The vehicle stopped without sound. Out came the driver, fast. "Mister," he said Sir? A coat came off a man she did not know, passed toward her hands. He slipped it free without speaking. Luna frowned. “What’s this for?” “To cover your feet.” “What?” “The pavement is dirty.” Her eyes locked on him, as if he’d just spoken nonsense. A pause hung between them, sharp and quiet. “You want me to wrap your probably-expensive suit around my shoes?” “Yes.” “That’s insane.” “And yet your feet are still bleeding.” Luna looked down. A line of red ran along her ankle where the strap snapped. Great. A figure rose without a sound. "Took your time," came the words Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?” “You keep checking the time.” Okay. Creepy. Just then, the club doors swung wide open, cutting off her chance to reply. “Luna!” her manager hissed. “Where the hell have you been?” Out of nowhere, she sprinted ahead. "It's me - I've arrived!" A sudden stillness came over him when he saw the figure standing next to her. His whole expression shifted suddenly. Fear. Real fear. Right off, Luna saw it. She didn’t miss a beat - there it was, clear as anything. He spoke soft, that manager did, when he said the name. Head bent down like something heavy pulled it. The man kept silent. A pause filled the space between them. Words never came. He just stood there, still. Luna looked between them. De Luca. Something about the name tugged at a corner of her mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d come across those words. Whispers. Rumors. Warnings. Her stomach tightened. Noah De Luca. The owner of Velvet Rouge. He was the subject folks kept hushed. Quiet glances followed his name. Voices dropped when he came near. Even whispers seemed too bold around him. A figure said to hold sway over fifty percent of the urban sprawl. Oh. Oh no. Her gaze found his, moving like syrup through time. He had begun to watch her before she noticed. Not casually. Not politely. Intensely. As if his eyes landed on a clue worth chasing. A thing meant to stay in his hands later on. Something cold crept along her back. A breath of citrus cut through the air as Noah drew near, just inches away now. His scent lingered like a whisper against her skin, sharp and clean. A trace of spice followed, subtle but impossible to ignore. The space between them tightened without warning. “You sing at eleven,” he said softly. Luna swallowed. “How do you know that?” A shadow passed across his face. The look in his eyes shifted, just a little. “I know everything that happens in my club.” Out came a smooth black card when his fingers dipped into the pocket. It moved fast, landing quietly in her palm before she could blink. “No more taxis,” he said. “Use the driver outside after your shift.” Luna stared at the card. “I can’t accept this.” “You can.” “I don’t even know you.” His lips curled into something sharp. Not kind. Not warm. A warning hiding behind teeth. “You will.” Then he walked away. Just like that. Out of nowhere, the bouncers pulled the club entrance wide as people close by stiffened their spines without thinking. He moved through life with power close behind. It stayed near, never forced. Effortlessly. Her eyes dropped to the dark card resting in her palm. NOAH DE LUCA No number. No address. A single word pressed into the surface, cool and bright. Metal catches light where it sits. Letters rise softly under fingertips, silent but clear. A figure stepped close - her manager now standing at her side without warning. “What did he say to you?” Luna blinked. “Nothing.” His face dropped. “Not even a single thing?” “He offered me a ride.” White drained from her manager's face. “Luna…” he whispered carefully, “do yourself a favor.” “What?” “Don’t let that man become interested in you.” Too late. Far across the space, Noah De Luca stayed still in the shadowed edge of Velvet Rouge, a glass of whiskey resting un-drunk where he held it. Watching her. Years went by without it happening once… His eyes stayed locked, though he ruled the shadows without mercy.