Chapter 8: Hero to the Rescue
1302 Words
The bathroom door, just barely opened, was suddenly shoved wide—several girls rushed in, shoving Evelyn Collins until she crashed against the marble sink behind her.
Her hip slammed hard into the edge. Pain flared up in waves, sharp and unrelenting.
She frowned, looking at the girls now crowding in. Their faces were all too familiar—they were the same overdone, overdressed girls from the private room.
Such delicate, pampered greenhouse flowers, Evelyn thought with a hint of irony as she glanced toward the door.
Bar patrons nearby had started whispering to each other, drawn by the commotion.
“If you get down on your knees and beg right now, you might still save some face,” one of them sneered. “Otherwise, once things get ugly, you'll only embarrass yourself!”
Her brother was the future heir of the Scott family—who dared to speak against him?
Emily Scott smirked triumphantly, reaching out to gently pat Evelyn's face twice, eyes glinting as she licked her lips.
“Trying to play tough just ‘cause you've got numbers on your side?”
Evelyn turned her face away from the slap, her naturally elegant and serene features making her stand out starkly amid this gaggle of girls caked in makeup.
“Little sis,” she said quietly, “Have you ever heard the phrase *there's always someone stronger than you*?”
Emily froze, clearly not expecting Evelyn to keep up the sass. Her face twisted with rage, and she snarled through gritted teeth, lifting her hand high.
“b***h—”
She aimed to slap Evelyn across the face—when suddenly, a crisp knock echoed through the small restroom.
The sound silenced everyone.
They all turned toward the door.
“If you're underage, I'll have to call the cops on you,” came a lazy, cool voice.
Leaning against the doorframe was **William Collins**—legs crossed, half-smiling. His tone was casual, but the interruption landed like thunder.
His eyes, deep and unreadable, seemed to drift aimlessly—yet never left Evelyn Collins.
When Evelyn exhaled with obvious relief, a faint crescent smile lifted his lips.
The moment she saw him, Emily Scott's eyes lit up with uncontrollable joy.
She instantly forgot what she was doing and rushed toward him with a delighted cry:
“William!”
The girl's shy and delicate demeanor—so completely opposite her earlier arrogance—made the transformation jarring.
William barely nodded in acknowledgment, then walked straight past her, heading for Evelyn like a divine knight descending from the clouds.
He held out his hand.
“Leaving, or what?”
Evelyn hesitated for a second, then placed her hand in his. The moment their fingers met, his grip tightened protectively.
“W-wait! Miss Scott—”
A girl with chin-length blond hair stepped in their path, glancing anxiously at Emily for direction.
But William's aura instantly darkened. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by cold fury.
His gaze locked onto the girl like a blade.
“Move,” he said.
Just one word—chilling and suffocating.
The anger he'd been holding on ever since witnessing what happened to Evelyn now poured out of him in waves.
The poor girl, like Emily, had no real courage when met with actual resistance. Her legs gave out, and she fell to the floor, bursting into tears.
Evelyn, still half in a daze, suddenly felt herself being pulled forward. She stumbled slightly, but followed William's long stride out of that cramped, suffocating space.
She glanced back—only to find Emily Scott glaring at her, hatred radiating from her eyes like ice shards.
There was no doubt now—she had thoroughly provoked her spoiled and spiteful sister-in-law.
Evelyn Collins sighed.
Now that they had made their way far from the private room, she began tugging at her hand, which William Collins still held tightly.
“You can let go of me now,” she said.
She stopped walking, her gaze flitting around—to the chaotic crowd of dancers and the glimmering shelves of the bar—but carefully avoiding William's eyes.
They had clearly drawn a line between them the last time they met.
And yet, somehow, they were tangled together again.
The thought frustrated Evelyn to no end.
Just as she was brushing his hand away in irritation, William suddenly slipped an arm around her slender waist and, finding a gap in the crowd, pulled her onto the dance floor.
The packed space forced Evelyn close to his chest.
With the sensual rhythm of the music in the background, her body was led involuntarily by William's confident steps.
The heat, the music, the closeness—it all made her cheeks flush scarlet, and her heart pounded out of control.
She pressed both hands against his chest, trying to escape, but just as she was about to push away, she felt his warm breath against her ear.
Her body froze in shock.
“Isn't it a bit early to burn the bridge you just crossed? I *did* just save your ass in there,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy, somehow cutting through the noise straight to her core.
“I didn't ask for your help!” she shot back, defiant—but clearly flustered.
Though in truth, the moment she saw him through the restroom door, she *had* felt a flicker of hope.
She *had* expected him to step in.
“Oh? Then who was it giving me secret hand signals earlier?”
William smirked, mercilessly exposing her bluff. His large hand slid lower along her waist.
His bold touch made Evelyn panic—people were still jostling behind her, pressing her against him, her chest flattening against his.
She was so overwhelmed she nearly cried.
Every carefully built wall of composure, every bit of forced calm—always shattered in William Collins's presence.
Even a rabbit will bite when pushed too far.
Summoning a burst of strength from sheer desperation, Evelyn suddenly pried his hand off her with surprising force.
She turned and pushed her way through the crowd, fleeing without looking back.
She didn't see the way William's face darkened.
All she could think about was getting out. She stumbled along the dance floor, frantic, scanning for the exit.
But then, in the next second, her body froze—
Frank Scott.
He was there, searching for her.
Before she could react, a long arm reached out from behind, pulling her back into a firm embrace.
“Caught you.”
William's voice was amused, but his expression changed the moment Evelyn buried her face against his chest.
She stayed there, hiding, until Frank Scott's figure faded from view.
Only then did she lift her head, her face flushed from holding her breath too long.
She looked up at William awkwardly and tried to play it off.
“This bar is... packed. Uh, what are *you* doing here anyway?”
Could it be Emily Scott really had the audacity to call him over?
After a pause, his voice came from above her head.
“Because I *own* this bar.”
By the time she sat inside William's car, Evelyn's mind was completely blank.
She slumped against the window, her forehead pressed into the glass in defeat, repeatedly pulling at the door handle.
She refused to look at the man beside her, who had already locked the doors.
“Evelyn Collins.”
William watched her childish stubbornness with a faint chuckle, then suddenly spoke her name—
With surprising seriousness.
There were so many things he wanted to say.
Why did she marry Frank Scott?
Why did she treat *him* like a stranger?
But the words caught in his throat, again and again—
And in the end, he swallowed them down.
- Writer
