Isabella had been drinking, but she was still relatively sober. As she stepped out of the bar, she leaned against the wall, her vision blurred by the endless stream of tears cascading down her cheeks.
Her misty eyes, heart-wrenching behind her glasses, were hidden beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. Dressed in a professional, no-nonsense suit with her hair neatly pulled back, she was an odd contrast to the bar’s glitz and glamor. Yet, none of that mattered—her mind was consumed by the unbearable scene replaying in her head.
Against her parents' wishes, she had left Asheville, chasing love to this unfamiliar city for Nathan—the man she had been devoted to since college. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, her best friend Hailey had betrayed her, her boyfriend had discarded her, and they had slept together.
The memory burned. Nathan’s indifferent gaze as he held Hailey in bed haunted her. His words sliced through her like a blade:
"I'm sorry, Bella. I don’t want to live a life without passion. We've been together for four years, and I can’t even hold your hand without permission. I’m not a monk. Besides, Hailey is more beautiful, and more considerate than you, and most importantly, she satisfies me. Do you even know how it feels when her creamy thighs wrap around my waist?"
Disgust twisted in her stomach. Isabella tilted her face upward, forcing back her tears. The love, the promises—they had all vanished like smoke in the wind.
The alcohol swirled in her system, making her steps unsteady as she moved forward. Then—she crashed into someone.
Before she could react, she was shoved aside with force.
"Damn it, blind woman! Watch where you're going! How dare you bump into me?"
The impact sent her stumbling, her glasses flying off. Her hair, once neatly secured, tumbled down her back like a dark waterfall, partially obscuring her delicate, tear-streaked face.
Pain flared through her limbs as she struggled to push herself up, but before she could, a heavy boot pressed her back down.
"Let me go!" she gasped, her voice shaky but defiant.
The man she had bumped into sneered, crouching down as his companions loomed behind him.
"Tch. Up close, you're just some dull, washed-up woman—nothing worth looking at. But bumping into me? That means you don't get to just walk away."
Isabella gritted her teeth, every nerve in her body screaming in protest. But she refused to break.
"Don't touch me!"
Before the yellow-toothed punk could so much as raise his hand, a sudden gust of force sent him flying. His body twisted midair before crashing onto the pavement with a dull thud.
A tall, imposing figure emerged from the neon-lit haze, stepping into view with effortless dominance. Under the flickering lights, his chiseled profile came into focus—sharp jaw, cold eyes, and an aura that sent an unspoken warning. With deliberate ease, he unbuttoned the front of his military-style shirt, the muscles beneath shifting like coiled steel.
Brushing the dust from his uniform pants, he let out a low, amused laugh. It was a sound that sent a chill skittering down the spines of those watching.
A few of the punk’s companions rushed forward, emboldened by numbers. The stranger barely acknowledged them. His fingers curled slightly, his stance shifting by an inch—and then, in a blur, he struck. A sharp crack echoed through the alley as he twisted a thug’s arm, breaking it as effortlessly as snapping a twig.
In less than a minute, the once-menacing group was in full retreat, limping, stumbling, disappearing into the night.
He hadn’t even broken a sweat.
The air around him vibrated with sheer authority. The two bars and four stars on his uniform gleamed under the city lights, a clear mark of his rank and rigorous training. Yet, it wasn’t just the insignia that commanded fear—it was him.
The smirk never left his lips, though it never reached his eyes. Those who had lingered, hoping for a show, quickly dispersed under his unyielding gaze.
Isabella, still trembling, slowly lifted her disheveled head. The haze of alcohol and fear had cleared, leaving her breath hitching as she took in the man who had just saved her.
Their eyes locked.
Dark. Intense. Depthless. His gaze pulled her in, drowning her in something she couldn't quite name. He was unlike anyone she had ever met—sharp as a blade, powerful as a storm.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The man’s brows drew together slightly as he took in her delicate features. Without thinking, he crouched before her, his fingers brushing aside the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. Silky. Soft. He lingered longer than necessary, as if reluctant to pull away.
"Can you stand?" His voice was deep, velvety, like a rich baritone that sent a shiver down her spine.
Isabella tried to look away, tried to ground herself, but her body refused to cooperate. Every nerve in her being was attuned to him.
She bit her lip, pressing her hands to the cold pavement to push herself up—only to gasp as strong arms suddenly swept her off the ground.
Warm. Steady. One hand cradled the bend of her knee, the other threading through her hair as if he had every right to touch her.
"Put me down!" she squeaked, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as her breath hitched.
He barely spared her a glance as he strode forward.
"What’s the problem? Would you rather lie on the ground and continue being the city’s latest spectacle?" he murmured, amusement dancing in his tone.
Isabella opened her mouth to retort, but her words got caught somewhere between her throat and her rapidly beating heart.
Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp cut of his jaw, the shadow of stubble, the high bridge of his nose, the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt—every inch of him exuded strength.
She swallowed, her fingers twitching against his shoulders, unsure where to place them.
"What’s your name?" she finally managed, her voice a breathy whisper.
She didn’t know why she asked. Maybe it was the alcohol or the rush of adrenaline. Maybe it was the way the night had unraveled her. Maybe it was the way his very presence demanded to be known.
Whatever it was, she had made a decision.
Nathan and Hailey’s mocking voices still echoed in her mind. The sting of betrayal, the weight of years wasted—it all burned inside her.
She wasn’t going to be the same Isabella anymore.
Ethan reached the sleek black car parked by the curb, his grip on her unwavering as he opened the door and set her down in the passenger seat. His breath was warm against her skin, his movements smooth, controlled.
His gaze flicked over her once more. The crisp office suit, the restrained elegance, the carefully controlled exterior.
Why did she hide herself like this?
The moment her glasses had fallen, he had seen her clearly—her beauty raw, vulnerable, unmasked. Even with tear-streaked cheeks, even with the weight of sorrow in her eyes, she was breathtaking. A fallen angel amid a chaotic world.
Something in his chest tightened.
Finally, he answered, his voice low, measured.
"Ethan."
Isabella exhaled softly, fingers clutching the edge of her skirt.
Then, before her courage could waver, she turned to him, her voice barely above a whisper—yet each word carried the force of a storm.
"Would you like to have a one-night stand with me?"