Chapter 21 The Restroom Ambush
••Luciana••
My heart raced in my chest ever since Roman's fingers brushed against mine, and the longer I lingered in that hall, the more suffocating my surroundings became.
“I’m… heading to the restroom,” I said, striving to keep my voice steady. He gave a brief nod, already diverting his gaze elsewhere, and I slipped away before my racing pulse could betray my anxiety.
The restroom was eerily quiet—too quiet for comfort.
Bathed in soft golden light, with polished marble underfoot and the faint echo of my heels, I approached the sink, turned on the tap, and splashed cool water onto my face. The sudden chill brought a momentary relief, though it was only temporary.
I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, eyes sparkling with tension.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered to myself.
Though my breathing steadied, the unease lingered.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere made the hair on my arms stand on end, as if the room had exhaled behind me.
Someone was here.
The restroom stalls remained closed and silent, but I knew silence could be deceiving. I straightened up, tilting my head to listen intently. A faint scuff, or a held breath—something felt too heavy to be mere coincidence. My fingers grazed the strap of my thigh, feeling the cold steel of the concealed knife hidden beneath my gown. The chill grounded me in the present.
Slowly, I opened the first stall.
Empty.
The second stall too.
Also empty.
As I reached for the third, a sudden snap echoed in the air.
A gloved hand shot forward, clamping over my mouth and yanking me backward. My knife slipped from my grasp, clattering across the tiles. I felt my back slam into a solid body— heavy and masked, that breathed heavily against my ear.
I kicked, elbowed, and twisted, desperate to shift my weight.
His grip tightened around me.
Panic surged through me, fiery and frantic.
I managed to stomp down hard on his shin. He grunted, loosening his grip, and I clawed at his arm, sinking my nails into his fabric, almost breaking free—
Then the door burst open.
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••Roman••
I've never been one to fear anything. I’ve trained myself to rise above it.
Yet the expression on her face before she left—wide-eyed, distracted, almost trembling—haunted me longer than it should have.
I tried to shake it off, diverting my focus to scan the room. Allies mingled with enemies disguised as friends. Some watched too closely, while others seemed to ignore everything.
That’s when I spotted him.
A man perched in the corner, sliding his gaze away the moment our eyes locked.
Something was not right.
I shifted my attention towards the hallway where Luciana had taken.
Why was she taking so long?
An instinctive whisper edged into my mind, commanding and relentless.
Go.
I moved swiftly.
As I neared the restroom, the sounds of a struggle grew clearer; muffled thrashing, something crashing against tiles, a faint, strangled cry. I didn’t consider the danger.
I didn’t hesitate. With a powerful kick, I flung the door open, rattling the hinges, and froze for a moment.
Luciana was caught in a fierce struggle, pinned against the stall, the masked assailant squeezing her tighter. Drops of blood marked the floor beneath them, and her knife lay just out of reach.
Everything around me narrowed to a single point.
In two swift steps, I crossed the space.
My fist smashed into the man’s jaw with such force that he stumbled sideways, releasing her grip. Seizing the back of his collar, I slammed him against the wall and landed another punch to his ribs. He fought back, striking my side, desperately trying to regain his footing.
In a quick move, he slipped from my hold, darted toward the window, and leapt through it before I could grab him. The sound of his escape reverberated in my skull like the crack of a gunshot.
I turned instantly—she mattered more.
She pressed her back against the tiles, one hand supporting her weight as she gasped for breath. The color had drained from her face, and her left arm glistened with a thin, fresh wound.
“Luciana.” My voice emerged low, rougher than I had intended. “Are you hurt?”
She blinked up at me, struggling to regain her composure.
“It’s… just a cut,” she murmured.
I scanned her quickly checking for deeper injuries, bruises, or signs of shock. Her hand trembled, and her lips parted as if searching for breath.
Then her gaze met mine.
For the first time since I’d known her, the walls around her began to crack—revealing a vulnerability I had never seen before.
I stepped closer, and she didn’t back away.
“You’re safe now,” I said quietly.
Her breath hitched…and for a moment, she closed her eyes.