Avah's POV
Apologize? We'll see about that.
Before I could voice my protest, the manager's hand clamped down on my arm, painfully tight.
"Hey!" I shouted, struggling against his grip, but he dragged me down the hallway like I was some unruly child.
He didn't stop until we reached the staircase leading to the dreaded VIP rooms. My heart dropped. The first VIP room from last night.
No. No way.
"Let go of me!" I snapped, yanking at his hold, but he only tightened his grip.
"Keep your mouth shut and do as you're told, Avah," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice.
Panic bubbled in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. As we reached the door, two enormous bodyguards flanked it. Their impassive expressions didn't falter as they swung the doors open, and the next thing I knew, I was thrown inside like a sack of potatoes.
I hit the floor hard, landing painfully on my butt. Fuck, that hurt.
Before I could even think about standing up, a too-familiar voice chimed, brimming with excitement.
"Pretty girl, you're back."
I looked up, and there he was, the man from last night.
"What is this?" I demanded, struggling to my feet, brushing off the humiliation of being manhandled.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.
"Oh, we are just going to have a little chat," he said, his tone too casual to be comforting.
A chill ran down my spine, but I masked it with defiance. Whatever this was, I wasn't going down without a fight. We will see about that.
Before I could voice my protest, the manager's hand clamped down on my arm, painfully tight.
"I don't have anything to say to you!" I retorted, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"Oh, but you do, my sweet, sweet angel," he replied, his tone dripping with mockery, his grin widening.
Bile churned in my stomach, rising fast. Saliva filled my mouth as the nausea overtook me. Before I could stop it, a loud gag escaped my throat.
The smirk slid off his face in an instant. His demeanor shifted so fast it was almost dizzying. The sly amusement turned into a frown, then into something far darker—anger and disgust.
Shit! Shit!
Before I could react, a hand lashed out, striking my right cheek with so much force that my head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed across my face, sharp and hot. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth where my inner cheek had torn.
"How dare you!" my manager screamed, his voice echoing around the room like a whip.
My cheek throbbed, but I refused to let them see my tears. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
I had made things worse for myself, and I knew it.
Fuck!!
I clenched my fists at my sides, biting down on the pain and the rage that threatened to spill over. The man from last night hadn't moved, just watching the scene unfold, his expression unreadable.
But I wasn't about to beg or grovel. If they thought they had broken me, they were wrong.
Before I could say another word, the door opened, and a figure stepped inside.
The room fell silent.
Every instinct in me froze as the man from the second VIP room walked in. His presence was commanding, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin, exuding power. His dark eyes swept over the room, landing on me.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
"What's going on here?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable edge of authority.
The atmosphere shifted. My manager, who had been brimming with rage moments ago, immediately deflated, his posture shrinking under the man's gaze.
"Sir, I...this is just a misunderstanding. She..." my manager stammered, his tone desperate.
"Silence."
The single word was enough to shut him up. The man's gaze moved back to me, lingering on the redness of my cheek. His eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened ever so slightly.
"Who hit her?" he asked, his voice so cold it sent shivers down my spine.
"N-no one, sir! It's not what it looks like..."
"Derrick," the man called out without looking back.
A tall, efficient-looking man entered the room. His sharp suit and expression mirrored the man's demeanor.
"Yes, boss?"
"Take him," he said simply, motioning toward my manager.
"What??wait! Sir,I... I can explain!" my manager cried out, his voice rising in panic. But Derrick was already moving, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the room like he weighed nothing.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving just the two of us and the silence. I don't even know when they took the pervert out of the room.
The man stepped closer, his gaze unwavering as it locked onto mine.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, but still holding that commanding undertone.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My cheek throbbed painfully, but the intensity of his presence made me forget the discomfort for a moment.
"Don't lie to me," he added, his voice dropping lower.
"I'm fine," I finally said, though my voice came out shakier than I wanted.
His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not convinced. "Your cheek is swollen."
I touched it instinctively, wincing at the sting. The reminder of what had just happened stirred a mix of anger and embarrassment in me.
"It's nothing I can't handle," I replied, my voice firmer this time.
He didn't seem to like my answer. His gaze stayed on me, intense and calculating, as if he were trying to unravel my entire story without me saying a word.
"Tell me his name," he said after a beat.
"What?"
"The man who hit you. Tell me his name."
I hesitated, unsure of his intentions. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undercurrent of danger in his tone, a promise of consequences.
"It doesn't matter," I said, looking away. "He's already gone."
"It matters to me," he countered, stepping closer. "If someone lays a hand on you, they answer to me."
I stared at him, trying to figure out why he cared so much. We didn't know each other. Sure, we had... well, that, but it didn't mean anything. Did it?
"I can handle my own problems," I said stubbornly.
His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're strong. I can see that. But you don't have to fight alone."
His words caught me off guard. There was something genuine in the way he said it, something that made my defenses waver.
"What do you want from me?" I asked cautiously.
"To protect what's mine," he said simply, his gaze unwavering.
I blinked, taken aback. "Yours?"
"You said it yourself last night, Little Moon," he reminded me, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You are MINE now."
My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Was this man serious? Or was this some kind of power play? And why, despite everything, did the sound of his possessiveness make my stomach flutter?