The evening had begun with crystal chandeliers and champagne. Velvet gowns, quiet laughter, and the gentle sweep of strings from a live quartet. I remember thinking how perfect everything looked — almost too perfect, like the calm before something terrible.
Then the first shot rang out.
Bang.
The music stopped. A second of frozen silence passed — like time held its breath.
Then chaos exploded.
Screams pierced the air. Glass shattered as terrified guests dropped their drinks and ran. A waiter tripped, his tray of flutes crashing to the marble floor. Someone shoved past me, nearly knocking me over. The orchestra scattered. Gowns tore. Suits were stained in panic.
And above it all, more gunfire echoed.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
My heels slipped against the marble as I ducked behind a gold-trimmed column, my hands shaking violently. My heart was thudding like a war drum, breath caught in my throat. The smell of gunpowder began to rise, bitter and unmistakable.
Who was shooting? Why?
Then I saw him —
Him.
He moved through the chaos like he belonged to it. My storm-eyed stranger, once mysterious, now something else entirely. His suit jacket was gone, revealing a holster strapped to his shoulder. His hand held a sleek pistol with frightening ease.
This wasn't his first time in a gunfight.
He fired without hesitation. One attacker fell near the buffet table. Another took a bullet to the leg, howling as he crumpled behind an overturned chair. Storm-eyes didn't blink. He moved like water — fluid, efficient, lethal.
And then his eyes found mine.
He started toward me, weaving through the crumbling elegance and carnage. Bullets whizzed past him — one hitting a column with a sharp crack just inches from my head.
"Get down!" he shouted.
"I am down!"
Another blast — this time from the entrance.
Three new gunmen burst in, all masked, all armed with automatic weapons.
People screamed louder. Some froze. Some didn't move again.
He reached me just as a bullet ricocheted off the marble floor. Without a word, he pulled me up and dragged me behind a flipped table.
"You said this night would change everything," I said breathlessly, my body pressed against his, heart racing. "You weren't kidding."
He gave me the ghost of a grin, dark and urgent. "I didn't expect them to show up tonight."
"Who are they?"
His jaw tightened. "People who want me dead — and now, maybe you too."
Bullets pelted the table. Wood splintered. I screamed, covering my ears.
He grabbed a second pistol from his ankle holster, checked the ammo, and handed it to me.
"I don't shoot," I said, staring at the weapon.
"You do now."
I barely had time to respond before another wave of gunfire forced us to move. He took my hand again and ran, pulling me through the wreckage of glitter and fire. My dress tore at the hem, my heels abandoned as I struggled to keep up.
We slid behind a curtain-covered alcove near the ballroom's edge. He reloaded, quickly and silently, then looked at me.
"You trust me?" he asked.
I stared into his storm-filled eyes.
And despite the blood, the screaming, the bullets flying just feet away —
I nodded.
"Yes."
He smirked, then whispered, "Good. Stay behind me."
And with that, he stepped out into the chaos once more, guns raised, as the ballroom descended deeper into hell.
"Escape from the Gunfire – Velvet and Vices"
The ballroom burned behind us — not in flames, but in chaos. The elegance had collapsed into violence, and the velvet-draped walls that once whispered luxury now echoed with screams and gunfire.
He dragged me through the smoke, down a corridor hidden behind a curtain thick as blood. My heels clicked wildly against the floor, but I didn't dare stop. Not when death was still echoing in the ballroom like percussion.
Gunshots cracked again, closer this time. The golden light overhead flickered.
"Left," he barked, yanking me hard. "The exit's behind the wine cellar."
"Why the hell is there a wine cellar in a ballroom?" I gasped, struggling to keep up.
"This isn't just a ballroom," he said, glancing back at me with those storm eyes. "It's a front."
"For what?"
"Wicked things," he replied. "Velvet and vices, remember?"
We burst into a hallway lined with antique portraits. Elegant. Deceptive. Beneath it all, this place was a snake—beautiful and venomous. And we'd just stepped on its tail.
"I saw them," I said between breaths. "Those men… they weren't just after you. They knew who I was."
He stopped. His hand slid around my waist and pulled me flush against him, his breath warm against my cheek.
"They know what you are now," he said softly. "You didn't run. You stayed. That makes you dangerous."
Dangerous. The word pulsed in my ears like a second heartbeat.
"I'm not like them," I whispered.
"No," he said. "You're worse. Because you don't even know what you're capable of yet."
Before I could respond, the door behind us burst open.
Bang! A bullet slammed into the wall inches from my head.
"Move!" he yelled, pushing me forward.
We sprinted. Another corridor. Another curtain. Finally — a locked metal door. He punched in a code. The keypad beeped, then clicked.
He shoved it open.
Cold night air slapped my face. A back alley. Empty. Wet from rain. Salvation.
We ran, feet pounding against the pavement. I didn't ask where. I didn't care.
We didn't stop until the ballroom was a shadow in the distance.
Only then did he turn, breathing hard, shirt soaked in sweat and blood that wasn't his.
"What now?" I asked.
His smile was feral. "Now the real game begins."
And I realized—
The velvet wasn't just fabric.
The vices weren't just pleasures.
And the wickedness?
It had just chosen me.
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