The hum of the night still echoed in Isabella's ears as she stepped into Emily's apartment. The air felt colder than usual, despite the early summer evening breeze brushing against her skin. Emily, usually carefree and joking, had gone unusually silent after the incident with the luxury car. They both had tried to laugh it off during the drive home, but the lingering tension clung to their shoulders like a weight neither of them could shake.
Isabella sat at the edge of the couch, her mind replaying the image of the man—tall, composed, and unreadable. His voice had been calm, yet it pierced her core like a knife hidden beneath velvet. He had looked at her like he knew her, like her soul had once passed through his hands. And when he drove away without asking a single thing from them, that silence was louder than any threat.
Emily emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a robe, her hair damp and eyes still wide from disbelief. "I still can't believe that just happened," she muttered.
"I know," Isabella said softly. "It was him."
"Him?" Emily asked, drying her hair with a towel. "The man from the club? Are you absolutely sure?"
Isabella nodded, but a shadow of doubt flickered in her eyes. "I never caught his name, but I recognized him. His aura… it's the same. It's unforgettable."
Emily sank beside her, still holding the towel. "Well, it seems like he recognized you too. That look… it wasn't just casual. He was watching you. It was like everything else disappeared for him."
Isabella's chest tightened. She couldn't deny the strange pull she felt toward him. That moment in the parking lot, his eyes had locked on hers and it felt like the world slowed down. But she didn't even know his name.
Later that night, Isabella couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in the guest room, her thoughts clouded by the man's image. She had questions, so many of them. Who was he? Why did he save her at the club? And why had he not told her his name?
At some point near dawn, her curiosity won. She slipped out of bed and returned to the living room, where her purse lay beside the couch. From it, she retrieved the matchbox from the club—Nocturne. She had kept it, oddly drawn to the name. On the inside, scribbled in dark ink, was a single word: "Azrael."
Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at the name like it would vanish if she blinked. Was that him? Did he write this?
The next day, Isabella kept to herself. Emily tried to distract her with pancakes and girl talk, but her thoughts remained entangled. That evening, when the sun had dipped low, a knock came at the door.
Emily opened it casually. "Oh, hi. Can I help you?"
A man in black stood there—Xaren. The same assistant from the day before.
"I'm here to deliver this," he said with a polite bow, handing over a sleek black envelope. His eyes met Isabella's. "From my employer. He wishes to see Miss Isabella."
Emily opened her mouth, stunned, but Isabella stepped forward and took the envelope. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened it. Inside was a simple note, handwritten in elegant strokes:
You left before I could speak to you properly. Nocturne. 8PM. I'll be waiting. – Azrael
Her heart pounded. The name she had only just discovered now felt more real than ever.
"Should I be worried?" Emily asked once the door closed.
"I don't know," Isabella admitted. "But I need answers."
At exactly 7:45PM, she arrived at Nocturne. The club was quiet, too early for the crowd. A sharply dressed man led her not into the main area but through a private hallway, down a spiral staircase she hadn't known existed.
The path led to a dimly lit lounge, scented faintly with wine and cloves. There, seated with a glass in hand and a gaze fixed on her even before she fully entered, was Azrael.
He didn't rise. He simply tilted his head and said, "You came."
"I had questions," she replied, stepping closer. "Starting with your name. I found it written in the matchbox. Did you leave it for me?"
He smiled faintly, the curve of his lips both elegant and unnerving. "Yes."
"Azrael," she said, tasting the name aloud. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because names are power," he said smoothly. "And I wasn't sure if you were ready to know mine."
His eyes held hers, calm yet consuming. "And now that you do, Isabella, what will you do with it?"
She paused, unable to answer. Everything about this man felt dangerous, yet irresistible.
"I don't know," she admitted.
He stood then, and for the first time, she noticed the slight movement in his shoulders—like a predator sizing up his prey.
"Then stay," he said. "And let the night decide for you."
She hesitated for a moment, her instincts screaming both warnings and curiosity. But she followed him, the door to her old life quietly closing behind her as another, darker one creaked open.