Cela's POV
The city never sleeps.
But tonight, I wished it would.
Neon lights bled through the streets, painting everything in colors too bright for the darkness sitting inside my chest. I drove without direction, without care, until the familiar glow of a bar's sign caught my eye.
Perfect.
If the world wanted to burn, I would drown in the flames.
I pulled over, killed the engine, and stepped out. The cold night air bit into my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my veins. My heels clicked against the pavement as I walked toward the entrance, ignoring the way strangers' eyes followed me.
Inside, the air reeked of alcohol, perfume, and smoke. The bass from the speakers thumped against my chest like a second heartbeat. Laughter and broken dreams clashed together, drowning out my thoughts.
I found a spot at the bar, sliding into a stool with practiced grace, even though I was crumbling inside.
The bartender glanced at me. "What's your poison, miss?"
"Vodka. Straight. Don't stop pouring."
He raised a brow but didn't argue. Soon enough, the glass was in my hand, and the burn of alcohol slid down my throat like fire and ice all at once.
One glass turned into two.
Two into five.
By the time I lost count, the world around me had begun to spin in slow motion.
Zed.
His name haunted every corner of my mind. His betrayal replayed like a cursed film reel I couldn't escape. His hands on Isabel. Isabel's mocking smirk.
I slammed my glass down harder than I meant to. "Another," I demanded.
The bartender hesitated. "Miss, I think you've had—"
"I said another!" My voice cracked, raw with fury.
He gave in, sliding the drink toward me.
I wanted to forget.
I wanted to erase the memory, the sting, the pain.
But the more I drank, the sharper it cut.
A man slid into the stool beside me. Tall, broad shoulders, his presence heavy enough to make the air shift. His cologne was expensive, intoxicating, laced with danger.
"You look like hell," he said, his voice smooth but commanding.
I turned my head sharply, ready to snap back, but the words died on my lips.
Because his eyes—dark, sharp, predatory—were unlike anything I'd ever seen. They weren't drunk. They weren't empty. They were alive, calculating, studying me like a puzzle he intended to solve.
"And you," I shot back, "look like trouble."
His lips curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Maybe I am."
Something about him unsettled me. He wasn't like the drunk men around us, desperate for attention. He carried himself with power. Authority. Like he didn't need to announce who he was—everyone already knew.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because," he leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear, "you don't want to be drinking alone tonight."
I scoffed, downing the rest of my glass. "Trust me, I'd rather drink alone than with some arrogant stranger."
But my words faltered when he reached over and smoothly plucked the empty glass from my hand, setting it aside. His fingers brushed mine, sending an electric jolt up my arm.
"I'm not just some stranger." His gaze pinned me in place. "And you're not just some girl, are you?"
I froze.
How the hell did he see right through me?
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing… yet." He leaned back, swirling his own drink lazily. "But I can tell—you're running from something. Or someone. And people like you? You don't run. You fight."
His words struck deep. A dangerous truth I didn't want to face.
"Leave me alone," I whispered, standing from my stool. The alcohol made me sway, but I forced my legs to move.
He didn't stop me, but his voice followed, low and deliberate. "Careful, princess. The wolves come out at night."
---
I stumbled away from the bar counter, weaving through the crowd. The flashing lights painted strangers' faces in red and blue, but everything blurred together.
I pushed through the back door and into the alley, desperate for air. My head spun, my vision tilting. I pressed against the wall, gripping it for balance.
Tears welled up again, hot and relentless. "Damn you, Zed…" I hissed, my voice cracking. "Damn you and that snake Isabel."
I wanted to scream until my throat bled. Instead, a sob tore out, raw and bitter.
My knees buckled, and I sank to the ground, hugging myself as if that would stop the ache in my chest.
But before the darkness swallowed me whole, heavy footsteps echoed nearby.
A shadow loomed over me.
I looked up—and there he was again. The stranger from the bar. His silhouette cut against the neon glow, tall, commanding, dangerous.
"You followed me?" I asked, my voice slurred, though my heart pounded faster.
He crouched down, his hand bracing against the wall beside me. Close. Too close. "I don't follow. I hunt."
I shivered, though not from the cold.
His hand reached out, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. Unlike Zed's touch, which once felt like warmth, this man's touch was fire—burning, claiming, unyielding.
"You're too beautiful to cry over someone unworthy," he said softly, almost like a warning.
I blinked at him, confusion clouding my drunken haze. "You don't even know me."
"Not yet," he murmured. "But I will."
Something inside me snapped again—but this time, not from pain. From something darker. Wilder.
Because for the first time tonight, I didn't feel weak. I didn't feel abandoned.
I felt seen.
And it terrified me.
---
He helped me to my feet, his arm steady around my waist. My body leaned into his without permission, drawn to the strength he radiated.
"What's your name?" I whispered before I could stop myself.
He smirked, his lips close enough to brush my ear. "You'll find out soon enough, princess."
And just like that, he walked me out of the alley, his presence wrapping around me like a shadow I couldn't escape.
Who was he?
And why did it feel like the moment our eyes met… my fate had already been sealed?