Diane couldn't sleep properly. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Llewllellyn leaning in, his breath brushing her skin, the heat of his body, the closeness that almost stole her sanity. She would snap her eyes open, desperate to chase the memory away. But even with her eyes wide, her senses betrayed her.
They kept dragging her back to him.
To Llewllellyn.
To that handsome, infuriating trouble.
His words..."and you know what's worse… you want to" it echoed in her chest like a forbidden whisper. A small, unsettling knot curled in her stomach, and she shivered despite herself.
Maybe she did want to be his date.
Maybe she did want to go to the party with him.
She wanted to—but he had already hurt her pride for her to admit it. And that was the problem, Llewllellyn was dangerously magnetic.
The way he spoke, the way he lowered his voice like it was meant only for her ears… he made it impossible for her to simply say no.
Her eyelids eventually grew heavy. And finally, she drifted into sleep, still haunted by him.
Morning arrived too fast like someone slammed breakfast on a table she wasn't ready for.
Today was the party, today she had to secure her family's safety. Today she had to face him.
The curtains stirred as sunlight leaked through her blinds. Still half-asleep, her mind jolted awake at the reminder of what this day meant. The knot in her stomach returned, bigger, heavier, almost nauseating.
Her phone buzzed.
"Your address."
She stared at the message. Her jaw tightened.
Then she remembered—Rick.
She typed back: "I thought you already know everything about me. Find it yourself."
She tossed the phone onto her bed.
Rick read the text, tested and amused.
He replied with one simple word: "Fine."
Diane didn't check it.
She showered, stepping out with a towel around her neck and droplets sliding down her wet hair. But she froze.
Clara was already on the floor, surrounded by makeup palettes, eye shadows, lip gloss, eyelashes, brushes, foundation, a full battlefield laid out for war.
Diane blinked.
Clara pointed her brush like a general issuing orders.
"I did my research. Llewllellyn only hangs out with classy girls, and you… well, you're not in that category."
"…Clara?" Diane muttered, offended.
"What?" Clara shrugged. "Honesty builds confidence."
No, it didn't. Not this kind.
"Be fast. Have you even picked a dress?"
"No. I'll wear one of my occasional dresses."
Clara gaped. "Diane..."
A sharp, expensive-sounding horn blasted outside.
Both girls whipped their heads toward the window.
A sleek, black, impossibly classy car sat in front of their tiny house.
"Oh. My. God. That car!" Clara practically screamed, pressing her hands to the glass. Her jaw dropped. "The interior...Diane, look at the interior!"
Diane didn't need to look. She already knew. Rick.
She checked her phone again.
"Fine."
The simplicity of it felt like a challenge thrown and accepted.
"Clara," Diane started, "go tell the driver I'll be..."
"You don't have to tell me twice!"
Clara vanished before Diane could finish, bolting out of the room in pure excitement.
The man sat in the car, patience worn thin. He grabbed his phone with a sigh.
"Hey, I'm at the house… And why did you insist I do this? Rick, I look helpless." Jecey complained, the frustration dripping from his voice.
"You're the only one I can entrust Llewellyn's date to, Jecey," Rick replied calmly.
"I hate you," Jecey muttered and immediately hung up.
Still grumbling, he stepped out of the car and straightened the suit he absolutely didn't want to wear.
"I even had to wear this stupid thing just to 'pick her up,'" he hissed to himself as he walked to the gate, one hand in his pocket. With the other, he pressed the doorbell.
Two seconds passed. Nothing.
"Do people not live in this house?" he complained loudly.
The gate creaked open. Clara stepped out, first her foot, then a slow reveal of her face as she flipped her hair dramatically. Jecey blinked once, unimpressed.
Clara froze as soon as she registered who stood before her.
Jecey.
Fourth head of Llewellyn's inner circle.
A man with eyes like he'd fought through wars and boots that looked like they'd smashed skulls for a living.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"J–Je… Jecey," she breathed, her voice trembling.
He stared at her, already irritated.
"J–j–Jecey, hey what?" he mocked her stutter, stepping closer, just enough for intimidation to settle in her bones. He didn't even hide it, this was simply who he was.
Clara braced herself, expecting a barked order… but instead he thrust two shopping bags toward her.
"Take this. I'm waiting in the car. Don't take forever to dress up...please," he said dryly, thinking she was the one he came to pick up.
But before her hands could reach the bags, he let them drop.
"Oops," he smirked, the corner of his lip lifting in pure, petty satisfaction.
To him, it was justice, because she annoyed him.
And the fact that a high-ranking gangster like him was being forced to pick someone up already irritated him.
He turned and walked away.
Clara waited until he was out of earshot before muttering, "What a jerk."
She hurried inside.
Clara burst into the room, breath shaky, and Diane already in a simple dress looked up mid-stride as she tried to fit her heel.
"What's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost." Diane asked.
Clara didn't even blink. She simply pointed behind her with a stiff finger.
"Jecey is outside."
Diane frowned. "Who is Jecey?"
"One of Llewellyn's trusted gang members," Clara said, voice tiny.
Diane froze. "Llewellyn's what?" She straightened slowly, shoe forgotten. "No wait. I knew someone was picking me up today, but not...not a gangster."
Clara raised a brow. "Did you think a taxi would come for you? Are you serious?"
Diane pushed her hair back, panic rising. "Okay no. I'm not doing that. Going to some party with a gangster? I'm not built for this. I'm just trying to save my family from a 'vicious guy,' not ride shotgun with one of his men!"
"Shut up!" Clara snapped, then inhaled, exhaled dramatically.
"Okay. Calm down. It's just a party. You'll show up, do what you need to do, and we'll be free. Honestly, you caused all this."
Diane looked away. True or not, the word "gangster" was doing too much damage to her imagination.
Clara's gaze drifted to the shopping bags outside the door. She hurried to them and her jaw dropped instantly.
"Oh. My. God."
She lifted the gown from the bag, and the white fabric shimmered under the soft glow of the room. Delicate lace traced the curve of the shoulders and dipped along the waist, teasingly transparent in all the right places. The gown flowed short, just dangerously perfect and elegant on the edge the right kind of temptation. It whispered of wealth, the kind of wealth that spoke Llewellyn's name.
Diane's mouth parted in shock.
"…That dress looks like it belongs at a royal wedding."
"And you're wearing it," Clara said, practically hugging the gown.
"I'm not wearing that," Diane declared.
Clara pressed it against her own body and posed in the mirror like a runway model.
"Why not? This dress is nice."
"It's too revealing!" Diane pointed at the lace sections. "Clara, the lace covers nothing."
"But it technically covers something," Clara argued, already pulling out the matching heels.
"How am I supposed to walk into a party wearing that...with him watching?" Diane nodded toward the doorway, imagining Llewellyn's intense gaze.
"That's exactly why you should wear it."
"How does that make sense?!"
"So he can see every curve," Clara said with a wicked smile.
Diane instantly covered her chest with both arms as if Llewellyn were already staring at her from the doorway.
"Clara!" she hissed.
"Maybe you'll fix things with him," Clara teased, tilting her head, "or maybe… make him forget everything else."
Diane blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Clara didn't answer. She was too busy diving into the rest of the bags.
"Oh my gosh—Diane, the cosmetics here cost more than my whole life!"
Her laughter filled the house loud, dramatic, uncontrollable.
From inside the car, Jecey heard every bit of it. His jaw tightened. He pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, trying but failing to block out the noise.
They were wasting his time, laughing too loud.
Of course he was annoyed. That was just Jecey being Jecey.
Finally, they stepped outside.
Diane wore the dazzling gown, though she had wrapped a thin scarf tightly around her neck to hide her chest, and she kept her hands glued to her sides to cover the exposed cut-outs. Despite her attempts to hide the dress, she looked effortlessly stunning. The shoes fit her perfectly, and the small bag hanging from her right shoulder completed the look.
She and Clara stood beside the car, waiting for Jecey to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door.
He did not.
They waited ten whole minutes.
Still nothing.
Clara's patience snapped. She marched to the window and knocked sharply. The glass slid down at an agonizingly slow pace, clearly on purpose.
Jecey looked at the two of them and immediately frowned. He expected Clara to be dressed for the evening, but instead it was someone else standing there… someone who looked strangely familiar.
Diane avoided his stare, but when she glanced up and met his eyes, her memory clicked.
That dangerous-looking man with the war-hardened eyes…
Oh no.
He was the one who had been hovering around her the day she stepped out of the bus.
Jecey leaned forward, squinting. Recognition lit his expression.
"Bodyguard lady?" he said, equal parts amused and annoyed, mostly annoyed.
Diane tried to hide behind her hair, but her hands were too busy covering the gown.
"Where are you running to?" Jecey teased, but she refused to answer.
"Okay, Diane, get in," Clara urged.
Diane shook her head violently. "No."
The muttering between the girls drove Jecey over the edge. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.
A deafening horn blasted through the air.
"Are you going or not!" he barked.
Clara turned on him. "Open the door for her!"
Jecey stared at her like she had suggested he wash her clothes.
"Open it yourself. Do I look like a butler?"
Clara actually took a step forward, ready to fight him, but Diane grabbed her arm.
Jecey scoffed. "What, are you waiting for your prince charming to open the door for you? He's not here."
Before either of them could reply, Clara raised her phone and took a photo of him.
Jecey flinched. "Why are you taking pictures of me?!"
"Evidence," Clara said boldly.
"Evidence?" Jecey groaned. "Man, I didn't sign up for this. I swear I'll kill Rick after this job."
At that moment, Diane finally slipped into the car, in the front seat, right beside him.
"Wh...why are you sitting here?" Jecey panicked, scooting a little away from her.
"Because I don't trust you," Diane said plainly. In her mind, a gangster was a gangster. If he wanted to kidnap her, he easily could.
Jecey groaned under his breath. "Boss is going to kill me."
"What?" Diane asked.
"I wasn't talking to you," he snapped.
He started the engine, gripping the steering wheel like he regretted being alive.
"Bye! I'm rooting for you!" Clara whispered excitedly as they pulled away. She quickly snapped a picture of the plate number too.
As the car disappeared down the street, Clara stood there clutching her phone.
"I can't believe I met a real gangster today," she murmured, half terrified, half thrilled
They drove in silence at first. Diane sat stiffly, hands folded on her lap, wondering for the tenth time if riding with a gangster was truly safe. Rick was in the gang. Now Clara claimed this man, Jecey, was a trusted member. Trusted by who? Llewllellyn? That didn't comfort her at all.
Then Jecey cut through the silence, voice sharp.
"What exactly did you do to my Boss?"
Diane blinked at him, startled.
"W..what?"
He scoffed.
"That day, he shielded you… and now he's making me pick you up? What did you do to him?"
She had no answer. She didn't even understand it herself. So she stayed quiet.
Jecey snapped his head toward her.
"Wow. You don't reply when people talk to you?"
His eyes lingered too long. Diane flinched.
"P–please look at the road."
He barked out,
"Don't teach me how to drive!"
"I'm not! I can't even drive," she protested.
"Ohhh, that's why you tell other people to look at the road?" Jecey shot back loudly.
Diane gripped the seatbelt so tightly her knuckles whitened.
"What kind of emotional support is this…" she whispered under her breath.
Then suddenly, the car stopped. Abruptly and hard enough to make her jolt forward.
"W-why did we stop?" she stammered, eyes wide with fear. Was this it? Was he going to put a black sack over her head? Drag her to some gang hideout?
But Jecey only pushed open his door, walked around, and swung her door open.
The contrast between the gesture and his annoyed face made no sense. She stared at him, confused.
But the moment he stepped aside, Diane understood why he suddenly acted "polite."
Someone else was standing there.
Standing tall, composed, wearing black suit and carrying a cold presence.
Her eyes rose slowly until they met his...
Llewllellyn.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He simply stared as if he had been waiting for her long before the car stopped moving.
Her breath hitched. She couldn't move.
Slowly, Llewllellyn walked toward her. Every step was steady, controlled, powerful. The closer he came, the harder her heart thumped against her ribs.
She dropped her gaze, unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes.
Then his hand; warm, large, steady—touched her jaw. Gently, so gently that she froze.
He tilted her face toward him with the slowest, softest motion… like he was afraid she'd break.
"Are you…" his voice was low, velvet and dangerous, "…too flustered to look at me?"
Diane didn't want to look, she couldn't, he was too close. Too captivating. Too everything.
But his hand stayed on her jaw, thumb brushing her skin like an unspoken command.
She had no choice but to meet those deep, captivating eyes.
And the slight smirk that touched his lips told her that the real game was only just beginning.