Curiosity got the better of them.
Someone from the group pointed toward the cordoned-off section, eyes wide. "That's the VIP area, right?"
"Do you think they'll actually stop us?" another girl whispered, already half-standing.
Kaya's eyes sparkled. "Only one way to find out."
Aria opened her mouth to protest—then sighed, laughing. "You people are trouble."
Before she could change her mind, the group drifted closer, slipping past the divider in a wave of confidence and giggles, blending in just enough to not immediately raise alarms.
The VIP section was… different.
Quieter, yet heavier. Plush sofas. Bottles on ice. People who looked like they owned cities instead of attending reunions.
Aria instantly felt out of place.
Kaya, on the other hand? Thriving.
She leaned closer to Aria. "Relax. Worst case, we get kicked out."
That was when Ron noticed her.
He was mid-laugh, drink in hand, when his eyes landed on Kaya standing near the edge of the section, holding her glass and scanning the room like she belonged there.
Black dress. Confident posture. Busy expression.
Ah, he thought. New staff.
Ron stood and casually stepped closer, flashing his trademark grin. "Hey," he said smoothly, tapping the edge of her glass. "Didn't know they hired angels as servers now."
Kaya blinked. "…What?"
Ron chuckled. "Relax, I won't complain. Though I will need another drink."
Aria, standing just behind her, froze.
Kaya… don't you dare.
Kaya tilted her head slowly, realization dawning—then mischief followed immediately. "Oh," she said sweetly. "You want a drink?"
Ron leaned in, clearly entertained. "From you? Absolutely."
She smiled brightly. "Then you'll have to wait. I'm off duty."
Ron laughed, genuinely this time. "Funny. Playing hard to get?"
Kaya crossed her arms. "No, playing not an employee."
That wiped the grin off his face—just for a second.
Ron glanced around, then back at her, eyebrows lifting. "Wait. You're not—?"
"Nope," Kaya said cheerfully. "Just a very nosy guest."
From the sofa, Lucien's eyes lifted briefly at the sound of Ron's laughter cutting sharper than usual.
His gaze drifted.
And for the first time that night—
He saw her.
Not fully. Just a glimpse. A girl standing slightly behind her friend, eyes calm, observant, entirely unimpressed by the VIP chaos around her.
Aria felt it—the weight of someone watching—and looked up.
Their eyes didn't meet yet.
But the distance between them had just shrunk to something dangerous.
Ron shook his head, amused. "Well," he said, raising his glass, "in that case—welcome to the wrong section."
Kaya grinned. "Story of our lives."
And just like that, fate stopped warming up…
…and stepped onto the dance floor.
Ron stared at Kaya for half a second longer.
Then he grinned.
The kind of grin that meant someone was about to regret being interesting.
"Well," he said, smoothly setting his glass down, "since you're not staff and you're already trespassing VIP territory… congratulations."
Kaya blinked. "On what?"
"You've just been promoted," Ron said, grabbing her wrist lightly before she could react, "to my evening entertainment."
"What—HEY—" Kaya yelped as he tugged her forward.
Aria's eyes widened. "Kaya!"
"I'm fine!" Kaya shouted over her shoulder, half-laughing, half-panicking. "I think. Maybe. Aria if I die, delete my search history."
Ron laughed, already pulling Kaya toward the center of the VIP area where music throbbed harder, lights flashing brighter. "Relax," he said. "If chaos were lethal, I'd be dead by now."
"You have issues," Kaya shot back, trying—and failing—to pull her hand free.
"Certified," Ron replied cheerfully. "Now dance."
"What if I don't dance?"
Ron leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Then I dance. And trust me—you don't want that kind of attention."
Kaya snorted despite herself. "You're insane."
"Flattery," he said, spinning her lightly as the beat dropped.
Against her will—traitor body—Kaya laughed.
From the sofa, Lucien watched the scene unfold with mild disinterest… until his eyes drifted past Ron.
Aria stood where Kaya had been left behind, fingers curling around her glass, posture tense but composed. Her eyes followed her friend, protective instinct written plainly across her face.
She wasn't laughing.
She wasn't flirting.
She was assessing.
Laughter spiked too loud. A boy—reckless, drunk on attention and alcohol—cornered one of Aria's friends near the bar rail. He leaned in too close, crowding her space, pressing a glass into her hand.
"Come on," he slurred, grinning. "Just one drink. Don't be boring."
She shook her head, trying to pull away. "I said no."
He laughed—and pushed the glass closer.
That was it.
The glass shattered in Aria's hand.
The sound cut through the music like a gunshot.
She had already moved.
Before anyone could process what happened, Aria closed the distance and drove her foot straight into the boy's chest. He flew backward, crashing into a table, bottles clattering to the floor.
The entire VIP section froze.
Music thumped on, clueless.Every head turned.
The boy groaned, scrambling to get up—only to be met with Aria's glare, cold and lethal. "Touch her again," she said evenly, "and you won't walk out of here."
Lucien didn't flinch.
He took another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes dark, watching.
Kaya saw it.
And without a second of hesitation, Kaya dropped Ron's hand and charged.
"Oh hell no," she muttered.
One of the boy's friends lunged forward.
Big mistake.
Kaya slammed her elbow into his jaw, spun, and swept his legs out from under him. Another grabbed her arm—Aria was already there, twisting his wrist and shoving him face-first into the floor.
What followed wasn't chaos.
It was precision.
Aria and Kaya moved like they'd done this before—backs aligning instinctively, attacks clean and brutal. A punch to the ribs. A knee to the stomach. A sharp kick that sent someone sprawling. Men went down fast, shocked more than hurt, completely unprepared for the fury they'd picked a fight with.
Security shouted somewhere in the distance.
Too late.
The last boy stumbled back, hands raised, fear finally dawning.
Aria stepped forward once.
He ran.
Silence fell.
Breathing hard, Kaya brushed hair out of her face and laughed breathlessly. "Reunion's going great."
Aria checked on their friend, then straightened slowly.
That's when she felt it.
She looked up.
Across the VIP section, Lucien had finally stopped smoking.
His eyes accidently locked on her.
Recognition struck—sharp and immediate.
The alley.
Ron turned his head at the same time, grin fading into something sharper. "No way," he murmured. "That's her."
Lucien didn't answer.
Aria met his gaze without fear, without apology.
They shared the same look.
Confirmation.
The girl from the alley.The fighter.
Ron let out a low chuckle. "Guess your condition just found legs."
Lucien's lips curved—not a smile, not yet.
But interest burned dark and undeniable.
The security arrived in a flurry, grabbing both Aria and Kaya despite the obvious truth—they were defending their friend. But power and money talk louder than logic in this club.
"ID. Reservation. Proof you belong here," one of them barked, dragging Aria's arm roughly.
Aria's and Kaya's eyes met, fire lighting between them.
"We've already beaten him enough," Aria muttered under her breath, lips curling. "And apparently, that wasn't sufficient."
The boy they'd just taken down laughed, leaning against the bar like he owned the world. "Arrest them," he sneered. "Let's see how they handle real consequences."
Aria and Kaya exchanged a glance, smirks rising even as they were manhandled. "Oh, this much?" Kaya whispered, "Not enough to satisfy him, huh?"
Before the argument could escalate further, one of the security guards gave a sharp nod. "Out. Now."
In one swift motion, they started to push Aria and Kaya toward the exit.
That's when Lucien moved.
He charged forward like a shadow breaking into the light, every muscle coiled and controlled. Ron followed seamlessly, energy practically vibrating with mischief.
Lucien reached the girls in seconds. His dark eyes locked onto Aria. "Where were you?" he demanded, voice low and sharp. "I've been looking for you all this time."
Aria froze for half a heartbeat—but her fire didn't waver.
Ron leaned casually toward Kaya, flashing that dangerous grin of his. "Baby," he said, voice teasing, "why leave the dance floor so suddenly?"
Kaya's eyes rolled, but her smirk was undeniable. "This man," she muttered, "was behaving cheap."
She nudged Aria. Aria understood immediately. Without hesitation, she moved closer to Lucien, clinging just enough to make her point.
Lucien's eyes darkened, sharp and attentive, following every subtle movement.
Aria tilted her head up and let the word slip, low and deliberate: "Darling."
The single word—seductive, hot, deliberate—hit Lucien like a jolt. His chest tightened, muscles flexing almost instinctively, the world narrowing to the sound of her voice. For a moment, the problems, the chaos, the anger—they all melted into a pulse that started in his gut and spread outward.
Aria leaned in slightly, eyes locked onto his. "And still," she murmured, voice low, teasing, "the security is daring to throw us out."
Lucien's jaw tightened. That smirk, dangerous and unreadable, returned to his face. "Not on my watch," he said, voice like silk over steel.
Ron, never missing a beat, raised his eyebrows. "Finally… some proper fun."
The guards froze.The VIP section froze.Even the beaten-up man in the corner gulped.
Lucien stepped closer to Aria, body tense, presence absolute. "I said, where were you?" he repeated, though this time, it wasn't a question—it was a statement, dark and deliberate.
Aria's lips curved into a mischievous smile. She leaned just slightly against him, enough to send heat into the space between them, enough to make Lucien forget—just for a moment—everything else in the world.
The music pounded, lights flashed, and chaos waited… but at that moment, only the two of them existed.
Lucien's gaze slid from Aria to the security guard—a single, piercing look.
The guard froze. His confident posture crumbled like paper in wind.
"I'm… I'm sorry, ma'am," he stammered, bowing slightly, hands raised.
Aria and Kaya exchanged a glance, eyes widening just slightly. They'd seen it—money, power, influence—how easily it could bend someone to one look. Just one.
Aria's lips curved faintly as she looked back at Kaya. "I will not stay a moment longer in this arena," she said coolly, voice carrying equal parts disgust and authority. "It's filthy… and disrespectful."
Lucien's eyes darkened for a heartbeat—a small smirk forming inside him. The girl wasn't just brave; she had standards. Standards he didn't often see, and certainly not in this world.
Kaya's gaze swept over the beaten men lying on the floor, sneers still lingering from earlier. Her expression hardened. "I also cannot stay in a place full of dirty wolves," she said, her tone final.
With that, the two of them turned—shoulders straight, heads held high—and walked toward the exit.
No hesitation.No glance back.
Not at the guards.Not at the sneering men.Not at Ron.Not at Lucien.
They were already gone, leaving behind only the faint echo of footsteps… and the unmistakable mark of a presence that refused to be tamed.
Lucien leaned back, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, eyes following them just long enough to register admiration.
Ron, sitting beside him, whistled low. "Well… someone just flipped my entire night."
Lucien didn't respond—his gaze still on the door where the two girls had vanished into the night.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Lucien and Ron finally tore their eyes away from the departing girls.
Outside, the night had grown colder, shadows stretching across the pavement. Leaning against their cars, both men exuded effortless control—Lucien with quiet, dark intensity, Ron with his usual dangerous ease.
A group of men huddled near a dim streetlight, beating someone mercilessly.
The man screaming and pleading on the ground—the one who had caused the chaos inside the arena—looked up, eyes wild. "Please… please, leave me!"
Lucien's gaze settled on him briefly. Cold. Deadly. Piercing. Then, without a word, he turned away, cigarette smoke curling into the night air. Not an ounce of pity. Not a flicker of interest. Just observation—and silent judgment.
Ron, sipping casually from his glass, didn't even glance at the man. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Boys," he said lazily, "dispose of it. Clean up the mess. Fast."
The men nodded nervously, scattering immediately to carry out the order.
The defeated man on the ground whimpered, understanding that luck and power were rarely on his side tonight.
Lucien straightened, hands sliding into his pockets. The street was silent again, save for the soft hum of the city beyond.
Ron smirked, nudging Lucien. "That's it. All neat and tidy. Girls gone, trouble gone. Perfect night."
Lucien didn't answer, but the dark curl of a smirk tugged at his lips.