The day had dragged on like a slow, aching memory. Liora's feet felt like lead as she peeled off her apron in the back kitchen, her entire body begging for rest. All she wanted was to go home, maybe cry a little, and forget the weight that seemed to press on her from every direction.
She moved toward the door, but before she could leave, she heard a sudden ruckus erupt out front.
"Liora Wells!" a deep, angry voice boomed from the diner. "Where are you, you little scumbag? It's time to repay your debt!"
Liora froze in place, her breath catching in her throat. Fear surged through her chest like a storm.
Slowly, she stepped out, her legs trembling beneath her. There he was. The man she'd been hoping to avoid.
"There you are," he sneered. "I hope you're with my money."
"I… I…" Liora stammered.
"'I… I…'" the man mocked, laughing cruelly. "Pay up."
"I don't have anything right now," she said, her voice shaking. "But I promise I'll pay by next week. I swear."
"Next week?" His smile turned sinister. "No. I want my money now. If you can't pay with cash… you can pay in kind."
His eyes raked over her body in a way that made her stomach twist. Then his hand reached out, grabbing her waist, fingers creeping downward.
"Please—don't," Liora whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek.
"Hey! Knock it off!" Maria's voice cut through the tension like a blade. She pushed her way between them. "She said she'll pay next week."
"Shut up, old bitch. This is none of your business."
Maria didn't flinch. Instead, she reached into her apron and pulled out a small wad of bills. "Here. This is five hundred dollars. Now leave her alone."
The man snatched the money, greed flickering in his eyes. "You're lucky she paid for you," he growled. "I'm coming back next week. Don't play smart."
He stalked out of the diner, and the room seemed to breathe again.
Liora dropped to her knees in front of Maria. "I'm so sorry for the trouble I caused. I'll find a way to pay you back. I promise."
Maria sighed and helped her up. "Just pay me whenever you have it."
"Thank you," Liora whispered, her voice tight with emotion.
"That's enough. Your shift's over. Head home, kid."
As Liora left the diner, her mind was a mess. How on earth was she going to pay both Maria and the debt collectors?
Her phone rang. She fumbled to pick it up.
"Hello?" she said, trying to steady her voice.
"Is this Miss Wells?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes… I am," she replied, her stomach tightening.
"I'm calling from the Special Victims Hospital".
"The hospital? Is my mama okay?" Liora's voice cracked as fear gripped her.
"Is your mama okay?" the voice repeated, sarcastically. "You haven't paid her bills for this month, and you're asking me that?"
Liora froze.
"Your mama is not okay, and unless you settle her bills, we'll have to halt her treatment," the woman snapped.
"Please… please, I beg you. I'll pay up next week, I promise," Liora pleaded.
"You better," the voice said coldly before hanging up.
The silence that followed was louder than the city noise. Tears rolled down her cheeks, warm and relentless.
Life was cruel. She'd had to grow up far too fast, and it never gave her a break.
Liora didn't know how long she stood outside after the call ended. Her phone was still clutched tightly in her hand, her fingers numb. The harsh words from the hospital echoed relentlessly in her mind.
Her mama wasn't okay.
And it was all on her.
Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away and started walking. She didn't know where she was going—she just needed to move. The idea of returning home, sitting in silence with all this weight pressing down on her, was unbearable.
She walked past street vendors packing up, passed glowing storefronts and flickering signs. The cold air bit at her skin, but she barely felt it. Her body moved, but her mind was adrift.
Then she saw it.
A glowing, modern-looking bar nestled between two tall buildings. "The Velvet Lounge," the sign read in elegant cursive. A sleek black door with gold trimming. Warm lighting and soft music spilled into the night as someone walked out laughing, the scent of perfume and whiskey lingering in the air.
She stopped in her tracks.
This wasn't the kind of place she usually went to. It looked expensive. Polished. Not meant for tired waitresses who could barely afford to eat.
But at that moment, she didn't care.
Just a drink. Just one.
Something to drown the noise.
She pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The warmth of the bar wrapped around her like a blanket—dim lights, smooth jazz humming beneath the chatter, and the faint scent of expensive liquor and cologne.
Liora walked in slowly, her shoes clicking softly on the polished floor as she scanned the room. No one noticed her. Everyone was busy laughing, drinking, and living. For a moment, she wished she could switch places with any of them.
She approached the bar and slid onto a velvet-cushioned stool.
The bartender—a sharp-looking man in a black button-up—gave her a once-over before flashing a polite smile. "What can I get you, pretty lady?"
She hesitated.
Then opened her bag and pulled out the crumpled bills from her apron pocket—her tips for the day. Not much. But enough.
"Whiskey," she said, voice steady. "On the rocks. Keep it coming."
The bartender raised a brow. "You sure?"
She gave a small, humorless smile. "Very."
One drink turned to two.
Then four.
She didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Every time the glass hit the counter, she nodded for another.
The weight of everything—the debt collectors, the hospital, her mama, the constant struggle—settled deep in her chest, and drinking was the only thing that kept her from screaming in the middle of that polished, perfect bar.
Liora turned back to her drink and downed another shot, the burn doing little to silence the storm in her chest.
"Another," she muttered, tapping the glass. The bartender hesitated for a second, then poured. She wasn't his problem.
A shadow loomed beside her.
"Hey there, beautiful," a deep, gravelly voice said. "See you're drinking alone tonight."
She didn't even look at him. "Go away."
He chuckled, ignoring the warning. "Looks like something's bothering you, sweetheart. Why don't you open your mind to me? I'm a great listener."
Liora turned to glare at him, her eyes glassy but sharp. "I said, get lost."
The smile on his face twisted into something darker. "Hey, bitch," he snapped, grabbing her wrist roughly. "How much for a night, huh? You're obviously desperate."
"Let go of me!" she shouted, struggling drunkenly to pull away.
Meanwhile, at the entrance of the VIP lounge…
Lucian stepped into The Velvet Lounge, the familiar ambiance doing nothing to distract him. His steps were purposeful, eyes set on the VIP section where Damien had been waiting for over ten minutes.
But then
A voice.
Her voice.
His steps froze mid-stride. He turned his head slowly, and there she was the green-eyed girl from the diner.
His heart skipped.
She looked different under the dim bar lighting messier, yes, but heartbreakingly vulnerable. And right now, clearly in distress.
A man had his hand on her. She was trying to push him off, slurring, yelling.
Lucian's eyes darkened.
Without a second thought, he changed direction.
Lucian reached them in three long strides.
"Let her go," he said, voice cold, steady, lethal.
The man turned, sizing Lucian up. "Who the hell are you? Her boyfriend?"
Lucian didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the man's wrist—the one still gripping Liora—and squeezed hard. The pervert yelped, releasing her immediately.
"I said leave," Lucian repeated, his voice now low enough to send chills.
The guy muttered a curse and backed off, nursing his hand, but not before throwing Liora one last filthy look.
Lucian turned to her.
Her mascara had smudged, and her green eyes looked hazy with alcohol. Still, she blinked slowly, recognition flickering.
"You," she murmured, swaying. "You're the rich coffee guy."
Lucian raised a brow. "Not exactly how I'm known, but... yeah."
She looked like she might collapse.
Without waiting, he caught her by the waist gently. "Let's get you out of here."
The cool night air hit her face as Lucian guided her out, one arm around her waist to keep her steady. She leaned into him without realizing it, still too dazed to walk straight.
He looked down at her. "Where do you live?"
She blinked up at him, eyes glassy. "Why… you wanna rob me too?"
Lucian huffed a quiet laugh, surprised. "No. I want to get you home."
She wobbled in place, clutching her purse tighter. "No home. Just a room. Not even mine."
Lucian's jaw clenched. He glanced back at the bar, where Damien was probably getting impatient. Then he looked at her—this strange, fierce girl who somehow managed to look heartbroken and untouchable at the same time.
"You really shouldn't be alone tonight," he muttered.
"I'm always alone," she whispered.
That did it.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.
Lucian sighed. He looked toward the VIP section where Damien would be waiting. He typed a quick message: Something came up. Emergency. I'll explain later. "Alright. Come with me. You'll stay somewhere safe." He said to the drunk liora.
The front desk staff didn't ask questions. A man like Lucian, well-dressed, composed, polite, rarely drew suspicion. He paid for a single room without hesitation.
Inside, the hotel was quiet. Comfortable. Private.
Liora collapsed onto the bed without even pulling off her shoes. She stared at the ceiling for a second, then turned to her side and closed her eyes.
Lucian stood awkwardly by the door for a moment, watching her.
He didn't know why he stayed. He could've handed her over to the hotel staff, left a note, and walked away. But something stopped him.
Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes. The way she looked like she was carrying the weight of the world.
Maybe it was because what he had seen didn't sit right with him.
So, he stayed.
He took a pillow and blanket from the cabinet and lay down on the couch across the room. He didn't even bother changing out of his clothes.
He just watched the ceiling and listened to her breathing until sleep pulled him under.
The sun filtered in through the beige hotel curtains, casting a soft glow over the room.
Liora stirred.
Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. Her body ached like she'd been hit by a truck. She blinked against the light, her gaze sweeping across unfamiliar walls.
Where am I?
She sat up slowly, confusion growing into panic.
This wasn't her room. The sheets smelled different. The furniture wasn't hers. Her heart pounded as she turned her head and froze.
There was a man.
Asleep on the couch across the room. Still dressed. His head tilted back slightly, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths.
What the hell…
Her eyes widened. She looked down at herself, frantically checking her clothes. Shirt? On. Jeans? Still zipped. Relief flooded her system as she let out a shaky breath.
Nothing happened.
She closed her eyes and exhaled again, hand pressed to her chest. Then slowly, cautiously, she looked back at the man. Something about him felt familiar.
That sharp jawline. The perfectly tousled dark hair. The broad shoulders.
He stirred.
His eyes blinked open, drowsy at first until they locked with hers. For a moment, neither of them said a word.
Then it hit her.
"You," she whispered, brows furrowing. "You're the guy from the café…"
Lucian sat up straighter, his voice low, calm. "Yeah. That was you, wasn't it?"
Liora's lips parted slightly, still confused, still trying to piece things together. "What... what happened?"
Lucian rubbed the back of his neck. "You were drunk. Some creep wouldn't leave you alone. I couldn't just... leave you like that."
"You brought me here?"
"I figured it was safer than leaving you alone or calling someone you didn't trust. I canceled on my friends and stayed... just to be sure."
She looked at him again. No tension in his posture. No trace of guilt or sleaze in his expression. He looked tired. Honest.
Liora swallowed hard, the weight of last night sinking in.
"I didn't think anyone would do that," she murmured.
Lucian offered the faintest smile. "Well... I'm not just anyone.
Before she could process his words, her gaze darted to the clock on the nightstand.
9:07 AM.
"Oh, shit."
She threw the covers off and stumbled out of bed.
"I'm so late God, I was supposed to be at the diner an hour ago!"
Lucian stood too, concerned. "Do you want me to"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she cut in, grabbing her bag. "You thank you, I mean it. I'll repay you, I promise. Just come by the diner sometime, okay?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but she was already halfway to the door.
"Really, thank you for everything!"
And with that, she was gone, leaving behind only the soft thud of the closing door and Lucian standing in the quiet room, speechless… and oddly stunned.