After a while, Alexander left the bar and stepped outside. His head spun violently, vision blurred into streaks of light, his body betraying him with every uneven step. He accidentally bumped into someone, then his knee slammed hard against a heavy table. He tilted down, gripping his knee, his jaw tightening—not just in pain, but in irritation.
Everything is testing my patience today, he thought, a silent curse curling in his mind.
The bar had been overflowing with women, thick with expensive perfume and desperate attention. Every girl had tried to brush against him, cling to him, exist in his orbit—but his drunken eyes had grown heavier and heavier until the world itself began to fade.
Darkness.
Silence.
The noise dissolved slowly, like it was never real.
He felt… weightless.
Floating.
Free.
For the first time, there was no burden, no power, no name—nothing. Even Alexander Thorne meant nothing here.
Only a vision.
Faces like reflections in water—unclear, shifting, yet impossibly perfect. Among them… one.
A face glowing like moonlight over a restless sea.
"You…" he tried to speak, his voice trapped somewhere between breath and silence. Oh my goddess… it hurts to look at you…He was numb he couldn't move his body he tried but he realized he was dreaming,
or
maybe not !
"Argh—whattt the hell is wrong with you?!!"
His voice snapped the air like a whip.
Alexander shot upright, eyes bloodshot and burning with rage. His shirt clung to his body, completely soaked. Water dripped from his wavy black hair, sliding down the sharp lines of his face—over his high cheekbones, down the rigid cut of his jaw.
Each drop traced his skin like it had permission.
His lips—dark red, almost unnatural—tightened as water touched them, like crushed pomegranate staining flesh. His veins stood visible along his neck, a cold blue against his skin, pulsing with restrained fury.
Even drenched, disoriented, furious—he looked untouchable. The kind of man people didn't admire… they feared admiring.
"Who gave you the right—" his voice dropped suddenly, dangerously quiet, "—to lay a hand on me?
"Relax," she said, unimpressed. "You looked less like a man and more like a corpse five seconds ago."
His gaze snapped to her—sharp, dangerous.
The room felt colder.
Fiona stood there, a bucket still in her hand, water dripping from its edge onto the already soaked floor.
"Welcome back,.," she said flatly, her gaze not shifting for a second.
No fear.
No apology.
Nothing.
"You… you were in the club," Alexander narrowed his eyes, trying to steady his vision, though his tone remained sharp as a blade. "What happened to me? And what kind of behavior is this?" His lips curled slightly, disgust flickering across his face. "Helping someone without knowing who they are… or do you simply lack basic sense?"
"That depends," Fiona replied, her voice cold enough to cut through his arrogance. " Who you are?"
For a second—
Just a second—
Something dark flashed in Alexander's eyes.
Not surprise.
Offense.
"How amusing," he said softly, a humorless smile touching his lips. "Someone ignorant enough to say that to my face."
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Even weakened, his presence pressed down like weight.
"How interesting," he said quietly. "You speak as if you already know the answer."
"Oh, I do," Fiona cut in, her tone now edged with cold clarity. "Everyone does."
She took a small step closer—not enough to challenge, but enough to show she wasn't retreating.
"Every man, every woman, every child knows your name," she said. "Not because they admire you…"
Her eyes held his.
"…but because they're afraid that if they don't, you'll blow them up like toys and walk away like nothing happened."
Fiona didn't move
The height difference between them was quite big he was taller in real life than in TV , she thought to herself
Silence ..
"You're right," he went on, straightening his cuffs as if nothing mattered. "I do have the habit of erasing inconveniences." His eyes flicked back to her, sharp, merciless. "And you… are dangerously close to becoming one."
Silence.
Heavy.
He speaked again more calm more lethal
"You seem very confident for someone standing this close to me," he said quietly. "Confidence without power is just another form of stupidity."
He stepped past her, his shoulder almost brushing hers—intentionally close.
Then he stopped.
Just slightly.
Without turning back.
"And listen carefully," his voice dropped to a near whisper, calm enough to be terrifying, "if I ever decide you've crossed a line…"
A pause.
"You won't disappear loudly."
Another step.
"You won't even realize when it happens."
Fiona felt it then.
Not just fear—
But the realization that this man didn't need to prove anything.
That made him worse.
Alexander walked past her, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of danger and something far more unsettling—
Control.
Absolute, merciless control.
Fiona stayed there numb
She was disgusted
Fiona hated the few words she had exchanged with him in bar without realizing who he was because of the darkness
Fiona stared out the window, her thoughts a whirlwind of anger and disgust. She watched closely as Alexander got into the black luxurious car parked on the street, and the guard closed the door behind him. As the car disappeared into the distance, Fiona clenched her fists, unable to shake off the memory of the brief, but unnerving encounter she had with the man she hated. She hated the way he had spoken to her, the way he had belittled her, and the way he had completely overpowered her with just a few words. She was revolted by him.