The Rusty Anchor roared with noise, a heavy bass thudding through the floor while the speakers sputtered out a glitchy electronic beat. The sound bounced off the bar’s stained concrete walls. Everything about the place was old and worn, its exposed beams dark from years of smoke and grime. The air was thick with the sharp scent of expensive cologne and the sticky sweetness of spilled cocktails.

Selina stood at the counter, her small frame swallowed by the chaos around her. Her apron was caked in grime over a faded black top, and her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun that exposed the hollows of her pale neck. Her hazel eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and shadowed by dark lashes, flicked over the crowd as she mixed a gin and tonic. The glass was cold against her cracked fingers. The words that had carried her through the morning, “We’ll find a way”, were lost in the noise and flashing lights.

Billionaire brats filled the place, laughing too loudly in their tailored blazers and overpriced sneakers. They were a cloud of privilege, glittering, careless, and mean people. They leaned across leather booths, waving platinum cards, barking orders like they were owed the world. Their entitlement built walls Selina couldn’t climb.

She moved quickly, dodging groping hands and sneering faces as she carried a tray of martinis, her heart racing from the pressure. “Hurry up, dammit, Selina, booth three’s going crazy,” yelled Joey, the skinny bartender and supervisor with a bald spot and a permanent snarl. His voice cut through the noise. She nodded quickly and grabbed the tray, careful not to spill as she made her way through the crowd.

She reached booth three, where a group of smug rich kids sat lounging like kings. Their hair was slicked back, their eyes glassy with vodka and power. As she set down the tray, moving with practiced precision, one of them, a blond guy with an annoying smirk plastered to his face and a Rolex that probably cost more than her entire life, lunged forward. His hand grabbed her ass, his fingers digging into the fabric of her jeans.

Heat flooded her face, a mix of shame and fury rising in her chest. Without thinking, she spun around and smacked his hand away, the sound loud and sharp over the music. “Fuck off, asshole!” she snapped, her voice raw and shaking, like something had cracked inside her.

The blond jerked back, his smirk twisting into something darker. “You little bitch!” he shouted. His friends laughed, pounding the table as martinis sloshed over the sides.

Selina froze, her hand still stinging. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. Reality slammed into her. Ethan. The razor-thin line she had been walking. And now this.

Joey stormed over, his scalp gleaming under the lights, face twisted in fury. “What the hell, Selina?” he shouted, grabbing her arm hard and yanking her back. “You do not touch the customers, ever! You’re fired. Out!”

Her stomach dropped. Panic rose in her throat. “No, no! Joey, please!” she cried, the tray slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. “Please, I need this. My brother needs this job. My brother’s dying!” Her voice cracked, desperation flooding every word.

The crowd stared. Some were amused, others annoyed. None of them cared. Joey glared at her with venom. “Well, you should’ve thought of your precious little brother before you went batshit on a premium customer, you fucking psycho. Get your shit and go, now!” He shoved her hard, and she hit the ground.

The room spun. Laughter echoed around her like knives. All she could see was Ethan, slipping away. No job meant no hospital bills. No hospital bills meant no Ethan.

Sobbing, she stumbled into the back room, grabbed her things, and rushed outside. The stale night air hit her lungs. She leaned against the rough concrete wall behind the building, her hands shaking, hoodie clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

A tall figure stepped beside her, silent. She looked up and froze.

Damian Blackwood.

He stood over her, calm and sharp in his black coat and starched shirt. His hair was slicked back from a face made of hard lines, and his gray eyes cut through the shadows like they could see everything.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic battled with something else, something hotter and more confusing. She pressed her back against the wall, clutching her apron like it could protect her.

“Please,” she cried. The word tumbled out of her, raw and broken. Her knees were shaking. “I... I need help.”

She didn’t know why she said it. But she knew she meant it. She didn’t care about her pride. She would beg the devil himself if that meant saving her little brother.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. Something flickered in them. Interest, maybe. He stepped closer, his boots quiet on the pavement, his presence wrapping around her.

“I saw what happened, you mentioned your brother in there,” he said, as he nodded towards the bar, his voice low and smooth but with a steel edge underneath. It made her flinch.

She nodded quickly, her throat too tight to speak clearly. “He’s very sick. And if I can’t pay the hospital bills, he’ll die.” Her hands trembled as tears kept falling. She felt small, exposed. Humiliated. She was begging this man, this man whom she barely knew, the same one who had left her a hundred-dollar bill like it was nothing.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was deciding what she was worth.

“Work for me,” he said. The words weren’t a suggestion. They were an order.

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

He was closer now. She could smell the faint scent of cedar from his coat and feel the warmth of him cutting through the night.

“I own a private bar,” he said. “You’ll get paid more than whatever you were making in that dump. And your brother lives.”

His words felt like a lifeline and a trap all at once. Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths. But she nodded. She didn’t have a choice.

Damian turned and headed toward the street. She followed him, stumbling a bit to keep up with his long strides. Her hoodie dangled from her hand, her fingers still stinging.

They passed by the front of the bar. Joey caught sight of her, sneering from behind the counter.

Selina smirked, met his eyes, and mouthed, “Fuck you,” before walking out of the Rusty Anchor forever.

She couldn’t believe what had just happened. But whatever it was, it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.