ADORA’S P.O.V“I like how you smell.”

His eyes didn’t move away from mine. They looked at me, steady, with confidence, and worst, they were daring. His hands brushed a strap of my blond hair that covered my face. My fingers tapped the counter anxiously. I wasn’t sure of what would happen next, and I wasn’t comfortable with the way he was getting close to me.

“You always act like this to a stranger?” I asked.

Earlier, he had grabbed my tight, heavy, and possessive, much uninvited. My whole body went still. The music was too loud for anyone to hear the way my breath caught, but I felt it.

“Only to the ones who look like they could ruin me,” he replied softly, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. “Let’s have fun, let me make you feel….” His voice was low and masculine, his breath brushing my ear as he spoke.

“Don’t...” I said, barely louder than a whisper. I shifted away, but his fingers didn’t. I could see him smile, the kind of smile that promised trouble.

"I think I need to use the restroom," I coughed, moving away from him, my arms pushing the glass slightly as some wine poured.

His eyes scanned me from head to toe, his lips curving to one side in a devilish smile.

He didn’t stop me.

I turned, walking fast as my heart raced. I could still tell he was looking at me from behind. I couldn’t help my legs as they directed me to the restroom.

The door slammed behind me, muffling the noise of the club, not the chaos that was in my head. I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers were shaking as I turned on the tap, the water rushed out louder than the thoughts in my head. I scrubbed my hands like I could wash away the panic that was in my chest. I wished the water could erase the way his touch still clung to my skin.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered to myself. My head lifted as I met my reflection.

One more time, I looked at the mirror, then I turned, finally walking away.

I walked slowly, my eyes moved around, scanning the environment in search of Nichole. I needed to leave there; I wanted to go home.

I returned to the booth, but then I froze at what I saw.

Nichole was already straddling Don, their eyes were closely opposite each other, laughing, and their lips were too close.

"Seriously?" I muttered. I didn't have a problem with Nichole, as I already knew her social nature and how naughty she could be with anyone she found interesting.

But Don? This man in a suit had tried to seduce me earlier; I hadn’t been gone for so long, and he was with Nichole already.

I was already tired of the night and wanted to go home, so I turned and left. The club felt suffocated now.

The drive home was very quiet. The roads were empty, yet my mind was full.

I walked into the house, kicking off my heels, and my hands gradually moved down to my ankle, massaging my temples.

“Dad, I’m home!” I called out, dropping my bag as I walked towards the living room.

The living room lights were unusually on.

“Dad,” I called out again, my eyes finally falling at the sight of him. But he didn’t reply to me. Worst of all, he sat at the round table with unusual men surrounding him.

My pulse quickened. “Dad…?”

The room fell silent, my eyes moved from side to side, and the men in suits turned their eyes to me. I looked at them; they surrounded my dad in some kind of weird way. I was waiting for a reply.

But my dad sat there, cold, with his hands resting on his knees, his eyes lowered like he didn’t get to look at me.

“You,” I said, surprised as one of the men stood as our eyes met. And that was when it hit me, I had seen him before, I lowered my gaze to the other men, I had seen them all earlier, before I left with Nicole for the club, I thought they were waiting for someone, but here they were, sitting comfortably in my living room, and worst, they made me feel intimidated. They all looked the same; they looked tall, serious, and even more dangerous.

But it wasn’t the man who stood that caught my attention.

It was the man sitting on the single chair at the far end. The one that backed me.

“What’s going on here?” I swallowed hard. But there was no reply, not even from my father.

Something about the men felt cold.

Slowly, the man turned. My breath caught. For a moment, I couldn’t move.

"You," she whispered.

It was Don, or maybe not. He was the same man from the club. The one with whom I had felt uncomfortable. My eyes scanned him; it was the same strong jaw and same sharp eyes that made me feel small just by looking at me.

But there was one difference: this man had no scar on his face, his skin was smooth, his expression was even colder, and worst, it was empty.

"Adora," My dad finally spoke, his voice was breaking. "Please... listen."

"What's going on? Who are they?" I asked, looking between my father and a supposed Don.

"My name is El-Cana," the man said quietly. His voice was deep, and it echoed in the living room. His voice was the kind that didn’t need to be loud to be obeyed.

El-Cana? I blinked. My hands folded into a fist; maybe I was dreaming. He looked just like the man from the club, the one who had a scar on his face.

In fact, they had the same eyes, the same sharp jaw, and the same quiet power.

My chest felt tight. What was happening?