5 ~ You Just Made My Night

"If it's not too much to ask, I'd like it if you could drop me off around that corner." I mentioned, pointing in the direction leading to the bar I work in.

Raphael raised a brow that said 'really?'

"You got what you wanted yesterday, and I'm still nursing the sore I got from you acting like some animal in heat." I said, rolling my eyes. "It would be most kind of you if you would honor your part of the deal and let me earn a few bucks on my own today. It's been quite a while since I've had time for myself."

"So, you're telling me to leave you alone in that cheap place?" Raphael asked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

"It's where this expensive little rabbit of yours works before you bought me," I retorted. "I'm sure I'll be fine, sir."

A look of surprise crossed his features. "If it wasn't because of last night, I would have doubted your chastity," Raphael said, his lips curving upwards slightly. "But...you really are as pure as an ex-virgin."

He looked at me with amusement, which made me scowl. "Just shut up already! You're making fun of me!"

"Not at all, I assure you."

"I want to do something on my own, without worrying about anyone else. That means you can't come along," I explained, looking straight ahead as I spoke. "I'm going to take advantage of this rare opportunity and get my life back. Even if it does mean working under the same roof as you. So don't even think about following me there."

His lips turned downwards in displeasure. "Fine. Do whatever you wish. Just don't forget who owns you, and who you belong to."

I snarled softly. "I won't," I promised through clenched teeth. "Now, please drop me off. I have things to do."

With no further ado, he pulled away from the curb, taking me to the place I worked.

After dropping me off, he drove away slowly, watching until I disappeared inside the building.

*****

The smell of stale beer, cheap cologne, and sweat clung to the air as I stepped into the dimly lit bar. It was the kind of place where dreams came to die, drowned in whiskey and regret. The low hum of conversation mixed with the occasional clinking of glasses, and the neon lights flickered just enough to remind me that this place was hanging on by a thread.

"You're late," my boss, Victor, called from behind the counter, arms folded, eyes sharp.

I let out a breath. Here we go.

"I know. I'm sorry," I said, walking up to him, keeping my tone level. "My father... he's sick. I had to be there for my stepmother." The lie tasted bitter, but I wore it well.

Victor studied me, his features softening. "Family comes first, but so does responsibility. You should’ve called."

"I know," I nodded, pressing my palms together in a silent plea. "I’ll make up for it."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You’ve been a good worker, Selene. I appreciate that. But don’t pull this again."

I gave a small, grateful smile. "I won’t. Thank you for understanding."

He gave a grunt, then waved a dismissive hand. "Get changed. We’re packed tonight."

With a nod, I headed to change, exhaling the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. At least that went better than expected.

I pulled my coat tighter around myself as I made my way to the back, slipping into the locker room. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting an unflattering glow on the rows of dented lockers. As I shrugged off my coat, my reflection in the small cracked mirror caught my eye. My lips pressed into a thin line.

The uniform.

I hated it.

A black, low-cut blouse that hugged my curves too tightly, paired with a skirt that barely skimmed mid-thigh. It was designed for one thing—attention. Unwanted, leering, suffocating attention. I yanked the hem down and adjusted the neckline, but there was no fixing it. I was stuck in this second skin of exploitation.

“Back to work, Lene?”

I turned to see Carla leaning against a locker, arms crossed. Her dark eyes flicked down at my uniform with a smirk. "You know, you should own it. Some of us would kill for what you have."

I rolled my eyes. "You can have it, Carla. I’d trade places in a heartbeat."

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Like the Boss would ever let his favorite girl go."

The murmurs started as soon as I stepped out of the locker room. The same old hushed whispers, the not-so-subtle glances.

“She didn’t get fired? Figures.”

“She’s probably sleeping with the boss.”

“No way he let her off just because of a sick father.”

“She’s got to have something on him.”

I sighed through my nose, pushing the tray into my hip as I made my way past them. A sharp glare shut most of them up, but a few lingered, eyes burning holes into my back.

Let them talk. They didn’t matter.

What mattered was survival.

"Lene!"

I turned to the source of the voice—one of our regulars, grinning lazily from a corner table.

"Coming," I called, smoothing out my expression into something more pleasant.

*****

The night dragged on like usual. Serving drinks, dodging wandering hands, pasting on a smile that never quite reached my eyes. The regulars called me “Lene” as if the nickname meant something, as if we shared some sort of bond. I let them think what they wanted.

A group of men at the corner table—already deep in their drinks—watched me as I approached. Their leers were like a physical weight pressing against my skin.

“Lene, sweetheart,” one slurred, waving his empty glass. “Why don’t you bend a little lower this time?”

I smiled, all ruse innocence, and poured the drink without so much as an accidental slip of cleavage. His scowl was worth every bit of effort.

“Tease,” he muttered under his breath.

“Respect is free,” I replied sweetly. “You should try it sometime.”

The night was nearly over when the real trouble started.

I had just finished wiping down the bar when a heavy, clammy hand grabbed my apron, yanking me back. My stomach twisted before I even turned.

Drunk. Red-faced. A thick gold chain around his neck, the kind that screamed fake wealth. His suit, too tight across his stomach, did nothing to hide the sloppiness of a man too used to people catering to him.

“Hey now, where you running off to, sweetheart?” he slurred, breath reeking of whiskey and stale cigars.

I carefully pried his fingers off my apron. “It’s closing time. You should go home. I’ll even cover your cab fare if you promise to leave now.”

His glassy eyes narrowed, offense flashing across his face. “You think you’re better than me, girl?”

Here we go.

“You prance around here, acting like you’re untouchable, but you’re just another bar girl in a skirt too short for decency. You’re no different from the rest—maybe just a little more expensive, huh?”

My jaw clenched.

Something in me snapped.

I shoved against him, hard. "Let. Go."

The bar went silent.

The man’s lazy grin twisted into something uglier. "Feisty little thing. I like that."

Before I could react, my boss stepped in. "Sir, we don’t tolerate this behavior toward our staff. I’ll have to ask you to leave."

The man scoffed, waving a hand. And just like that, two of his men stepped forward.

Victor barely had time to register what happened before one of them grabbed his collar, yanking him forward.

"With all due respect, bossman," the drunk sneered, "don't overstep. We were enjoying your bar, spending good money. Don't ruin the night."

He tossed a wad of cash at Victor’s feet like he was paying for his silence.

Something inside me boiled over.

I stepped forward, voice sharp as steel. "Apologize."

The entire bar seemed to hold its breath.

The man blinked at me. Then he threw his head back and laughed. His goons joined in.

"Apologize?" he echoed, amused. "Honey, you should be thanking me. I just reminded you of your place."

My place?

The anger inside me burned white-hot, scalding. My hands curled into fists as I exhaled through my nose. I had been pushed around all my life. Treated like a pawn, a bargaining chip, a body for sale.

Not tonight.

I turned back to the man, my expression softening into something almost… apologetic.

I smiled.

A slow, sweet, dangerous smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” I murmured.

His grin widened. His grip loosened.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“Come closer,” I said, tilting my head as if I was about to share a secret. “I’ll whisper something in your ear.”

The moment he leaned in—

CRACK!

The tray in my hand smashed against the side of his skull with a sickening thud.

Gasps rang out. Chairs scraped against the floor.

The drunk swayed, blinking in shock before his knees buckled. He hit the ground, unconscious, blood trickling down his temple.

Silence.

Then chaos.

His goons lurched forward, snarling. The Boss tried to intervene, but he was already compromised.

I didn’t wait. I grabbed the nearest bottle and shattered it against the counter, the jagged edge gleaming under the dim lights.

“Come any closer,” I warned, breath steady, “and I’ll carve my name into your throat.”

The room held its breath.

Then—

A slow, deliberate clap.

The sound cut through the tension like a blade.

I turned.

And there he was.

RAPHAEL DELANO.

Leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene with amusement, as if this was just another part of the show. His black suit was perfectly pressed, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of the ink that curled across his collarbone.

His eyes—dark, knowing, predatory—met mine.

And then he smiled.

Like he had just found something… interesting.

Something he wanted to play with.

“You just made my night, little rabbit,” he said smoothly, stepping into the bar.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

Because I knew—without a doubt—that whatever came next was going to change everything.