Prologue

"Let go of me, please!"

Despite her dizziness and weakness, Arwena fought hard against the man who was dragging her out of the bar.

She kicked and pushed him desperately, hoping to break free. But no matter how hard she tried, he refused to let go. His grip on her waist tightened, and he was practically carrying her.

"Stop fighting if you don't want to get hurt," he said, his voice sharp and commanding. He grabbed her face roughly, forcing her to meet his cold, menacing gaze.

Arwena's cries faltered briefly, her chest heaving with fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her heart pounded so hard she couldn't hear anything else.

Without warning, he grabbed her neck and slammed her into the hood of a car. Her scream was cut short when the cold metal pressed against her back, leaving her breathless and stunned.

"Please, let me go. I don't want this," she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. Her hands pushed at him weakly, shaking as she averted her gaze from his looming presence.

"Stop acting like you're some innocent virgin," he sneered, his words full of malice. "On the dance floor, you looked like you were inviting every guy in to fvck you."

Arwena's stomach churned at his words, and her disgust increased as he pressed his body against hers.

"Let me go! I don't want this!" she yelled, her voice breaking with fear. She continued to struggle, but her strength was fading quickly.

"You don't want this?" he mocked, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "Then maybe you shouldn't have danced like you did." He leaned in closer, brushing his nose against her neck and cheek. The way he sniffed her made her skin crawl.

"Please, no! I'm begging you—stop this!" Arwena cried, her voice breaking as she slapped him with all of her remaining strength. But the slap had little effect on him; instead, it seemed to aggravate him.

"Stop fighting," he growled, fiddling with his belt. "This won't take long, and I'll make sure we both enjoy it."

He kissed her roughly, his lips smothering her sobs. Arwena's strength ran out completely. Her body trembled as despair and hopelessness settled in. Her sobs subsided into soft whimpers.

As the man pressed himself against her, her thoughts shifted away from the agony she had been attempting to escape. She'd come to the bar hoping to forget—to drown her sorrows in alcohol.

Her ex-boyfriend's cruel words rang in her head: "It's your fault I cheated, Arwena." You pushed me to find someone else. I'm a man; I have needs—needs that you refused to give.

She couldn't keep the questions from flooding her mind. Was it actually her fault? Did she push him away? Would he have remained faithful if she had given him what he desired?

Flashback

"Why her, Jake?" Arwena asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Farah, why? You were my best friend, like a sister. How could you do this to me?"

Farah's cold response sliced like a knife. "Don't blame me, Arwena. If you'd been a better girlfriend, Jake wouldn't have come to me."

"Jake, I thought you loved me," Arwena said softly, her voice trembling.

"I did," Jake replied coldly. "But loving you became boring. You're suffocating. Why should I wait when someone is ready to give me everything?"

End of Flashback

Her heart burned with rage—at Jake, Farah, and herself.

"Let go of me!" she screamed again, using every ounce of strength in her body to push the man who was groping her.

"Shut up!" he demanded, raising his hand as if to strike her.

Before he could do anything else, he let out a loud cry of pain.

Arwena opened her eyes, dazed and disoriented. Her attacker was no longer holding her. Instead, he lay sprawled on the ground in front of the car, groaning in pain.

A man stood before him, his fists clenched. In the glare of the car's headlights, Arwena saw him delivering blow after blow to her attacker.

"Don't move if you want to live," the man said, his voice cold and commanding.

Arwena's legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground. Her trembling hands pressed tightly against her ears, attempting not to hear the sounds of the fight. Her body trembled uncontrollably, and tears streamed down her face.

"Mr. Tandre, what's going on?" a voice asked.

"Where the hell were you?" the man demanded angrily.

"Sorry, Mr. Tandre... Nature called," the younger man replied, his gaze darting to Arwena and then returning to the attacker.

"Take that bastard to the police station," Tandre ordered emphatically, leaving no room for debate.

Arwena could hear everything but was too weak to speak. She sat there, looking blankly at the man who had saved her.

"Miss, it's fine now; you're safe," Tandre said gently, kneeling beside her. His voice was steady but tinged with concern.

He put a light hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. It's over," he said quietly.

She looked at his hand on her shoulder and slowly lifted her head. When their gazes met, it was as if the weight of her pain and fear began to fade—like magic.

"Come with me," he asked softly. "I'll take you far away from here. You don't have to stay in this place anymore."