╰┈➤ "Let me go, you bastard!" she snarled, her voice laced with venom as she glared at him, her eyes blazing with unfiltered hatred.
He pinned her hands above her head against the cold metal of the hospital bed's headboard, leaning in close until h...
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Author Pov :
It was a typical Saturday night at Oxin, the city's most exclusive nightclub, and the place was alive with chaos. The pounding bass of the music reverberated through the walls, the strobe lights cutting through the haze of smoke and neon.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, spilled alcohol, and the faint tang of sweat from the writhing bodies on the dance floor.
At the bar, people leaned over each other, shouting their orders to the overworked bartender who moved with practiced efficiency.
Conversations fought to rise above the deafening music, laughter and drunken chatter blending into a cacophony of sound. In the VIP sections, groups lounged in plush seats, sipping cocktails that cost as much as someone's rent, their laughter quieter but no less indulgent.
The crowd pulsed like a living entity, hypnotized by the DJ's beats. Flashing lights caught glimpses of designer outfits, glittering jewelry, and the occasional smug smirk of someone who knew they belonged.
But then, as if someone had turned down the volume, a shift rippled through the room. The DJ didn't stop the music, but somehow, the energy changed.
All eyes turned toward the entrance.
A man stepped into the club, and it was as though the air itself bent to accommodate him. His presence was magnetic, commanding attention without demanding it. His cold, piercing eyes scanned the room, a sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding him. He moved with a calculated ease, exuding power in every step.
He was dressed in a tailored black suit, the kind that screamed money without needing to try. His crisp white shirt was open at the collar, just enough to suggest he was untouchable but not entirely inaccessible.
His dark hair was slicked back with precision, and a faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw, giving him an edge of danger.
The staff straightened as he passed, their casual professionalism replaced by reverence. The club whispered among themselves, wondering who he was-if they didn't already know. He was no stranger here.
This wasn't just a guest; this was the owner.
He moved through the club like he owned not just the building but the people inside it. And in a way, he did. The crowd seemed to part instinctively, clearing a path as he walked, his cold aura leaving a chill in its wake.
