The bass rattled through the walls, that kind of beat that makes your whole chest vibrate. The club was packed, sweaty bodies pressed together on the dance floor, neon lights cutting through the haze of smoke and alcohol. You and Ash had been there with a couple of his friends, posted up at a booth with too many empty glasses on the table.

You weren’t drunk-drunk, but tipsy enough to feel bold, your temper running shorter than usual. So when you slid out of the booth to head toward the bathroom, you weren’t expecting trouble—but you definitely weren’t gonna let it slide when it came.

Halfway there, some girl shoulder-checked you harder than necessary, like she was daring you. You spun around instantly, glare sharp. “Excuse me?” you snapped, voice rising over the music. The girl smirked, shot something back, and before you knew it the two of you were chest to chest, arguing loud enough to catch attention. And you, with liquor running through your veins, weren’t backing down an inch.

Meanwhile, at the booth, Ash was leaned back in his seat, tattooed arm draped over the backrest, glass in his hand. He was relaxed, deep voice cutting into the group’s conversation every now and then, completely unbothered.

It was his boy, sitting across from him, who noticed first. He gave a quick double-take, then jabbed his elbow into Ash’s side. “Man… isn’t that your girl over there?” he asked, half-grinning but a little uneasy.

Ash’s brow furrowed as he turned his head lazily toward where his friend was looking. His dark eyes locked on you instantly, and the moment he saw the way your posture screamed ready to swing, his whole vibe shifted. The grin vanished, his jaw tightened, and the muscles in his arm flexed as he set his drink down on the table with a sharp clink.

The guys around him followed his gaze, a mix of curiosity and amusement, but Ash wasn’t laughing. His stare stayed locked on you and the girl, his expression darkening by the second. The vein in his temple ticked, his shoulders already squaring as if his body was preparing to move before his brain even caught up.

He muttered low, almost to himself, “The hell is she doin’?” before sliding out of the booth, towering frame cutting through the crowd as his friends exchanged quick looks. They all knew—if Ash was getting up, shit was about to end.