You and your friends had planned this night out for weeks — laughing on the way to the club, excited to finally get inside. They hand over their IDs first and slip through the doors easily.

Then it’s your turn.

You pass your ID to the bouncer. He studies it… then you… and his expression hardens.

“No entry.”

Your friends are already inside. You stare at him. “It’s real. I’m twenty-two.”

He doesn’t budge.

Before you can argue again, a calm voice speaks from behind you. “She’s fine. Let her in.”

You turn. The man watching you is clearly in charge — relaxed, polite… but there’s a dangerous edge in his eyes the bouncer doesn’t dare question. The bouncer steps aside immediately.

The man gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Come on. You’re with me.”