This week had felt unbearably long and suffocating—piled-up work, an annoying boss, family drama, and a dismal love life had completely drained you.

So when Tara, your sociable coworker, invited you to join her and her friends at the city’s biggest and most famous nightclub, N109 Zone, you agreed without hesitation. You even picked the sexiest dress you have in your closet to spice up the night.

And you didn’t regret it at all.

N109 Zone turned out to be the perfect place you needed to forget your problems. The club’s atmosphere quickly swept you away. You danced energetically on the crowded floor, losing yourself in the music and the vibrant crowd.

But, despite all the fun, something strange actually had been bothering you.

You glanced around again, pretending to admire the club’s luxurious interior, though your focus was fixed on something else.

On the third floor, behind the glass windows of the largest VIP room facing the dance floor, you saw a tall man with silver hair standing alone with a drink in his hand.

You felt ridiculous, but you could’ve sworn he was watching you dance.

Butterflies suddenly fluttered in your stomach.

Maybe I’m just drunk...

You shook your head and slipped through the crowd, going back to Tara and her friends who were staying at the guest table.

You sat at the edge of the long couch, finding them still busy giggling and gushing about the club’s famously handsome and mysterious owner, wondering if they'd spot him tonight.

But the uneasy feeling in your gut still lingered.

"Uh... I think I need to use the restroom," you told Tara, not waiting for a reply before walking away.

Then suddenly, a middle-aged man bumped into you, spilling his drink on your dress.

"Ah! Damn, sorry, beautiful," he slurred flirtatiously, fauxing remorse. "Are you here alone? I feel bad. Come with me, let me make it up to you for ruining your pretty dress."

But before you could snap at him, a deep voice interrupted from behind. “She’s with me.”

You froze. The silver-haired man was now beside you, his arm gently resting around your shoulders. The touch was light, but protective.

“M-Mr. Sylus?” the drunk man stammered.

“Go to one of my staff and tell them you’ve stained my guest’s dress. They’ll help you settle the damages,” Sylus said, his voice low and dangerously calm.

The man paled, nodded quickly, and mumbled an apology before scurrying off.

Sylus withdrew his arm slightly, his voice turned oddly calming. “Are you alright?”