The Encounter

The bass pounded in Lydia’s ears as she pushed her way through the crowd at Midnight Rose, the hottest nightclub in the city—and the one she had absolutely no business being in.

“This is a terrible idea,” she muttered to herself, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

She wasn’t the party type. She wasn’t even a city girl. She had grown up in a quiet town, moved here for college, and somehow let her roommate convince her to come out for “just one night.” But her roommate had vanished the second they arrived.

Now Lydia was stuck, alone, in a place filled with too much perfume, too many eyes, and too many secrets.

As she turned toward the exit, her shoulder bumped into a man’s chest. A very hard chest.

“I—I'm sorry,” she stammered, stepping back.

The man didn’t move. He was tall, broad, dressed in black with the kind of cold confidence that sent chills down her spine. His suit was sharp, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He didn’t look like he belonged in a club. He looked like he owned it.

“No need to apologize,” he said, voice smooth but edged with danger. “You’re not from around here.”

Lydia blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t belong,” he said, staring directly into her eyes. “This isn’t your world.”

He was handsome—alarmingly so. His jaw was sharp, lips cruelly curved, and his eyes, a dark storm, watched her like she was prey. His presence was magnetic. Threatening. All-consuming.

“I’m just trying to leave,” Lydia mumbled, trying to step around him.

He caught her wrist—not hard, but firmly enough to freeze her.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked.

“Let go of me.”

“Someone like you shouldn’t be here alone.” He leaned in. “Do you know where you are?”

“In a club?”

“You’re in my club.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that. “You're... the owner?”

He smirked. “Among other things.”

She yanked her hand free, heart racing. “Well, it’s a terrible place. No offense.”

He didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked amused. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m not your concern,” she said quickly. “I just came with a friend. I’ll be leaving now.”

He stepped aside, but not without one last glance. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “We’ll see about that.”

Lydia bolted, not stopping until she was outside, lungs gulping in the cooler night air. The city lights buzzed overhead, but it didn’t soothe the chill that crept over her skin.

Who was that man?

Jake William watched her from the second-floor balcony, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

He hadn’t meant to stay late tonight. He usually didn’t like mingling with the club’s guests. But something had made him pause when he saw the girl. She didn’t belong here—her innocence clashed violently with the grit of his world. And that intrigued him.

“Boss,” his second-in-command, Marco, approached. “The Russians want to meet next week. You want me to set it?”

Jake didn’t answer. His eyes followed Lydia as she disappeared down the sidewalk.

“You good?” Marco asked.

Jake sipped his drink. “Find out who she is.”

Marco blinked. “The girl?”

“I want her name, her school, where she lives, what she eats. Everything.”

Marco hesitated. “She didn’t look like she was into you.”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “She will be. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Lydia tried to forget about the incident. For two days, she went to class, worked her part-time job at the campus bookstore, and ignored the nagging thought of that man’s eyes on her.

But then it started.

First, a bouquet of blood-red roses appeared at her apartment door. No note.

Then a black car followed her from class to the coffee shop. It didn’t stop—just trailed her. Watching.

On the third day, a man in a suit walked up to her outside the bookstore and handed her a sleek black envelope.

“What is this?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Just nodded and walked away.

Heart pounding, Lydia opened the envelope.

Inside was a single card:

> Dinner. Tonight. 8 PM.

Wear red.

You owe me a proper goodbye. – J

She stared at it, stunned. No phone number. No address. Nothing else.

Just an order.

She crumpled it, shoved it in her bag, and marched into work.

Who did he think he was?

8 PM came faster than she expected. She was in pajamas, hair tied up, with absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

Until a knock sounded at her door.

Her heart dropped.

Peeking through the peephole, she saw a tall man in a suit. Not the one from before.

“Miss Lydia?” he called politely.

“No,” she said through the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I was sent to escort you.”

“Tell your boss I’m not interested!”

There was silence.

Then another voice—lower, familiar, dangerous—spoke from behind the first man.

“Lydia.”

She froze.

He stepped into view, dressed immaculately, eyes locked on the door like he could see through it.

“I said dinner,” Jake William said, voice deadly calm. “I don’t ask twice.”

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