The night air clung to Zariah Amara like a damp sheet, pressing against her skin and reminding her that the world had turned on her. Her footsteps echoed against the cracked pavement as she hurried away from the apartment she once called home—a place that had become a cage filled with betrayal and lies. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by exhaustion, shame, and the bitter taste of defeat.
She had trusted him. Her fiancé—the man who had promised her forever—had smiled at her dreams while secretly calculating how to use her. And now, after weeks of sleepless nights, she discovered her own blood had stolen what little she had managed to save—the last bit of security in her collapsing life.
Her fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms. "How did it all go so wrong?" she whispered, her voice swallowed by the night. No one answered. The silence pressed down on her, suffocating and relentless.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A reminder from the bank. The debt was overdue. She had no money, no home, and no one left to turn to. Every notification felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. She had thought she could survive betrayal by one person, but life had a cruel way of stacking enemies, and she was running out of ways to defend herself.
Zariah pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, but the thin fabric did little to warm her. The chill of the night matched the cold dread settling in her stomach. As she turned into a narrow alley to cut home, a shadow detached itself from the darkness ahead.
Her heartbeat spiked—not from fear, but from instinct. She froze.
A man stepped forward. Tall, precise, and unnervingly calm, his presence was magnetic and terrifying all at once. His eyes—dark, sharp, and unreadable—pierced through the dim streetlight, taking in every detail, every small tremor of her unease.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said, low and measured, like both a warning and a question wrapped in a single syllable.
Zariah opened her mouth, but no words came. His presence demanded caution, yet it sparked a defiance in her—a stubborn refusal to crumble in front of another stranger.
"I—I'm fine," she stammered, keeping her hands visible. "I just… I need to get home."
"You live around here?" His gaze didn't waver, yet beneath the calm exterior, there was something unreadable. Something dangerous.
Before she could answer, a sharp, chaotic sound—a scream, a horn, a sudden crash—shattered the quiet. Zariah's stomach dropped as adrenaline surged. Someone—or something—was coming.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Move," he ordered, and with a motion that seemed effortless, he guided her behind a stack of crates. Every nerve in her body screamed danger, yet she didn't resist.
Her chest heaved. "Who… who are you?" she whispered, barely audible.
He didn't answer. His eyes scanned the street like a predator, calculating, alert. A shadow detached itself from the far end of the alley, moving with intent.
Zariah swallowed hard, the cold metal of fear gripping her heart. Whoever—or whatever—was coming had a single purpose, and it was directed at her.
"You… you don't have to help me," she said, voice trembling. But she knew she was lying. Something in the way he moved, the way he observed, made her trust him in spite of herself.
His jaw tightened. "I don't ask. I act."
The figure at the end of the alley slowed, almost deliberately, as if sensing her fear. Zariah's pulse raced. For a moment, she realized she didn't even know his name—but instinct screamed at her that without him, she wouldn't survive the night.
She glanced at him. He was nothing like the men she had known—no warmth, no smiles, no excuses. Just a calm, deadly precision that made her stomach twist.
"Why… why me?" she whispered, more to herself than him.
No answer came. Only the sound of her own breathing, sharp in the cold night. The shadow took another step closer, and Zariah's world narrowed to the alley, the crates, and the stranger who had inexplicably become her shield.
Suddenly, a hand—firm, unyielding—clamped over hers, guiding her to the side as a figure lunged past. A crash echoed, followed by a curse. She stumbled, heart in her throat, as adrenaline surged like fire through her veins.
When the chaos ended, she dared a glance at him. His eyes were still on the street, unreadable, but she could feel his control, his precision, his hidden power. And beneath it all, a promise she couldn't name. He would protect her.
Her chest heaved, every nerve alive. For the first time in weeks, she felt something she hadn't dared to: hope. Fragile, fleeting, and dangerous—but hope nonetheless.
But hope, she quickly realized, was not without cost.
The shadow at the alley's mouth stopped. And in that frozen instant, Zariah knew that this was only the beginning. What awaited her was bigger, darker, and more dangerous than anything she had ever imagined.
Her body tensed, every sense screaming that the night had just begun—and she was about to be pulled into a world where betrayal, secrets, survival, revenge, power and mystery were only the opening act and the beginning of it all, for the unknown is yet to be known and come to reality of the happenings and it's surrounding.
And then, the figure moved.