Chapter 3 Reckoning and retreating

BRISELLE’S POV.

The Blind Tiger was precisely what I needed…dark, loud, smoky, and reeking of stale beer and bad decisions. It was the antithesis of St. Eleonora’s and, crucially, the antithesis of me. In my oversized sweater and glasses, I looked like a lost librarian, but here, swallowed by the noise and the dim lighting, I finally felt invisible again.

I found a booth tucked into a recess near the back and ordered a Rum and Coke…the strongest thing I could think of. The syrupy sweetness was cloying, but the cold provided a necessary shock. I was nursing the drink when Jenna slid into the booth opposite me, her pale lavender cardigan looking absurdly clean in the gloom.

“Elle, this place is awful,” she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the crowded room. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my cheek still throbbed faintly. “It’s exactly where I need to be.”

We were still talking about the dead zone guy when a large shadow fell across our booth. A man, loud, bulky, and reeking of cheap whiskey, was swaying slightly.

“Hey, ladies,” he slurred, slamming a meaty hand on our table. “Why are two pretty things hiding back here? You need some company, huh? Let’s have some fun.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Jenna said immediately, her voice polite but firm. She shifted slightly, instinctively trying to shield me.

The man, who I mentally labeled Rick, ignored her. His gaze was fixed on me, and he leaned in, invading my space. “Come on, glasses. Don’t be a tease. I just want your number.”

“I’m not interested, please leave us alone,” I said, trying to project a confidence I didn’t possess.

Rick didn’t like the refusal. He slammed his hand down harder, making the booth rattle. “Look, I asked nicely. Don’t act so high and mighty, you stuck-up coeds.” He lunged across the table, his fingers aiming for my wrist.

Just as his hand grazed my sleeve, a blur of movement occurred. A tall figure, seemingly appearing out of the surrounding darkness, clamped down on Rick’s shoulder. It was an immediate, purposeful force. The hand twisted, and Rick let out a startled, pain-filled grunt as he was yanked backward out of the booth.

The intervention was swift and brutal. The new guy moved with a quiet, lethal efficiency, his actions drawing no attention from the loud music and the other patrons. He didn't waste time with words, he simply maneuvered Rick, slamming him hard against the wall near the washrooms, delivering two sharp, precise strikes before shoving the drunk man into the corridor outside the bar.

I stared, breathless, not at the violence, but at the Intervener. He turned back to our booth, adjusting the sleeve of his tight, dark jacket. He was breathtakingly handsome…tall, with sharp, almost chiseled features. His leather jacket creaked when he moved, a confident smirk playing on his lips, and eyes the color of warm, polished amber. He radiated a kinetic energy that was completely different from a suffocating menace. This man was fire!

“Apologies, ladies,” he said, his voice smooth and easy, unlike the gravelly rumble I had been dreading. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair. “Some people don’t understand the word ‘no.’” He glanced at my face and then his smile widened. “You okay?”

“Y-yes, thank you,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly weak. My fear from the dorm room clash and the previous harassment was overridden by a sudden, intense distraction. He was absolutely stunning, radiating a dark, effortless charm that made the low lighting of The Blind Tiger feel specifically designed for him.

“Good. Now, don’t sit in corners where people can trap you.” He gave me a look that felt far too warm for a total stranger. “I’m Arden.”

“Briselle,” I managed, unable to break my gaze.

“Arden is a hero, Briselle. A knight in slightly too tight armor,” Jenna added, having recovered her composure.

Arden chuckled, a low, easy sound. He took the vacated spot opposite Jenna, leaning forward with the kind of casual confidence that only comes from knowing you’re the most magnetic person in the room. He spent the next five minutes chatting, expertly drawing out our names and our surface-level story—college students grabbing a drink, all while maintaining eye contact with me that was pure, uncomplicated flirting. For the first time all day, I forgot about Veronica, the sign-in sheet, and the unnamed senior who had terrified me.

After a while, the rum and coke, combined with the adrenaline crash, finally hit me. “I actually…I need to use the restroom,” I said, standing up a little too quickly.

Arden immediately rose. “Let me walk you. This place gets scuzzy quickly, and I’d prefer not to fight another lowlife tonight.”

I shook my head, already feeling guilty about leaving Jenna alone with him. “Thank you, that’s really kind, but I’ll be fine. Could you just stay here with Jenna? I don’t want her to be alone.”

Arden gave me that easy, dazzling smile. “Consider her protected.”

I grabbed my bag and headed toward the back, weaving past the crowded tables and the small, loud dance floor. The ladies’ room sign was barely visible, tucked into a shadowy hallway past the service entrance.

The hallway was quiet, smelling sharply of disinfectant and stale beer…a stark contrast to the loud bar. I finally located the door and stepped inside. It was small, dimly lit, and contained three stalls. I wasn't paying attention as I fumbled for the light switch. 

Suddenly, I heard something…a muffled, low groan, followed by a whispered, “Please, please…”

My heart lurched. That wasn't the sound of someone using the restroom. It sounded like someone was in serious distress. My mind immediately flashed to Jenna’s warnings about the scuzzy patrons of the bar. Someone was in trouble.

I moved toward the last stall, the one where the sounds were coming from. Hesitantly, I pushed the door open, ready to yell for help or check on the person inside.

What I saw wasn’t a distress call.

It was a guy and a girl—locked together in a deeply compromising position. They weren't just kissing, they were pressed against the cold tile wall, intensely making out, their bodies twisted together passionately.

My mouth dropped open, and I froze, my body unable to retreat. The girl was startled first. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide as saucers as she realized the stall door had been flung open.

Then, the guy, who had his back to me, suddenly pulled away from the girl and turned, his irritation at the interruption instantly morphing into a cold, lethal stillness.

The dim light caught his features. The dark hair, damp from the activity, fell across a jawline that could cut glass. The look in his eyes…that neutral, icy gray, was unmistakable. And then I saw the detail that slammed the recognition home: the sleeves of intricate, dark, geometric tattoos that climbed up his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his black shirt.

It was him. That terrifying, untouchable senior from Veronica’s class. The dead zone guy!!