Zara's Pov
It was my 25th birthday today. A number like any other, or so I wanted to believe. But the words of the village chief had looped in my mind like a song I couldn't stop humming.
*"When you turn 25, either a hero or a villain will enter your life."*
And I wanted neither. I didn't need anyone. Broken people only attract broken things — and I had enough pieces already. I wasn't hoping for some grand twist or a love story. I was here for one reason: to find someone who knew where my mother was.
The only lead I had pointed here — the club called *Destiny*. Fitting name for a place I had no faith in.
But the moment I walked in, my plan started to slip through the cracks.
I told myself I'd go straight to the point — find the man, get the answers, leave. But my eyes wandered first. They always did when something didn't sit right. And that's when I saw him.
Among the black-clad crowd, he stood out like he didn't belong. A tall, sharp silhouette, perfectly out of sync with the chaos around him. A blazer on, like he had accidentally walked into the wrong universe but decided to stay anyway.
Women circled him like moths around a streetlight, classy, polished, and clearly more interested in his last name than his first. But he wasn't buying into it — he wore the look of a man enduring small talk at a family wedding.
I didn't know who he was. He didn't know me either. Yet, for some reason, I couldn't pull my gaze away. I didn't even realize I had reached the bar until the bartender's voice broke through the fog.
"Ma'am, your order?"
And there it was — the second hit of the night. The bartender looked unfairly handsome. A face too perfect for this dim-lit mess of a place. For a second, my mission, the people, even the boy in the blazer, blurred out.
I ordered the first thing that came to mind, pretending I hadn't just spent the last two minutes gaping like a tourist.
But just as the drink reached my hand, the night took its third and final turn.
A guy — sleazy, pushy, the type you spot from miles away — had cornered a young girl. I saw the way she shrank, the silent plea in her eyes, the polite but desperate *"Not today, buddy."*
He didn't take the hint.
Without a second thought, I stepped forward. My palm connected with his cheek before I could even process it. The sharp crack of the slap sliced through the club's noise. Eyes turned, phones came out, whispers filled the air — but I didn't flinch.
"She said not today," I repeated for him, steady and cold. "Next time, listen."
The girl escaped into the crowd, and I stood there for a moment longer, not because I wanted to be seen, but because I didn't regret a second of it.
And then my phone buzzed.
A single text.
*Village chief is in coma.*
I didn't wait. I turned, leaving behind the lights, the music, the drinks — and the boy in the blazer whose eyes had followed me through it all.
Before he could approach, before anyone could ask, I was gone.
Like I was never there.
Because the night wasn't mine to celebrate anymore. My world had already started changing