PLEASE NOTE DEAR READERS THAT THIS Chapter IS NOT PART OF THE NEW ChapterS. WEBNOVEL REPUBLISHED THIS AND I DONT KNOW WHY.
IT’S NOT A NEW Chapter. IT’S ACTUALLY Chapter 1. PLEASE SKIP TO THE NEXT Chapter. THANK YOU
ZOE DEAN’S POV
The mont I noticed the blood stains between my thighs that morning, I knew it was going to be one of those days.
I wanted to stay ho and rest. But rent doesn’t pay itself, and calling in sick was never really an option for .
So here I was, behind the counter, plastering on a face that passed for "fine" while cramps clawed through my abdon like knives. A dull ache pulsed at the base of my skull, the kind of headache that laughed at painkillers.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, leaning slightly against the counter. Maybe if I held myself tight enough, I could trick my body into easing up. I knew better, but I still tried.
"Are you okay, Zoe?"
Fredda’s voice snapped back. She stood beside with a tray in hand, her brows pinched in concern, her golden hair tied in a ssy bun. She wore a white shirt and black skirt like .
I tried to nod, but found it difficult. Her brown eyes narrowed at .
Fredda and I have been close since I started working at Helen’s bar a year ago. So far, our friendship have been really tight.
"You look like you’re in so much pain," she added gently.
I exhaled through my nose, the sigh carrying more weight than I ant it to. "Cramps," I admitted, my voice soft. No point in lying, my discomfort was written all over .
Understanding flickered across her face instantly. "Ah. That ti of the month."
I managed a weak smile, still clutching my belly like it might unravel if I let go.
"You take anything?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah," I nodded. "A few minutes ago."
"Good." She gave an encouraging nod. "It should kick in soon. Try to rest a bit."
God, if only I could. "I’ll just go to the bathroom first. Cover for a minute?"
"Of course." She didn’t hesitate. "Take your ti."
Bless her. At least soone understood.
I grabbed my purse and started the slow walk toward the bathroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Why did it hurt so much this ti? It wasn’t new, but it felt worse. My whole body wanted to fold in on itself, to lie down sowhere dark and quiet, but instead I pushed forward because I had to.
The bathroom mirror didn’t make feel better. Pale skin, tired eyes, lips pressed thin against the pain. I barely looked like myself. I cleaned up, splashed so water on my face, and told myself to breathe. One step at a ti.
I pulled the door open, ready to slip back unnoticed. But a sharp voice cut through my thoughts.
"Slacking off again, ain’t ya, Zoe?"
I froze. My stomach sank. Of course.
She was standing right there. My manager. Arms folded, lips curled into a scowl that had no patience for excuses.
My breath caught, and I straightened instinctively. "No, ma’am," I said quickly. My voice was too fast, too defensive. "I’m not feeling well. I’m on my—"
"Not my problem!" she snapped before I could finish, her words slicing the air. Hands planted firmly on her hips, her whole body radiated irritation. "Get your ass back out there and make so money."
I flinched at the sharpness of her tone. My lips parted, a protest slipping out on instinct. "But—"
I stopped myself. What good would arguing do? Nothing, but trouble.
She turned her back to , tossing the final blow over her shoulder. "Don’t ss this up. Or you’re gone."
And just like that, she walked away.
No Are you okay?
No Sit for a minute.
Just a threat. Just money. That was all she cared about.
I stood frozen in the hallway, clutching my stomach tighter, my throat burning. I wanted to cry, to scream, to slam the bathroom door and stay there until the world stopped demanding so much of . But instead, I swallowed it all down.
Because I couldn’t afford otherwise.
Clutching my stomach, I made my way back to the counter. Fredda was already there, polishing glasses and stacking them neatly. When her eyes t mine, they softened with sympathy.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, guilt flickering in her expression. "She must’ve snuck up on ."
I nodded, because yeah, that sounded exactly like our manager. "It’s fine," I said, forcing a small smile. "I’m okay now."
But I wasn’t. My body was screaming for rest, for a bed, for quiet. What I really wanted was to crawl under a blanket and let the world carry on without for a while. Instead, I picked up a glass and helped Fredda line it on the shelf.
"See those guys?" she murmured suddenly, nudging her chin toward a corner table.
I followed her gaze. Five n sat there in matching black leather jackets, their postures rigid, their expressions unreadable. Cold eyes, sharp stares. They weren’t just custors, they owned the space around them without saying a word.
"Yeah," I said slowly. "What about them?"
Fredda leaned closer, lowering her voice. "I just finished serving their table. And God, they creeped out."
I stole another glance. She wasn’t exaggerating. Even from here, I felt their presence like a weight pressing down on the room. Their gazes didn’t invite approach; they warned against it. My skin prickled, and I shifted uncomfortably.
"Especially the one in the middle," Fredda added.
My eyes landed on him.
He was different—still as intimidating as the rest, maybe more so, but... there was sothing magnetic about him. His face was carved from angles and shadows, too handso for comfort, tattoos peeking out his jacket. He exhaled smoke, and it curled around his features like it belonged there.
I should’ve looked away, but I didn’t.
And then his eyes caught mine.
My stomach flipped. Panic jolted through , and I tore my gaze away, coughing awkwardly like that would undo the fact I’d been staring.
"Yeah," I muttered under my breath, grabbing another glass just to look busy. "Definitely scary."
The mont passed, but my pulse was still racing when two new n strolled up to the counter.
"Two Budweisers," one said, dark-haired, leaning casually on the bar.
"Coming right up," Fredda replied, already turning to grab them.
That left alone with the talkative one. He leaned closer, grin stretching wide.
"Hello, beautiful."
I didn’t even bother hiding my disinterest. "What do you want?" I asked flatly, wiping down the counter.
"You," he said, shaless.
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Sa story, different night. I ignored him, scrubbing harder at a spot that didn’t need cleaning.
"Co on," he pressed. "Give your number—"
The rest of his words never ca.
The air shifted, sharp and heavy. Four n in black jackets appeared from the edges of the room, closing in around him like wolves. Guns flashed, gleaming under the dim light.
My hands froze mid-motion. The rag slipped from my fingers.
Fredda returned just in ti to see the barrels rise.
Gasps and screams erupted around us. Chairs scraped. Glass shattered. So people bolted for the door; others froze in place, arms lifted high.
And then he erged.
The man from the middle table.
He moved through the chaos like it parted for him, his presence cold and commanding. My chest tightened as he stopped in front of the custor, his gaze like ice.
He grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him forward until they were face-to-face. His voice was low, steady, terrifyingly calm.
"Where’s my money, Marcus?"
Silence fell over the room.
The custor, Marcus, trembled. "Nero, please! I’ll pay. I swear I’ll pay."
"I said," Nero repeated, his tone dropping even colder, "where’s my money?"
Marcus stamred, sweat gathering on his forehead. "I don’t have it now, just give more ti—"
"You think I’m playing with you?" Nero pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it against Marcus’s forehead. My heart nearly stopped. "Where’s my money? Because if you don’t have it..." His finger curled against the trigger. "...I’ll blow your brains out right here."
My pulse thundered in my ears. This couldn’t be real. It felt like a movie scene, but the fear clawing at my chest told otherwise.
Marcus’s eyes darted frantically. "Wait, wait! Listen, we can settle this, okay?" His gaze flicked around the bar, wild, until it landed on .
I froze.
"No..." My stomach dropped. No, no, no.
"Take my girlfriend," Marcus said suddenly, desperate. "Take her, and I’ll bring your money when I get it."
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t process the words. Girlfriend? ?
I glanced behind , praying he ant soone else. Anyone else. But the way Nero’s eyes followed Marcus’s gaze, straight to , told I wasn’t imagining it.
My chest tightened. My legs wobbled.
"Your girlfriend?" I burst out, panic slipping through my voice. "I don’t even know you!"
"Shut your mouth, bitch!" one of Nero’s n barked, his gun snapping up to point at .
The room went still. My breath caught in my throat. My heart slamd so hard it hurt. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
"Drop the damn gun from her face, Bull," Nero said coldly without looking at .
The man hesitated, just for a second, before obeying under Nero’s sharp glare.
He turned back to Marcus, his face unreadable. And then, without warning, he slamd his forehead into Marcus’s nose.
Marcus cried out, stumbling back, blood pouring down his face.
Nero dusted his hands like he’d touched sothing filthy. "Bring him," he ordered, his voice flat.
Two of his n grabbed Marcus, dragging him upright.
He turned, heading for the door. Relief almost loosened my knees, until he paused.
His words were simple, almost casual. But they shattered .
"And her too."
The ground seed to tilt beneath . My stomach lurched. My pulse hamred wildly.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
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