Vivian twisted against the man’s grip, her breath coming too fast as he pulled her deeper into the alley. The air thickened around her, cloying and humid, carrying the stench of stale cigarettes, old beer, and something rotting in the heat. A sickly sweetness clung to the back of her throat, nausea curling low in her stomach as the alley walls pressed closer, narrowing the space between them.

He was moving with purpose, not like a man hesitating, not like someone expecting resistance. His fingers locked around her wrist, firm, possessive, as if he had already decided how this was going to play out.

She yanked back, hard, but his grip didn’t budge.

“Stop,” she snapped, trying to plant her feet, trying to resist, but it was useless. He barely reacted, barely even seemed to register her struggle.

“You don’t have to put on a show,” he murmured, voice smooth, too assured, too used to getting what he wanted. “Just tell me your price.”

The words barely registered at first.

Then they did.

Her pulse slammed against her ribs, her breath catching as the pieces fell into place. The expensive watch. The tailored suit. The slow, lazy way he had assessed her, the way his eyes had already stripped her down before he even touched her.

He thought she was for sale.

Revulsion crawled up her spine, cold and twisting, settling deep in her stomach like something festering.

“I’m not—” she started, her voice uneven, too shaken to be convincing, but he cut her off with an amused chuckle.

“Not talking?” He slipped flicked his wallet closed and slipped it back in his pocket with the kind of practiced ease that made it clear this wasn’t his first time.

“Even better, must be free.”

Her stomach lurched.

She ripped her wrist back, twisting, trying to tear herself away, but his grip tightened instantly, fingers bruising into her skin as he dragged her forward.

“No—”

The word barely made it past her lips before he yanked her in close, his other arm sliding around her waist in one fluid motion, pinning her to him.

Vivian screamed.

She shoved against his chest, her hands slipping against the fine material of his shirt. She clawed at his arm, nails digging into skin, but he only laughed, the sound low, unbothered, as if this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

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“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice still calm, still patient, like he had already won.

His grip slid higher.

She kicked at his leg, hard, her heel slamming into his shin, but it wasn’t enough. He barely staggered, his hold tightening, his breath brushing against her cheek.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he sighed, almost disappointed. His fingers curled into the neckline of her blouse, fabric twisting, pulling, as he wrenched at it.

The material ripped.

A sharp tear echoed through the alley, the sound snapping through the humid air like a gunshot.

Vivian screamed again, louder this time, raw panic clawing up her throat. Her hands scrambled to push him off, but he didn’t let go.

No one came.

No one ever came.

She sucked in a breath to scream again—

And then the pressure on her wrist, the hand on her body, vanished.

So suddenly, so violently, that Vivian stumbled forward, the world tilting, her body pitching forward before she caught herself against the brick wall. Her breath tore from her lungs in a sharp, shaking gasp, her mind not yet caught up, still expecting the pain, still expecting to feel his hands dragging her back.

The man was on the ground.

Coughing. Wheezing. Clutching his ribs like something inside had cracked.

And standing over him was someone else.

He had come out of nowhere.

A black hoodie clung to his frame, the fabric pulled tight over lean muscle, his broad shoulders filling the narrow alley. He was still, too still, his presence almost unnatural in its weight. The dim alley light caught against his skin, highlighting sharp cheekbones, a jawline that looked like it had been carved from stone, with a scar that ran down his right cheek.

Dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, took her in once before shifting back to the man on the ground.

His expression was blank, calculated, not indifferent but assessing, like he was deciding whether or not this man was worth the energy of a second strike.

Vivian’s breath still came in uneven bursts, her mind still scrambling for a grip on reality. Her arms were trembling, her blouse hanging off her shoulder in tatters, the ripped fabric clinging to her arms.

The man on the ground coughed, dragging himself backward, his body slouched in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what kind of trouble he had just walked into.

“Didn’t know she was taken,” he muttered, voice shaking, hands half-raised in surrender. His gaze flicked to Vivian, then back to the man standing over him.

No response.

The stranger just stared down at him, his silence heavier than any words could have been.

Then, without waiting for permission, the man scrambled to his feet and ran.

Vivian still couldn’t move.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her body locked in place, her hands gripping the brick wall like she needed it to keep herself standing. Her mind was still trying to process everything, still stuck in the moment before—the feeling of her blouse tearing, the way the man had pressed against her like she had no say in it.

The stranger turned toward her.

She tensed instantly, her body still expecting the worst, still bracing.

He pulled off his hoodie in one smooth motion.

The fabric hit her chest before she even had time to react.

“Cover up.”

His voice was low, steady, completely unaffected, as if this was routine, as if what had just happened didn’t require any further conversation.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Her fingers curled around the fabric before she realized she had even moved, her breath still coming in unsteady bursts, her mind still catching up.

She looked up at him again, swallowing against the dryness in her throat, trying to form a thought, a sentence, anything.

Who the hell was he?