The ice machine hummed loudly behind the bar, masking most of the drunken chatter that filled the upscale club. César wiped down the counter with slow, steady movements, his mind already halfway through the end of his shift.
Then the back door creaked open.
He turned.
The man who walked in wasn't a guest. Broad-shouldered, balding, maybe in his mid-50s, he looked like someone's aging bodyguard who never left the underworld. His cheap leather jacket creaked as he stepped forward, his gait deliberate, heavy.
César instinctively stiffened. "Sir—this area's off-limits."
The man didn't speak. He placed a folded manila envelope on the bar and slid it forward.
César frowned. "What's this?"
The man opened the envelope slowly and fanned out several glossy photographs.
César's heart dropped.
His younger sister, Ana, at school. His mother, leaving their small apartment. Even his own photo, taken outside his old job, where he'd been fired after a small theft he never thought anyone could trace.
"I don't know who you pissed off," the man said, voice low, gravelly, "but they were very thorough."
César's hands went cold. "I—I have nothing to do with—"
"I don't care." The man pulled a silver packet from his jacket pocket and set it beside the photos. "Just make sure this ends up in the woman's drink."
César stared at the packet, then back at the photos. "Is it poison?"
The man's lips twisted into something between a grin and a snarl. "No. It won't kill her. It'll just make things… interesting."
"I'm not doing this," César whispered, chest tightening. "This is a crime."
The man leaned in across the bar, breath reeking of stale coffee and nicotine. "You will do it," he said, voice like a steel trap. "Unless you want these sent to a certain probation officer I heard you're still lying to. Or worse, your sister goes missing after school one day."
César swallowed hard, throat suddenly bone dry.
"I'll be watching," the man added. Then he turned and disappeared the same way he came, through the back.
César stared at the packet on the bar like it was made of fire. His fingers hovered over it, shaking.
Moments later, the bartender was back at Table Nine, trying not to tremble as he placed the glasses in front of Alexandra and Emrys.
"On the house... gin and tonics," he said, voice hollow.
Alexandra smiled at him warmly, unaware of the loaded weight sitting in her glass.
Emrys glanced at his watch as Alexandra downed the last of her drink. "We should go. It's almost two."
She stretched, her halter dress shifting subtly with the motion. "Already? That didn't feel like two hours."
He stood and reached for her jacket. "Come on. I'll drive."
Alexandra gave a small, dreamy smile, then followed him out of the club.
The night air was crisp, cutting through the haze of perfume and bass that still clung to her. They slid into Emrys's matte black BMW parked at the curb. The driver had been dismissed hours ago.
For the first few minutes of the drive, they rode in silence. The city blurred past in neon streaks. Alexandra leaned her head back, closing her eyes.
Then she shifted.
Restless.
She pulled at the neckline of her dress.
"Is it hot in here?" she murmured, her voice low and slightly slurred.
Emrys glanced at her, brows drawing together. "You alright?"
"I—I think so. Maybe the drinks hit harder than I thought," she said, exhaling sharply. "My skin feels weird… like I'm burning."
He turned the air conditioning up.
But Alexandra was now twisting in her seat. Her knees rubbed together tightly. She bit down on her bottom lip, a faint moan escaping her throat.
"Emrys…" she whispered, her voice breathy. "Something's wrong."
A surge of cold dread sliced through him. "Do you need to throw up?"
"No. I—" She gasped, her face flushing rapidly. "I think… I think something was in that drink."
He cursed under his breath and pulled the car over hard, tires screeching slightly as he veered into a side lane just before a red light. The cars behind honked in protest.
Alexandra reached for the door handle, but Emrys caught her wrist. "Don't get out—you're not safe like this. Hold on."
She blinked at him, unfocused, chest rising and falling too quickly. "I feel… hot. I want you…"
Her hand brushed against his thigh, sliding up.
"Alexandra—stop." His voice cracked.
She leaned in suddenly, her lips brushing his. He reacted instinctively, catching her in a kiss, the heat of her mouth searing into his. But the moment he felt the trembling in her body and the disconnect in her gaze, he pulled away, breath ragged.
"Damn it," he muttered. "You're not in your right mind."
Without a second thought, he made a sharp U-turn.
Her house was fifteen minutes away. His penthouse? Only five.
He took the faster route.
By the time they entered the penthouse, Alexandra was flushed, murmuring incoherently, her body reacting instinctively to the drug.
"Just a little more," Emrys said, half-carrying her inside.
"Mr. Zhao?" came a startled voice.
Marta, the older housekeeper with greying hair in a bun, appeared from the kitchen. Beside her stood Hilda, round-faced and no-nonsense.
"She's been drugged," Emrys said. "Some kind of aphrodisiac. The doctor's on his way. I need her distracted until then."
The two women exchanged a knowing glance.
"We've handled worse," Hilda muttered. "Come, sweetheart."
They led Alexandra gently to the sofa. Marta fetched a bowl of ice water and cool towels while Hilda dug out a crossword puzzle book.
"Help me with this clue," Hilda said brightly. "Four-letter word for 'restless energy'?"
"Buzz?" Alexandra murmured.
"Sharp one, even like this."
Marta returned and began dabbing Alexandra's face. "Emrys was just like this when he had chickenpox. He told the couch he loved it."
"Really?" Alexandra giggled.
"Swear on my arthritis."
"Okay, next one," Hilda pressed. "Seven-letter word for 'deep affection'. Starts with an A."
"Affection?"
"Too easy. But you're warm, like your face."
They continued chatting like old aunts trying to keep a child from falling asleep too early. Alexandra even cracked a smile as Marta brushed her hair gently, whispering silly stories about Emrys's childhood.
The doorbell rang. Emrys opened it to reveal Dr. Alaric, his personal physician.
"She's in here," Emrys said, leading him over.
Dr. Alaric crouched beside Alexandra. "Name?"
"Alexandra Ling."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"Drinks... He kissed me." She looked toward Emrys with a dreamy smile.
Emrys froze.
"She's exhibiting classic aphrodisiac symptoms," Alaric said. "Non-lethal but highly compromising. Good thing you called fast."
He prepped a syringe. "This will stabilize her system. She'll sleep it off."
As he injected the medication, Alexandra sighed and her body began to relax.
"She'll be out for a while. Groggy when she wakes up."
Marta nodded. "We'll keep an eye on her."
Emrys stood over Alexandra, hands clenched. Someone had meant for this to happen. Not a random act.
He would find out who did this.
And they would regret ever thinking of touching her.