The man in front of me let out a low, ugly laugh.
"Why not?" he said, tilting his head like I had entertained him. "You threw that glass at me, didn't you?"
I looked at the blood on his face for a second, then back at him calmly.
"I didn't mean to," I said simply. "Sorry."
That only made him angrier.
His expression twisted. "You think an apology fixes that?"
He lifted his baton again.
The air shifted instantly.
Macy moved first, pulling me aside just in time as the baton sliced through where I had been standing. The movement around us changed fast—like something inside the room had snapped.
The men stopped treating it like a game.
They came at us all at once.
Tables shook. Glass fell. Chairs scraped hard against the floor as people rushed back. Macy and I moved together without needing words. I caught one of them by the wrist, twisted, and shoved him back into a table. Macy handled another, sharp and fast, like she had done this before more than once.
There was no hesitation anymore.
Only survival.
The energy in the room felt heavier as we fought. Not just anger—something deeper. Like the space itself responded to dominance, pressure, presence. It was the kind of tension that always came before enforcers arrived.
And they did.
Sirens cut through the noise outside.
Too late.
The moment the authorities stepped in, everything slowed. The men were already bruised, some on the floor, breathing hard. We weren't untouched either, but we stood our ground.
It didn't matter.
We were all taken in.
The station was cold, bright, and too quiet after everything that had just happened. Macy sat beside me while officers took statements. The story was simple enough: we were attacked, we defended ourselves, things got out of hand.
Still, the system didn't care about simple.
By the time everything was processed, we needed someone to vouch for us.
Macy had no one else.
Just me.
And I had only one name I could call in this city.
Jared.
My fingers hesitated over my phone for a moment before I pressed call. The ringing felt longer than usual. Each tone stretched my nerves tighter.
Finally, someone picked up.
But there was no greeting.
Just silence.
"Dr. Crest?" I said carefully. "I'm sorry to call so late. I need help. I'm at the police station… can you come—can you help bail me out?"
Still nothing.
My grip tightened slightly.
"Please," I added quickly. "Dr. Crest—"
Then a voice came through.
But it wasn't his.
It was sharper. Colder.
And instantly familiar.
"Scarlett Stovall."
My breath stopped.
"Ashton?" I said, barely above a whisper. "Why are you—why are you holding—"
"Where are you?"
His voice cut through my sentence like he didn't care what I was about to say.
I froze.
Something in his tone felt different. Not just irritated.
Controlled.
Like he already knew more than he should.
My throat tightened slightly as I looked down at the phone in my hand, unsure how things had shifted so quickly.
"I'm at the station," I said quietly.
A pause.
Short.
Heavy.
Then his voice returned, lower this time.
"Stay there."
And the line went silent.
I could still feel his displeasure through the phone, even after the call ended.
"Metropolitan Police Station," I had said.
Then the line went dead.
Just like that.
Macy stared at me the moment I lowered my phone. "Why didn't you call Ashton directly?" she asked, rubbing her forehead. "You really know how to make your life complicated."
I leaned back in the chair, tired. "When I left the villa, he was drunk. I thought he'd be asleep by now… so I called Jared instead. I didn't know—"
I stopped.
I didn't know Ashton would be the one to answer.
The words sat heavy in my chest.
Half an hour later, everything changed.
The air outside the station shifted first.
People noticed it before I did. Conversations lowered, movements slowed. Even the guards at the entrance straightened slightly, like something important was approaching.
Then the vehicles arrived.
A black convoy pulled up, clean and silent, like it belonged to a different world. The doors opened in sync. Men in dark suits stepped out first, scanning everything with sharp, trained focus.
And then Ashton appeared.
He moved like he owned the space without needing to prove it. Calm. Controlled. Heavy presence. The kind of man whose arrival made the atmosphere tighten without a single word being spoken.
People inside the station reacted instantly.
Officers stood straighter. Some even stepped forward to greet him. His name alone carried weight here, like everyone already knew who he was without needing introductions.
Macy leaned toward me, bumping my shoulder lightly.
"Okay," she murmured. "I see why you're stuck on him. I'll give him that—he's not ordinary."
I gave her a sideways look.
Earlier, she was telling me to leave him.
Now she spoke like this.
I shook my head slightly.
Women really change opinions too easily.
Soon, paperwork was signed. No arguments, no delays. The officers handed everything over quickly, almost respectfully.
And just like that, we were free.
Outside the station, the night air felt sharper than before. The tension of the building behind us slowly faded as we stepped away from it.
An officer followed us out and spoke in a polite tone, almost careful.
"If something like this happens again," he said, "please call us directly next time. Don't engage physically."
Macy and I exchanged a look.
We both smiled at him at the same time.
"Yes, of course," I said quickly. "Thank you."
"Really, thank you," Macy added.
The moment we turned away, her smile dropped instantly.
"Yeah right," she muttered under her breath. "If I didn't fight back, I'd be lying there waiting for them to finish the job."
I opened my mouth to respond, but stopped.
A strange chill slid down my spine.
Slow. Unwelcome.
I turned my head.
And there he was.
Ashton stood beside a black Jeep parked a few steps away. His suit was still perfectly arranged, untouched by the chaos of the night. Hands in his pockets. Eyes fixed directly on me.
Not moving.
Just watching.
And suddenly, the air between us felt heavier than everything I had just walked out of.