PEARL's POV :

The night air was crisp, but the vodka I had before coming here kept me warm. Or maybe it was just the thrill of being out, away from everything, away from him.

I walked beside Piyush, the dim streetlights barely illuminating the path ahead. Something about tonight felt different—darker, heavier.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice carrying a slight slur from the alcohol.

"Don't worry," Piyush smirked. "You wanted a break from him, right? This place is perfect. It'll be fun." He winked.

I wasn't so sure.

We reached the entrance of the club, a barely visible neon sign flickering above. After showing our passports, we stepped inside.

And then—darkness.

Pitch black.

"I can't see a thing," I muttered, my hands automatically reaching for Piyush.

"I know. That's why we're here," he laughed. "This place is meant to be like this. Just go with it."

A chill ran down my spine, but before I could process it, hands—unfamiliar and firm—gripped mine.

I gasped.

Strangers. Club staff, maybe? They pulled me onto the dance floor. I could hear voices, laughter, but I couldn't see a single soul. The darkness swallowed everything. Here, nobody knew who was who.

Then, the music started.

The bass thrummed through the floor, reverberating in my bones. The lyrics were in Russian—completely foreign to me—but I didn't need to understand them. I never needed music to dance.

Closing my eyes, I let my body sway, my arms moving freely, my mind drifting. The vodka in my veins dulled everything—thoughts, fears, him.

And then— cold hands on my waist.

I froze.

A shiver ripped through me, sharp against my already hazy mind. I jerked to move away, but the hands didn't let go.

Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. My body crashed into his—solid, firm, dangerously close.

I gasped against his chest, my breath uneven.

Who was he?

I tried to pull back, but the music was deafening. My voice wouldn't reach him.

"Let me go," I tried again, my hands pushing at his chest.

No response.

His fingers traced my waist, slow and deliberate. I sucked in a breath. My head was too heavy, my senses betraying me. The alcohol was turning everything into a blur, making it hard to think, to react.

His touch moved higher—too high.

Panic slammed into me.

But before he could cross his limits, someone yanked him away.

I stumbled, the sudden absence of his grip making me lightheaded. My breath came in shallow gasps as I stood there, still trapped in the trance of alcohol, music, and the suffocating darkness.

LEV's POV

I had been watching her all night. 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think she would come here— to this place. 

The moment she stepped in, my people signaled me. This club was under my control now, and with my special glasses, I could see in the darkness. She couldn't. 

I watched as the staff guided her inside, her movements loose, uninhibited. And then, she danced—freely, wildly, like she was trying to shed everything weighing her down. 

I smiled. 

Maybe this was what she needed. And if she was thinking of breaking up with her useless boyfriend, then what more could I ask for? 

I was about to approach her when my phone rang. Damn it. I stepped outside to take the call, but when I returned, my blood turned to ice. 

Some bastard had his hands on my woman. 

He was touching her waist, pulling her close, too close. 

You're dead.

I watched her struggle. She wasn't fully aware, the alcohol clouding her senses, but I could see it—the stiffness in her arms, the way her body tried to pull away. 

I didn't wait. 

Storming forward, I grabbed the bastard by his collar and ripped him away from her. My people took him. He would pay for every second his filthy hands had been on her. 

Then, I turned back to her. 

She had closed her eyes again, already lost in the music, dancing as if nothing had happened. 

Did she not realize what had just been done to her? 

My jaw tightened. Anger flared in my chest. 

Without thinking, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to me. 

She gasped, her body colliding against mine. 

She struggled—why? 

Why hadn't she fought like this when it was him touching her? 

I leaned into her ear, my breath hot against her skin. 

"Do you even know what that man was trying to do?" My voice was laced with barely controlled fury. 

She smiled lazily, her head tilting toward me. "I know... but someone took him away. Maybe the club staff is nice."

I exhaled sharply. 

"No, bubble," I whispered, my grip on her waist tightening. "It was me. I saved you." 

Her eyes fluttered open. She tried to see me in the darkness but failed. 

I wasn't going to let her slip away again. 

"Wanna dance with me?" I asked. 

She tilted her head. "I don't dance with strangers... but your hands are warm, so I guess you can dance." She smiled, her eyes already closing again. 

I pulled her closer, until not even air could pass between us. 

"Put your hands around my neck," I murmured. 

Her hands trailed up my abdomen, my chest, my collarbone—each touch burning me more than it should—before she finally wrapped them around my neck. 

Damn this girl.

She had no idea what she was doing to me. 

"We're so close," she laughed, her breath warm against my skin. 

"Don't you like it?" I asked, my fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on her waist. 

"I'd be happier if my boyfriend saw this," she said, her words dripping with mischief. 

I stilled. 

That bastard. 

"Why?" I asked, my voice dark. 

"I want to break up," she admitted softly. "And I need a reason." 

I raised a brow. Oh?

"You want a breakup?"

She nodded. "Hmm."

I smirked. "He's watching us very closely right now."

Her body stiffened. "He's here?"

"Yes, bubble. And he's watching us... dangerously."

She turned, squinting into the darkness, but of course, she saw nothing. 

"I can't see him," she muttered. 

"Because it's dark here." I brushed my lips near her ear. "But I have a plan... if you're willing to go along with me."

She swayed slightly, her balance unsteady. "Do whatever you want. I just want to get rid of him."

I smirked. 

Slowly, deliberately, I traced my fingers along her neck, then up to her jaw, tilting her face toward me. 

"Don't regret it," I warned. 

She blinked up at me, her lips parting. "What are you going to do?" 

Her breath smelled of vodka. She had drunk too much. And yet, I was the one feeling intoxicated. 

"I'm going to taste my bubble," I murmured, and before she could react, my lips were on hers. 

Warm.

I pulled her closer, my fingers gripping her waist as my tongue brushed against her lips. 

I tasted alcohol—sharp, burning—but beneath it was something sweeter. Cherry.

Her lipstick. 

I moved my tongue over her lips, waiting, teasing, coaxing. But she didn't open her mouth. 

I pressed down, pushing against her lips, and finally, finally they parted. 

I captured her lower lip, then her upper, drinking her in like she was the only thing that could quench my thirst. 

Outside, the cold air swirled around us. But inside her mouth—warmth. 

I pulled back slightly, breathing heavily. "Kiss me back, bubble," I whispered, almost pleading. 

She hesitated. "Is he still looking?"

I clenched my jaw. "Yeah," I lied. "If you don't kiss me, he won't believe it." 

Something flashed in her eyes. Then, without warning, she pulled me closer —her hands fisting in my shirt—and she kissed me back. 

I lost control. 

Her lips moved against mine, soft yet demanding, innocent yet intoxicating. Her fingers gripped my neck tighter, pressing our bodies together. 

My hunger grew. 

I lifted her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around my waist. Without breaking the kiss, I carried her out of the club. 

The second we were outside, she didn't stop. 

Her lips were still working on me, still making me feel like the luckiest damn man on this planet. 

"You couldn't control it either, huh?" I smirked against her lips. 

Turning swiftly, I pinned her against the cold wall. 

Her dress had ridden up, exposing her thighs. My hands found them, caressing the soft skin, feeling her warmth against my fingers. 

She gasped but didn't stop. 

Instead, she pulled me in more, deepening the kiss. 

She is fire.

And I? 

I am a snowflake, melting in her heat. 

But she doesn't know—doesn't realize—how many times this snowflake has burned under her fire. 

I want her.

I need her.

I love her.

My hands moved instinctively, tracing her thighs, higher and higher, feeling the heat of her skin under my fingers.

She was mine.

At least, at this moment, she was.

Then—her voice broke through the haze.

"Don't do this, please."

She had stopped kissing me.

I frowned, my body tensing.

What?

Her breath hitched, and when I looked down, I saw her eyes glistening.

She was crying.

Panic shot through me. My hands stilled.

"What happened?" My voice came out sharp, urgent.

We were just having our moment. She wanted this. She wanted me.

Then why—why was she pulling away?

Her hands pushed weakly against my chest. "Don't touch me."

A cold wave of anger started rising in me.

I didn't let go. I pulled her close, my arms tightening around her trembling body.

"Why?" I demanded.

She choked back a sob, burying her face against my chest. "I have a boyfriend."

My jaw clenched.

"Don't you want to break up with him?" I reminded her.

"I don't want to cheat on him." Her voice cracked.

I let out a humorless chuckle. "Bubble... the cheating is already done."

I hugged her tighter.

"The moment you let me kiss you, the moment you kissed me back, the second my fingers touched you... you had already cheated on him."

She shuddered in my arms. Then—she broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed against me.

Fuck, Lev. You idiot.

Her tears felt worse than a bullet wound.

"Don't cry," I murmured, my voice lower, softer.

But she didn't stop.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

I sighed. Damn it.

"Okay," I muttered.

"Please let me go."

I hesitated but loosened my grip. She took a step back, stumbling.

I should have let her go.

But then she turned to leave.

And I— I couldn't let her go.

"But... I need to taste my bubble again."

Before she could react, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into another kiss.

I expected resistance.

I expected her to shove me away.

But she didn't.

The moment my lips met hers, she kissed me back.

Not hesitantly. Not unsure.

Desperately.

I pulled back slightly, my breathing heavy.

"What do you want, Bubble?" My fingers tightened around her waist. "One second, you're crying for your boyfriend, and the next, you're kissing me like this."

She stared at me, eyes dark with something I couldn't quite read.

Then she whispered, "You're intoxicating."

She gripped my collar and pulled me back to her.

A slow, dark smirk spread across my lips.

"Am I?"

If I was a drug—then I didn't want her to detox.

"If I'm intoxicating, don't leave this drug of yours."

She didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

She was done for.

I scooped her up into my arms and carried her out of the alley, out of the cold night.

Straight into my limousine.

The door shut behind us.

I pulled out my phone and called the driver. "Start the damn car."

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