She stood by the roadside, watching his car disappear into the night before turning toward her house. Just as she reached the steps, her phone rang.
"Elena, help me," came Sophia Lane's tipsy voice from the other end.
Elena's heart raced with concern. "Sophia? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"I… I'm at Blue Flame… I think…" Sophia's voice was slurred.
"I'm on my way," Elena assured her, flagging down a taxi immediately.
The nightclub was noisy and packed when she arrived. It didn't take long to find Sophia in a dim compartment, barely able to stand.
Elena rushed over and steadied her. "Sophia, why did you drink so much? Let's get you home."
Sophia grinned lazily. "Elena… my hero."
Just as Elena was about to leave with her friend, a man stepped in front of them, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"Where are you going, beautiful? Let me give you a ride," he drawled, his voice heavy with alcohol.
Elena's expression hardened. "Step aside."
"Oh, I like her feisty attitude," the man slurred, reaching out to grab her arm. "Stay with me tonight, sweetheart. I'll treat you right."
The reek of alcohol on his breath made Elena's stomach churn. She yanked her arm back, her voice cold. "Get out of my way."
The man's grin turned malicious. "And if I don't? What can you do about it?"
Egged on by his drunken companions, he taunted, "Mr. Cruz, if you get this beauty, I'll give you my car."
"Deal!" the man laughed. "She's mine."
Before he could react further, Elena's patience snapped. Her foot shot out in a sharp kick, hitting him squarely in the stomach. He stumbled back, crashing into the table. Empty bottles shattered onto the floor as he crumpled.
The room fell into stunned silence.
Elena remained fierce and unflinching. "Come on, Sophia."
Supporting her friend, she strode toward the door, ignoring the gasps and whispers behind her.
Someone called out frantically, "He's bleeding! Call an ambulance!"
Elena quickened her pace, her heart racing. She didn't look back.
Taking Sophia through the back exit, she remained alert, worried someone might pursue them. The alley was dimly lit, offering little cover.
Just as she thought they were safe, a commotion erupted ahead.
A group of men was engaged in a fierce fight, their shouts echoing through the night.
Elena tensed. The last thing she wanted was to get involved.
Before she could retreat, Sophia, still drunk, shouted loudly, "More wine! I want more!"
The brawlers froze, their attention snapping toward the women.
Elena's pulse quickened as they began to approach.
"Boss, it's two women," one of the men said. "What should we do with them?"
Elena's gaze darted to the bald man lying motionless on the ground, blood pooling around him beneath the flickering streetlamp.
Was he dead?
What she came across was not just a fight—it was a murder.
Elena Cross froze, her heart racing in sheer terror. Desperately thinking of a way out, she forced a laugh. "You go on with your business. We're just passing by, and we didn't see anything."
With that, Elena gripped Sophia Lane's arm and turned to leave. But before she could take two steps, a pair of polished black shoes appeared in her path.
Her palms grew damp with fear as she slowly lifted her gaze.
The man before her stood ominously under the dim light, dressed in a sharp black suit, exuding an aura of death. He looked as though he had risen straight from the depths of hell.
Elena's breath caught in her throat as her eyes landed on the mask covering his face—a devil's mask that seemed to mock the living.
Behind the mask, Damian Blackwell frowned. He hadn't expected to run into Elena here.
The bald man on the ground suddenly came to life, crawling toward Damian on his hands and knees. His voice was hoarse with desperation. "Sir, I won't betray you again! Please forgive me! I was a fool!"
Damon Cruz, standing nearby with a goblin-patterned mask on his face, sneered and kicked the man back to the ground.
"What should we do with this traitor, Boss?" Damon asked, his tone devoid of empathy.
"Throw him into the sea to feed the fish," Damian ordered casually, as though discussing the weather.
His voice was deliberately altered, making it impossible for Elena to recognize him.
"No! Please! Spare me!" the bald man wailed as he was dragged away. His cries grew fainter until they vanished into the night.
Elena's stomach twisted in horror. Rumors about the notorious "Night" organization surfaced in her mind. Sophia had mentioned it once—a shadowy group rumored to control life and death, dealing in assassinations and illegal trades. Their leader, known as "Devil," was said to be merciless.
Was the man in the devil mask standing before her the infamous leader of Night?
Elena swallowed hard, her voice shaky. "We just passed by. We didn't see anything, I swear. We won't say a word."
Damon sneered. "Only dead people say nothing."
Elena's survival instincts kicked in. "You can think of us as already dead, then."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Elena's heart pounded as she wondered if she could escape. She glanced up and accidentally locked eyes with Damian.
His gaze was icy, colder than the winds atop a snow-capped mountain.
The tension in the air thickened, suffocating.
Just as Elena was bracing herself for the worst, Damian coughed lightly and spoke in a faint yet commanding tone. "Let them go."
Relief flooded Elena's chest. "Thank you," she said hurriedly. Without wasting another second, she dragged Sophia away, her legs trembling with each step.
Damon watched them go, frowning. "Boss, why did you let them go?"
Damian removed his mask, revealing a faint smirk as he stared in the direction Elena had disappeared. "Send two men to escort them home."
Damon blinked in disbelief. "Escort? Boss, since when did we become a security service?"