"Iman!"

A voice—familiar, frantic, real.

I barely had a second to react before I was crushed in a mess of arms, bodies colliding, warmth surrounding me.

Sophia. Aisha. Isabella. Yuki.

They clung to me like lifelines, their grips tight, desperate, trembling. I felt hands smoothing over my hair, fingers pressing into my arms as if making sure I was real.

"Oh my God, you're okay." Aisha's voice cracked, and that was almost enough to break me.

My breath hitched, my fingers digging into their clothes. I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling their familiar scents—home, safety.

"I—" My voice failed me. I swallowed, trying to steady myself. "I—yeah. I'm okay."

Lie.

I wasn't okay.

Not even close.

I could still feel him. The bruising grip on my wrist, the sickening press of his breath near my ear. The way my body had frozen in terror, helpless and useless and—

No. Stop. It's over.

My shoulders shook, but before I could spiral, Isabella cupped my face, her eyes searching mine. "You scared the hell out of us," she whispered. "We thought—"

Her voice wavered, but she didn't finish.

She didn't have to.

I knew what they thought. What could've happened.

My fingers curled tighter into her jacket, my lips parting—but no words came out.

Then, a shadow loomed over us.

Slow. Calculated.

The air shifted.

Tension rippled through the group as we turned—because we all felt it. Him.

Zavian stood there, watching.

Not speaking.

Not moving.

Just watching.

And for some reason, that unsettled me more than anything else.

His presence wrapped around us like a noose—tight, suffocating, dangerous.

Zavian's face was unreadable, eyes hooded, but there was something off about the way he was looking at me. Like he was assessing every crack in my armor, every trembling breath I tried to hide.

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once. Blood speckled his knuckles—fresh, dripping from the raw skin of his fist.

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

The man he had taken down was still on the ground, groaning in pain, but Zavian hadn't even spared him a glance.

His focus was entirely on me.

"Let's go." His voice was low, edged with something sharp, something final.

No room for argument.

Aisha shifted beside me, uneasy. "We—we should just leave," she murmured, gripping my arm.

I wanted to.

God, I wanted to.

But I couldn't move.

Not when Zavian took a step closer, his presence pressing into me. The air between us crackled—not with warmth, not with comfort, but with something dark, something unreadable.

His fingers twitched at his side like he was restraining himself from reaching for me.

I barely caught the way Siera exhaled beside him, watching him carefully. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but—

"Iman."

My name from his lips sent something cold through my veins.

I licked my lips, my throat dry. "What?"

Zavian stared at me for a second longer, then his gaze flickered to my wrist—where bruises were already beginning to bloom.

His jaw tightened.

And then, before I could react, he took off his jacket and stepped toward me.

I flinched.

Just slightly.

But he noticed.

Something in his face shifted.

Zavian didn't say a word as he draped the jacket over my shoulders, his touch careful, deliberate. The warmth of the fabric, the scent of him—spice, smoke, danger—coiled around me.

Too much.

It was too much.

I looked up at him, breath shallow.

He held my gaze, his expression unreadable.

Then—

"Come."

Not a request.

A command.

His grip on my wrist was firm—unshakable—but not cruel. Still, it made my pulse stutter, the warmth of his skin branding against mine like a silent warning.

"All of you," Zavian said, voice edged with finality.

No one argued.

Even Aisha, who never backed down from a fight, swallowed her protests and followed, her grip on Sophia's hand tight.

The weight of the gazes around us burned into my skin. I could feel them—Zavian's so-called friends—watching, assessing. Some with mild amusement, others with curiosity.

And then there was Siera.

Her gaze was nothing short of murderous.

I kept my head down.

Zavian's pace was unforgiving, dragging me forward with long, effortless strides. The crowd parted for him without a word, some stepping back as if instinctively knowing better than to be in his way.

That should have scared me.

Maybe it did.

I didn't know anymore.

My breathing was shallow, my mind still trapped in the moment before—the suffocating grip of that bastard, the stench of alcohol, the terror in my chest. My free hand clenched around the fabric of Zavian's jacket, still draped over my shoulders, grounding me in something that wasn't blind panic.

"Where—" My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. I cleared my throat, tried again. "Where are we going?"

Zavian didn't stop. Didn't even look at me.

"Somewhere safe."

Safe.

The word shouldn't have made my stomach coil the way it did.

Yuki, walking beside me, shot me a glance but said nothing.

No one spoke.

The air was thick, tense, charged with too many emotions, too many questions that no one dared to voice.

Zavian's grip loosened slightly, but he didn't let go, as if he knew I would run if he did.

The thought crossed my mind.

Bolting.

Forgetting this night ever happened.

But as we moved further away from the chaos, from the pulsing lights and deafening music, I realized something.

Even if I ran, even if I pretended this was just a horrible mistake—

I would still feel the ghost of his touch.

Still hear his voice in my head.

Still remember the way he looked at me.

Like I was something he hadn't quite figured out yet.

And I hated it.

_

The car door shut with a thud, sealing us inside. The lingering scent of leather and something distinctly him filled the space, but my mind was too frazzled to place it.

Tense silence.

The kind that weighed heavy, suffocating, thick with words left unsaid.

Zavian started the car, the low rumble of the engine slicing through the quiet, but he didn't pull onto the road just yet. His hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers flexing, tightening—restraining something.

My pulse hadn't settled.

Aisha, Isabella and Sophia were in the back, still shaken, their breathing uneven. Yuki sat beside them, arms crossed, gaze locked out the window as if avoiding everything happening inside this car would somehow make it less real.

I swallowed.

Then—

"Whose idea was it?"

The cold edge to his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned to look at him. Mistake.

His jaw was locked, tension thrumming through every sharp line of his face. The way his fingers gripped the steering wheel—it was like he was keeping himself from crushing it.

The streetlights outside flickered, painting him in shifting shadows. His knuckles whitened.

Aisha inhaled sharply behind me.

No one spoke.

Zavian's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. "I asked a question."

Still, silence.

A slow exhale left him, but it did nothing to soften the ice in his tone. "If no one wants to answer, I'll assume it was all of you being equally stupid."

Heat crawled up my spine. "It wasn't—" I stopped myself, hesitating.

His gaze snapped to mine, sharp and assessing, like he could see through me. "It wasn't what, Iman?" he asked, voice deceptively calm. "It wasn't a reckless, idiotic decision? Or it wasn't your idea?"

I clenched my jaw.

Yuki shifted behind me. "It was mine."

Zavian's eyes flicked to her in the mirror. "Of course, it was."

Yuki straightened, her face hardening. "I—"

But he cut her off.

"Save it," he muttered, shoving the car into drive and pulling onto the road with a little too much force.

The car moved fast, cutting through the darkened streets like a blade, but his anger burned faster.

No one dared to speak.

And I hated that I felt guilty.

_

The silence was unbearable.

I could feel it pressing against my skin, suffocating, thick with tension and something unspoken—something dangerous.

Zavian's grip on the wheel was tight, his fingers flexing as he made a sharp turn onto a quieter road, the city lights blurring past. The low hum of the engine filled the space, but it did nothing to mask the storm brewing beside me.

I risked a glance at him.

Bad idea.

His jaw was still locked, the muscle twitching in barely restrained anger. The streetlights flickered across his face, sharpening the shadows, making him look even more like a man carved from ice and danger.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

"I—"

"Don't." His voice cut through the air like a blade.

I pressed my lips together, hands clenching in my lap.

Aisha shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, her breathing still uneven. Sophia had her arms crossed, staring out the window, and Yuki—well, Yuki was the only one who looked like she was about to fight him on this.

She leaned forward slightly. "Look, we—"

Zavian exhaled sharply. "You think I care?"

Yuki stilled.

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel again before he let out a low, humorless chuckle. "You think I care that you thought this was a good idea? That you thought you'd be fine?" His voice dropped lower, something almost lethal in his tone. "Or do you want me to say it out loud? That you were a second away from something you wouldn't have walked away from?"

No one breathed.

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

I hated this. Hated that he was right. Hated that my stomach still felt tight with lingering fear.

He scoffed under his breath. "Let me guess. You thought it'd be fun?"

I clenched my jaw. "No."

His gaze flicked toward me. It was a mistake meeting it because the moment I did, I felt pinned—trapped under the weight of his fury, his restraint.

"You don't belong there," he said, quieter this time, but just as dangerous.

I didn't say anything.

Because I knew.

We all did.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists in my lap before I lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

"You were there." My voice was steadier than I felt. "What does that mean?" My eyes narrowed. "You're like them, aren't you?"

Zavian's grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white.

"You do this," I accused, my voice dropping to something bitter, something sharp enough to cut. "Illegal races. Dangerous shit. Now I'm not even surprised why you were so offended when I called you a reckless driver." I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "I wasn't wrong, was I?"

His jaw ticked, his silence louder than words.

A dangerous man.

A man I shouldn't even be near.

I should've known. Should've seen it from the start. The way he carried himself. The way people looked at him—not just with respect, but with something heavier. Something darker.

He wasn't meant for me.

I wasn't meant for him.

And yet, I was here. Trapped in his car. Trapped in this moment. Trapped with a man whose silence was starting to feel like the most dangerous thing of all.

"You are dangerous."

The words left my lips before I could stop them, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade.

Zavian didn't react—not at first. He just kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable, hands still gripping the wheel like he was resisting the urge to do something reckless.

Then, after a long, suffocating pause, he let out a low, humorless chuckle. But there was no amusement in it—only something cold. Something lethal.

"You just figured that out?" His voice was quiet, yet it sent a chill down my spine.

I clenched my jaw, hating the way my pulse reacted, hating the way my body still hadn't settled from the earlier panic, hating him.

"I knew it," I muttered, staring out the window, my reflection barely visible against the darkness outside. "I knew it. I just didn't want to believe it."

His foot pressed harder on the gas, and I felt the speed pick up slightly, the hum of the engine matching the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat.

"And now?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.

I forced myself to look at him, at the sharp angles of his face, the unbothered yet deadly aura surrounding him.

"Now?" I exhaled shakily, fingers digging into my thighs. "Now I know for sure. You're not just reckless. You're a walking red flag."

Something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something unreadable. And then he smirked. A slow, knowing curve of his lips.

"Good," he murmured, voice like velvet laced with poison. "Then maybe you'll finally stay away."

But we both knew that was a lie.

I didn't say anything. Just turned my face toward the window, the city lights bleeding together in a blur as my fingers absently rubbed the sore spots on my wrists. My skin still felt like it carried the ghost of his grip, of their grip.

Aisha silently passed me a water bottle from the backseat. I had no idea where she got it from, but I took it anyway, my fingers tightening around the cool plastic like it was the only solid thing in this moment.

I twisted the cap off, my hands slightly trembling as I brought it to my lips. The water was cold, grounding. But it did nothing to wash away the lingering unease crawling under my skin.

The car was filled with a thick, suffocating silence.

Sophia and Isabella sat stiffly in the back, their eyes flickering between me and Zavian like they were bracing for something. Yuki, for once, didn't have anything to say. Aisha, quiet but watchful.

And Zavian? He was still. Too still.

The kind of stillness that was more dangerous than movement.

The kind of stillness that made my pulse pick up again because I knew—I just knew—he was thinking something I wouldn't like.

The red light cast a sharp glow over his features as the car slowed to a stop. That's when he finally spoke.

"Did they hurt you?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

My fingers froze around the bottle. My throat tightened.

I should've said no. I should've lied. But the bruises on my wrists and the phantom of his—their—hands made my silence stretch a second too long.

His jaw clenched. His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white.

And then—

The light turned green.

But he didn't move.

The car behind us honked impatiently, but Zavian didn't move. Not even a flicker of reaction.

Instead, his hand shot out.

Before I could pull away, his fingers wrapped around my wrist—not harshly, not painfully, but firm. Unyielding.

I sucked in a sharp breath as he lifted my arm slightly, turning it under the dim glow of the streetlights. His thumb brushed over the bruises forming against my skin, a stark contrast against his rough, calloused fingers.

The moment stretched.

Too long.

Too dangerous.

I tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, just enough to stop me. His head tilted slightly, his cold gaze locked on the marks like they personally offended him. Like they challenged him.

His breathing had deepened. Slower. More controlled.

Which only meant one thing.

He was seething.

"Zavian," Aisha's voice was cautious, hesitant.

He didn't acknowledge her.

Instead, his grip on my wrist loosened, his fingers barely ghosting over the bruised skin. And then—so quiet I almost didn't hear it—he muttered, "I should've killed him."

My stomach twisted.

I yanked my hand back, cradling my wrist to my chest as if I could erase the sensation of his touch. "You—" My voice was hoarse, raw. "You should've what?"

His eyes flicked up to mine, empty but burning all at once.

I swallowed.

The honking behind us grew louder.

And finally, without another word, Zavian pressed his foot down on the gas.