Chapter 3 A gift.

The blue lights of the karaoke room flickered dimly as Emelia's drunken glare focused on the tall figure standing before her. Her vision blurred, her mind clouded by alcohol and heartbreak, she could barely make out his features. But in her haze, she convinced herself it was Damian. The man who had shattered her heart just hours earlier.

"Leave me alone, Damian!" she slurred, stumbling to her feet, gripping the karaoke microphone like a weapon. She waved it at him, her hand shaking. "I already signed the damn papers! You can go run off with Isabella. Go! I don't want to see your face again!"

The man's brow furrowed slightly, but a flicker of amusement crossed his face. He stood still, watching her with an unreadable expression. He wasn't Damian, and it seemed Emelia was too intoxicated to realize it. But something in her words caught his attention.

"She must have signed the divorce papers," he thought to himself. His chest tightened in satisfaction, a wave of happiness surging through him at the thought of Emelia finally breaking free from the man who had been nothing but a curse, and a burden to her. Damian was out of the picture. Good.

Still, the sight of her-a mess of tears, whisky, and pain-made him want to fix everything in a single stroke. He ignored the microphone she was waving at him and took two long strides toward her.

Before Emelia could react, his large hand grabbed hers, pulling her toward him with little effort. Her chest collided with his lower torso, her head barely reaching his chest. At 5'5", she was dwarfed by his towering 6'8" frame.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she yelled, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, her voice rising in panic. She struggled against him, her free hand pushing weakly against his chest, but he didn't budge. "Damian, let me go! Haven't you done enough? I gave you three years of my life. Three years! I regret every single moment. .I curse the day I met you! You wouldn't have agreed to the darn marriage if you were going to hurt me this bad!"

The man's jaw tightened, but he remained patient. She didn't know who he was, not yet. He sighed softly, his voice deep but calm. "I'm not Damian."

Her movements faltered. The anger that had fueled her just moments ago flickered out as confusion set in. She blinked, squinting up at him, her tears blurring her vision. "Y- you're... not?"

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand thereby accidentally smearing her mascara across his shirt. When she finally looked up at him again, reality crashed down on her. This wasn't Damian. His face was different. His temperament was different. His presence, too. And the way he held her-it wasn't cruel or filled with hatred, not like Damian's rough grip.

Panic flared in her chest, and she instinctively tried to pull away again. "Who-who are you? Let me go! Did he send you to kidnap me? I don't worth anything! Please..." Her voice trembled at the end. "please let me go."

Seeing how vulnerable and broken she was, the inexplicable urge to crush Damien grew a thousand fold. However, e didn't release her. Instead, his grip tightened, but not painfully. His other hand came up, resting against her shoulder, his voice calm yet firm. "Emelia, calm down."

Her heart raced in her chest, her mind spinning in confusion and fear. She wanted to fight, to scream, but there was something in his voice, something in the way he spoke her name that made her pause. The blaring alarms that screamed danger suddenly went silent.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What do you want from me? I'm nobody... I don't even deserve to be here. No one has ever defended me. No one loves me. They all hate me! My parents regret having me, my twin sister accused me if stealing her man! No one cares."

He silenced her with a gentle press of his thumb over her trembling lips. "I'm not nobody," he said, his voice low but filled with determination. His index finger lifted her chin towards his gaze, "And I'm going to make sure the people who made you cry-who made you feel like this-suffer."

Emelia froze, her wide, tear-filled eyes staring up at him in disbelief. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the raw emotion of the moment, but something in her broke. Tears poured down her face, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Why would you... why would you help me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why would a stranger like you care? Nobody has ever cared. I'm just... I wasn't even supposed to exist. My own family didn't want me."

The man's eyes darkened with anger at her words. His grip on her softened, but he didn't let go. "I'm not a stranger, Emelia," he said, his voice quiet but fierce. "I'm someone who cares about you more than you realize. And I don't care what your family thinks. You deserve to be here. You deserve better."

The man sighed as he thought, "You have no idea of how long I've been waiting for you."

Emelia sniffed, her tears mixing with the remnants of her makeup. Her heart felt like it was shattering all over again, but his words stirred something inside her-a flicker of hope she hadn't felt in years. But she couldn't believe it. She couldn't let herself believe it. She would risk passing through the same pain.

"I don't need anyone to fight for me," she mumbled as she forced herself away from his grip, raising the whiskey bottle to her lips and taking a large gulp, her hands trembling. "I'm running away. I've already made up my mind. I'm leaving for France. I'm going to start over."

The man raised an eyebrow, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Oh, really?"

Emelia nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Yeah. I'm done with this place. Done with everything. I'll go to France, start a new life... forget all of this ever happened."

"Don't you want your revenge?" The man's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Emelia rolled her eyes as she twirled in a drunken haze and picked up the mic. "Revenge? I'll only do that when I have a fat thigh to hug."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper.

"If that's the case," he said softly, "let me give you a gift."