CHAPTER 1 — The Shortcut


The night had already swallowed the city when Vivienne finally left college. Streetlights flickered weakly, fighting against the darkness that clamped over the narrow roads. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and quickened her steps. It was late—too late.

Her thoughts weren’t on the empty streets but on home: her stepmother would complain again, her elder stepbrother would demand food the moment she walked in, her father would stay silent as always. And she would cook. Clean. Repeat.

She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as the cold air bit into her skin. “I should’ve left earlier,” she muttered. The main road was longer. Safer. But slower. She stopped for a second, hesitation flickering in her mind. Then she turned into the shortcut.

A narrow alley between two old buildings—quiet, dark, almost abandoned. Her footsteps echoed against the damp ground; the steady drip of water made her tense, but she kept walking. Halfway through, she slowed. Something felt wrong.

Then she saw him.

At first, just a shadow—a man leaning heavily against the wall, half-hidden in darkness. She froze. A low breath escaped him—ragged. Then she saw it: blood. A dark streak running from his head, soaking into his hair and collar.

Her heart stopped. “Oh my God…” she whispered.

Fear rooted her for a second, then she moved without thinking. She rushed toward him and dropped to her knees. His head tilted slightly, barely conscious. Even in shadow there was something terrifying about him: power, even broken.

“Hey… can you hear me?” she asked quickly.

No response.

She pulled off her scarf in one swift motion. Her hands trembled, but her movements stayed steady. She pressed the fabric to the wound.

“You’re bleeding badly… stay with me,” she said, more to herself than him.

With her other hand she reached into her bag, pulled out a small water bottle, unscrewed it. “Drink this.” She lifted his head and brought the bottle to his lips. At first he didn’t move. Then—barely—a small reaction. He was still alive.

Good.

She exhaled shakily and pressed harder on the wound. The alley felt exposed; every small sound made her glance up. Moonlight spilled faintly through the narrow gap above. Only then did she realize she was standing in the light and he was still in the dark.

Half his face came into view—cold, sharp, unforgiving even in pain. His eyes opened slightly and looked at her.

She froze again.

Those eyes—dark, heavy, not confused like a wounded man’s should be, but aware, measuring her. She swallowed, forcing herself not to step back.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”

She didn’t know why she said it.

A faint shift passed over his expression. Not relief. Not gratitude. Something else.

Footsteps shattered the quiet.

“Boss!”

Multiple voices—fast, alert, close. Panic flickered through her. From the end of the alley, dark figures were approaching quickly—men running toward him.

“Boss! Are you okay?!”

Her breath caught. So he wasn’t just anyone.

Her hands instinctively left his shoulder. “I—I should go,” she whispered.

One of the men’s flashlights cut across the alley. She didn’t wait. She stood up and stepped back.

He did not move his eyes away from her. Even as his people surrounded him and the world rushed back into chaos, his gaze stayed locked on her—unblinking, as if memorizing her existence. She turned and disappeared into the darkness before anyone could stop her.

Behind her he spoke, quiet and rough, barely audible. “…Find her.”

For the first time in a long time, someone had interrupted the silence of his world.

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