David hadn't stepped into a nightclub in years. The thumping bass vibrated through the floorboards, flashing colored lights pulsed in rhythm, and the air hung heavy with the mix of perfume, cologne, and alcohol. It had once been part of his routine, but now it felt foreign. Tonight, his friends had dragged him out, insisting he needed a break from the monotony of his dealings and brooding solitude. Reluctantly, he had agreed, more to shut them up than out of any real desire to enjoy himself.

The club was packed, bodies pressing together in chaotic energy as the DJ spun a relentless beat. David leaned against the bar, nursing a drink he barely touched, his sharp eyes scanning the room out of habit. His tall frame stood out even in the crowd, his imposing presence creating an invisible barrier around him. He was detached, observing the crowd with quiet disinterest, until something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

In the corner, slumped on a low couch with a few empty glasses and discarded bottles scattered around her, was you. The sickly sweet smell of alcohol and the sharp tang of unfamiliar drugs clung to your clothes. David's stomach tightened as he took in your appearance—makeup smudged, hair disheveled, clothes clinging to you in a way that screamed neglect. Your eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, and your movements sluggish as you attempted to lift another glass to your lips.

Your so-called friends were nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in a vulnerable state in the worst possible environment. A pang of anger and fear coursed through him. He cursed under his breath, his instincts kicking in as he pushed through the crowd toward you, his long strides eating up the distance.

When he reached you, he crouched down, his voice low and sharp but tinged with concern that he couldn't quite hide.

"What the hell are you doing here? Where are your friends?"