Chapter 1

Lyra polished the last of the glasses, her fingers moving automatically while her eyes flicked across the room.

She leaned against the counter, quietly observing the late-night crowd. The neon lights painted everyone in flashes of red and blue, and the air was thick with music, alcohol, and the buzz of empty conversations.

This was her world now, behind the counter, serving drinks, dodging advances, pretending smiles. She worked in a dimly lit bar tucked into a corner of the city that most people forgot existed, unless they were looking to drown something. Whether it was memories or mistakes, she served them all without judgment.

As she wiped down another glass, a man stumbled over. He was older, late sixties, maybe. His graying hair was slicked back with a little too much effort, and his shirt strained against a belly that hinted at years of beer and no regrets. His eyes, narrow and slow to blink, roamed over Lyra with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"Hey, beautiful," he slurred, his voice syrupy and too familiar. "You see that table over there?" He gestured with a crooked finger, pointing to a corner booth filled with laughter and cigar smoke. "Bring us two bottles of tequila."

He gave her a wink that made her skin crawl before swaggering back to his table, his pants nearly slipping under the weight of his gut.

The way he walked, shoulders back and proud like he still thought he was twenty-five, made her roll her eyes.

Ugh. Here we go again, she thought, grabbing the bottles from the shelf. Can't wait to be paid in sleaze and fake compliments. She plastered on her best service smile and made her way over, tequila in hand.

I swear, one more 'Hey, sweetheart' and I'm pouring this over someone's head.

Just as she set the bottles down, a cold, calloused hand wrapped around her waist. She froze. The same old man stood from the booth, his breath a cloud of whiskey and cheap cologne.

"If you want to earn a little extra tonight, sweetheart," he whispered, leaning close enough for her to feel the wet slur of his words, "meet me in the washroom."

His fingers tightened, his grin widening.

Lyra's eyes went wide with disgust, her pulse skipping a beat. What in the actual hell is wrong with men like this? she thought, jaw clenched. You'd think wrinkles would bring wisdom, not desperation.

But before she could speak, or slap him, a presence appeared behind her. A strong arm pulled her back, gently but firmly, and the old man's hand dropped away like he'd been caught touching fire.

She turned.

The man who'd pulled her away wasn't another creep. No. He was tall, sharp-jawed, and sinfully good-looking, like something straight out of a slow-burn romance novel.

His black eyes locked with hers for a split second before he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"Vincent Harington," he said, his voice low, smooth, and rich like velvet dipped in danger.

Then he turned toward the old man, his entire presence darkening. "What the fuck do you think you're doing to my girlfriend?" His voice was now thunder, dangerous and controlled.

"If you want to meet your maker, touch her again."

The air in the bar went heavy. Conversations stopped. Glasses paused mid-sip. Even the music seemed to lower its volume out of respect, or fear.

The old man stumbled backward, eyes wide and full of doubt. "Prove she's your girlfriend and we'll never bother her again... Vincent."

Lyra's heart pounded so hard she swore the whole bar could hear it. Girlfriend? Wait, what's happening? Does this old man know who this guy is? Who is this guy? And why is this somehow hot?

Vincent didn't hesitate long. He turned to face her, his hand sliding around her waist with familiarity that made her breath hitch. Then, before she could say a word, he kissed her.

His lips crashed into hers with a mix of fury and gentleness, and his tongue found its way into her mouth like he'd kissed her a thousand times before. Lyra tensed at first, stunned, but something about the kiss, about him, drew her in.

Okay... wow. This is happening. Do I stop it? Do I even want to? she thought, her fingers curling into his shirt as he deepened the kiss.

He pressed her against the wall, and the world around them vanished. Just heat, lips, and the faint taste of mint and sin. Lyra's mind spun.

How can someone's mouth taste this good? And why am I suddenly hoping he doesn't stop?

Vincent broke the kiss, his breath uneven, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he took in Lyra's stunned expression: her wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips.

He leaned in once more, his voice a deep murmur against her ear. "You owe me one, sweetie. See you tomorrow."

And just like that, he turned and walked out of the bar, his footsteps casual like he hadn't just shaken her entire world.

Lyra stood frozen, still pressed against the wall, her lips tingling. Tomorrow? What does he mean tomorrow? Who just kisses someone like that and walks away? Is this some kind of fever dream?

The next morning, Lyra was back in the world she knew, college halls and chaotic schedules. It was the first day of her second year, and somehow everything felt the same... except her.

Waiting for her near the lockers, arms crossed and wearing an all-too-knowing smirk, was her best friend.

"Hey, girlie," Sophia grinned. "What's with that dazed look? You look like someone just kissed the soul out of you. Spill it."

Lyra let out a soft sigh, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers. She ran a hand through her hair, her expression caught between dreamy and dazed. Her eyes gave her away, shiny, wide, and slightly panicked.

There's no hiding from her. She'll get it out of me anyway.

"Okay, okay. So here's what happened..." she began, finally spilling every little detail.

Her voice dipped and rose with each part of the story, from the creep at the bar to the kiss that left her entire system short-circuited.

Sophia's eyes widened. "What?!"

She grabbed Lyra's hand as they walked down the hallway toward their next class, practically dragging her. "Vincent Harington? That Vincent Harington is here, in this college, Lyra. The man who kissed you like you were the only woman on Earth is literally on this campus."

Vincent Harington is here? Lyra's heart skipped a beat. That kiss wasn't just a one-time, bar hero moment?

Her thoughts raced. How the hell is he here? Why didn't I know? Why does this make me feel like I forgot to study for a pop quiz on my own life?

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***